by Heidi Lowe
Within seconds the door swings open, and I hurry inside, into the warmth. I peel off my jacket, hang it over the door handle. When I look up, she's gawking at me, mouth slightly ajar.
"What are you doing here?" she asks.
"I'm still trying to figure that out myself," I say, before I can stop myself. Great start, Faye! Abrasive before we've even exchanged hellos.
My eyes finally get the chance to behold all that this dingy little room has to offer. Terrible lighting, flickering thanks to the storm. Old, worn brown furniture and furnishings that don't match. Empty pizza boxes, beer bottles and potato chip packets lying across all surfaces.
"Jesus," I say, looking at her in disgust. "You picked the worst dive in the country, I'm sure. And you added to it."
She shrugs. "It's more than I deserve. This is where I belong. Living in squalor, mired in my own filth." There's no trace of embarrassment on her face that I can see. She must have sunk so low that all of her dignity is gone. Someone with no dignity has no need for shame.
But her self-pity only infuriates me. She has no right to pity herself.
"Sandra warned me that you were holed up in here feeling sorry for yourself. As selfish and self-centered as ever," I say, rolling my eyes. "You don't see your daughter in two weeks, yet you have the audacity to sit here pitying yourself. You're a class act, Nikki."
The fight is gone from her entirely. Her eyes have no fire in them, no sign that she'll hit back with insults of her own.
"I can't be a mother in this state."
"Well, you are one. You don't just get to switch it off whenever you don't feel like turning up. I don't get to do it, and believe me, I've had more reason than anyone to want to escape from everything."
She bites her bottom lip, a mechanism to prevent herself crying.
"Because of me," she says, her voice quivering. "All because I couldn't keep it in my pants." She sits on the bed, and I remain at the door, arms crossed in defensive mode.
"You know that wasn't the real problem..." I say, trying to keep my cool. "That was the tip of the iceberg. The snowflake that became an avalanche."
She hides her face behind her hands, but it doesn't block out the unmistakable sound of sobbing, or the shaking shoulders.
"I messed up so many times, Faye. I kept digging myself deeper and deeper into the hole, until it was too late to come back out. Until it was too late to come back to you."
My stomach is in knots listening to her cry, watching her come apart by the seams. My heart aches to drop this tough girl, apathetic act and run to her, so we can hold each other and weep as one. We both need that. But I'm still so mad at her, that I remain fixed to that door, as far away as possible. She probably thinks I'm unmoved, beyond appeal. She has no idea why I'm really here.
"Sandra told me everything," I say.
She nods but doesn't look at me. "In my warped sense of reality, I thought I was doing the right thing. I was prepared to live unhappily ever after, to live with the consequences of my choices. But...but I couldn't do it. I can't do it. I'm not doing well. A large, integral part of me is missing, and I don't know how to go on without it."
She's talking about me! I know she wants to come home, but I'm not prepared for this confession. My stomach continues to twist and make me want to throw up.
My lips are pursed, pressed tightly together. I'm afraid that if they're not, I might cry too.
"I wish I could take it all back. God, you have no idea how much I wish I never took my dad's call that day. But this is my life now. Married to a woman I despise, living in a hovel outside of town, eating my meals out of fucking boxes, giving myself liver damage probably, because I'm drinking in order to cope with all the other stuff. And the woman I love..." She gets choked up here as she looks at me. "The woman I love, the best thing that ever happened to me, hates me. I can live with you moving on, eventually. But the fact that you hate me, that's the part that eats me up inside."
"I feel a lot of things for you right now," I mumble. I don't think she hears, because it's quiet, and her sniffling drowns it out. But mostly I love you. I never stopped, even when you gave me every reason under the sun to. Even when I hated you I still loved you. You have always been my Nikki, not hers, mine. My heart speaks the words my lips refuse to say. So stubborn in their resolve. If I could just tell her...
"This place is a mess, and your daughter wants to see you," I say instead, wiping a quick damp hand across my eyes before she sees my tears. I pull out an empty black bag from the cupboard beneath the sink, and start shoving all of the rubbish in. Busying myself keeps the tears at bay. Almost. "I'm not bringing her to this insalubrious dump in the middle of nowhere. And there's no use you paying unnecessary rent on this place when you have a house..."
"W–wait, what are you s–saying?"
I have my back to her as I load the beer bottles into the bag.
"You still have responsibilities," I continue, ignoring her. She can't see the stream of tears that now gush from my eyes.
"Faye?"
"You've just become such a slob–"
"Faye?" She presses a hand to my back. And that's it, that's all it takes for me to come apart. She twists me around gently to face her, and finally she sees my pain. "Oh, baby," she says, reaching out a hand to wipe the tears from my wet cheeks.
"No," I say, pushing her hand away. "I need to know, Nikki. I need you to answer honestly, and don't you dare lie to me now."
"I won't," she says, eyes ingenuous, grave.
"When we were together, when you were making love to me, did you ever think about her?"
She doesn't even blink or hesitate when she says firmly, "Never. Not once. It has always been you, Faye. And it will always be you."
"I thought our whole marriage was a lie."
"Nothing about us was a lie. You were the only real thing in my life. The only thing that had meaning. What I did, that wasn't about you, that was about me. You were my perfect, beautiful, miracle woman. You still are."
She wipes my tears away, first with her thumbs, then she leans in and presses her lips to them. I close my eyes and let her pepper kisses to my face. Pulling away or stopping her now would go against everything my body, heart and soul longs for. I won't fight it anymore. I can't. I need this; I need her.
Her lips find their way to mine gradually. They don't feel alien to me, like I thought they would. It's funny how much we've both changed, how much has happened, but she still feels the same – still tastes the same.
"I'm sorry," she whispers over and over between kisses, holding my head in her hands. "I don't want to live another day without you. Tell me what I have to do and I'll do it. Whatever you want."
"If you come home, you have to take the guest room."
She nods profusely. "Of course." She kisses me again.
"It will take time for me to forgive you, to trust you again. So if I think we should get counseling, you have to agree to go with me."
"Anything." More kisses – of gratitude, of love.
"I can't promise that I won't bring this up in future arguments, but I promise I won't cheat out of revenge." I know this is the most important part of any reconciliation. She has to trust that I won't revenge-screw someone else in order to make her hurt the way I have. I have no intention of doing that to her; I wouldn't wish that sort of anguish on my worst enemy.
"I trust you implicitly," she says. "And to you, I promise never to take you for granted again. This is the last time I make you cry."
Her big green eyes are sincere as she promises me the world once more. I know she means it. She's seen what it's like on the other side, living in a world without me, and it's no life at all. Maybe, just maybe, she's learned her lesson.
"Let's go pick up our daughter and go home," I say.
TWENTY-TWO
"We're thinking of getting a couple of rabbits. We have plenty of space for the cage out here," I say to Sandra. It's a warm, breeze-less Friday evening, and we're sitting under
the canopy in the back yard. The chardonnay she brought is almost finished, and Nikki has gone to get more from the kitchen.
"Rabbits? To fatten them up in time for Thanksgiving or something? Surely not as pets. Do people still have rabbits as pets?"
"Emily has her heart set on a cat, but Nikki's allergies won't allow for it. The rabbits are a good compromise, I think."
"Maybe. Except, wouldn't her allergies apply to the rabbits as well? I'm no science expert, but isn't it fur in general that's the problem?"
"Oh, I hadn't thought of that."
She chuckles, before taking a sip from her rapidly depleting wine glass. Then she looks at me, the silliest smile resting on her mouth.
"What?" I ask, a little giddy from the drink. I haven't had much, but it's already gone to my head.
"You seem so much happier, that's all."
I smile modestly, suddenly uncomfortable with her observation. Being happy is when it goes wrong, and I'm afraid to fully immerse myself in my new-found contentment, for fear it won't last.
"Don't say that," I say, waving a dismissive hand.
"Why not? It warms my heart to see you guys like this, getting along. Like old times."
"We're not even back together. It's only been four weeks. We have a long way to go."
"The hardest part is over. She's back, you're talking again, drinking together. The troublesome trio has reunited." She sips to that.
I don't know how true it is that we're past the hardest part. "It hasn't been easy getting this far."
"I know. But you guys, you're special. I never gave up on you, not deep down. I hope you know that."
"Neither did I, I guess."
She leans in and beckons me forward. She whispers, "And someone else is over the moon to be home again. I can't get her to shut up about it at work. Faye this, Faye that. I mean, damn, anyone would think you hadn't already put in six years together!"
This makes me chuckle as I imagine Nikki chattering all day long at the office, and Sandra rolling her eyes impatiently.
"But I'm delighted for you both. I know I've said it before. I'm just glad you gave her a second chance. Nikki without Faye just doesn't make sense."
"What is taking her so long?" I say, changing the subject before I find myself in tears. It's still hard to confront, still difficult to think about her as the other Nikki, that monster who walked out on her wife and child. There's a mountain we need to climb yet, before we're in a good place again.
As soon as I step inside to search for her, I'm greeted by the sound of her raised voice flooding out from the living room.
"I told you to stop calling me. I don't want to speak to you today, tomorrow, or any other day in the future, you crazy bitch!"
I suck in a breath as I stand outside the room, listening. She's talking to Angel. This isn't the first phone call of this kind. There have been a couple, though mostly Angel's calls go unanswered.
It's an unfortunate reality of handing out second chances. Nikki comes with baggage now, baggage she didn't have when we first met. If I ever have the luxury of temporarily forgetting that she isn't the drama-free woman I knew while we were married, a call from her lunatic wife serves as a bitter reminder. I hate Angel for having a continued connection to Nikki – to us.
"Even if you don't sign the papers, I'm not coming back to you. I never should have married you."
Nikki moves the phone from her ear, and I hear rabid cursing and shouting blasting from it. She doesn't know I'm there. Only when I snatch the phone from her, from behind, does she realize. She gawks at me in shock as I press it to my ear.
"Hello, Angel? It's Faye."
"I don't want to talk to you, bitch!" she barks. "Put my wife back on."
Her use of that word, wife, sends me further into a rage. "Now you listen up, and listen good. She might be your wife on paper, but it doesn't mean a damn thing. It took her a while, but she finally came to her senses. Now she's home where she belongs. So stop calling, and leave me and my family alone! Goodnight." I hang up as soon as her screamed profanities begin.
I push the hair out of my face, then turn to look at Nikki, stuffing the phone into her hand. "In the morning, we're changing your number," I say.
She nods obediently, though she is staring at me with something akin to awe.
"That was hot," she says.
"I'm going to get the wine. Sandra must be wondering where we are," I say, walking away. But I feel her hand around my wrist.
"Nikki," I whine, trembling a little as she pulls me in, rests her hands on my waist. She hasn't touched me since that day at the motel. She's been afraid, I suppose; uncertain. Just like I am.
"I'm sorry you have to deal with that. Thank you for stepping in like that." Even though I don't offer her my cheek when she goes to kiss me on the lips, I don't give her tongue access to mine.
"I won't let anyone ruin our evening," I say simply. There's a hint of disappointment on her face when I pull away, but she's doing her best to hide it. "Sandra's waiting for us."
I know it makes Nikki uncomfortable when there's even a mention in passing of anything that happened during the period of our separation. Maybe even more than it does me. For her it is a source of debilitating shame; for me, pain. But I don't grow red-faced, she does.
The current topic of conversation, started by Sandra, is one on a long list of taboo topics.
"Have you heard from your dad?" she says, throwing it out there like it's a normal conversation about the weather.
"No," Nikki answers sulkily, eyes cast down at her glass.
"Now that that business with she-who-must-not-be-named is dead and buried, you could reach out to him," she goes on, oblivious to (or possibly unconcerned by) the fact that her best friend is embarrassed.
"I don't think that's going to happen," I offer. "Understandably."
"Yeah, but–"
"He won't want to speak to me, all right," Nikki snaps, slamming the glass down. Wine splashes in her face. When she looks up and sees us watching her, she grabs a napkin, wipes her face and mumbles an apology. "I don't blame him. Maybe someday."
I'm about to mention that he visited a couple of times while Nikki and I were separated, when thunderous hammering at the front door stops me. It's so loud the sound has reached us all the way on the other side of the house.
"Who the hell is that?" I get up hurriedly, panicked.
"It's her," Nikki says, her expression grim.
I know immediately who she means. The three of us dash inside.
"Open the fucking door!" Angel screams. It sounds like she's kicking, not just using her fists. I'm worried she'll smash the window on the bottom half of the door.
"Go away or we're calling the police," I shout.
"She's going to wake up the whole neighborhood," Nikki says.
"Nikki, get out here. Face me, you coward! You think you can walk out on me? You really think I'll let you do that?" More slams, more pounding.
"Hey!" Sandra chimes in. "Get your psycho ass out of here. Take an L, Angel. She doesn't love you, and never did."
I shoot Sandra a fierce look as if to say "cut it out". She's only pouring fuel on an already unruly fire. Doesn't she know that saying things like that will only worsen the situation?
Just as I expected, Angel doesn't take it well, and more yelling and pounding ensues. It becomes a chorus of f-bombs and every other bomb that comes to her mind.
"She loved sticking her head between my legs every night, though. Did she tell you that, Faye? Huh? Did she tell you how much she enjoyed fucking me? She couldn't keep her hands off me. Tell her, Nikki. Tell her how often you came. She never could satisfy you the way I can. Why do you think things will be different this time around?"
I look away when Nikki turns to me. I catch a glimpse of the fear and the regret in her eyes, but I can't look at her.
"Faye, I'm sorry," she says. "I'm calling the police." She hastens away to retrieve her phone.
"Don't listen to
anything that bitch says," Sandra says, putting a hand on my shoulder.
"I'm fine," I say. I'm not.
A maniacal laugh outside follows. "Hey Faye, how long do you think it will be before she loses interest in you again and comes to find me? Once a cheat, always a cheat. We're in the same boat, you and me. She's cheated on both of us now. That's called a pattern of behavior."
"The police will be here soon. Do yourself a favor and leave," I call out, but in a weak, shaky voice. If Emily sleeps through this, it will be a miracle.
"I just want to talk to my wife. They'll understand that," she cackles. "Hear that? My wife. Yeah, she married me. That's how much she loves you. So much that she married another woman. Oh, and here's the kicker: She did it in the country club where you guys got married. What a classy broad."
"Shut the hell up!" Nikki screams. I didn't know she'd returned. "It's not going to work. We know what you're trying to do and it won't work. You're sick and pathetic. That's why you're out there, alone, making a scene in our neighborhood, and we're all in here. I'm in here with the love of my life and my daughter. Nothing you say or do can ever come between us again."
The kicking and screaming and hammering starts again, right on cue. She clearly doesn't like the truth.
"I'm never going to divorce you. You're going to be stuck with me forever. I was here before her, and I'll be here after her. As soon as I got out, I came back for you. For you, do you hear me? I had to put up with your stupid, repulsive father trying to get into my pants, leering at me like the pervert he is, just so I could get to you. I'm not walking away after everything I went through to find you."
Got out? Got out from where?
Nikki and Sandra are wearing the same looks of disbelief and bewilderment. I imagine mine resembles theirs. This can't be right. It sounds as though...as though meeting Bernie was all part of her plan.
"Are you saying that whole thing with my dad was a part of a plan to get to me?"
"Did you really think I was interested in that old sack of shit?" She cackles. "You're even more gullible than I thought you were. Of course I planned it. I knew that if I approached you myself, I would have to work harder to get your panties off. But letting you think your dad would get to screw me for the rest of his life, I knew you would hate that, and come crawling."
