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“You don’t do big things by working a nine to five.”
“I don’t disagree, although I want to challenge you a bit on that later. But I want you to keep telling me about Cameron. You’ve only blown me off, what, twice now?”
I grin. “Third time is a charm.”
“Keep going.”
“Right. Okay. So Cameron very much wanted to live the same life as her parents. Same white picket fence, same friends, same country club. It’s how we both grew up. So I get it. But I began to get really bored doing the same things with the same people all the time. She was obsessed with always going out, always with just the right people at just the right places. It felt superficial. I began to wonder if that was all there really was. I thought it was the life I wanted. But it didn’t…I don’t know, it didn’t feel right. Didn’t feel like me. We grew apart. She wasn’t happy, and neither was I. She still wanted to hold on, though. She really wanted that perfect, beautiful existence we promised everyone. Kids especially. But I knew—deep down I just knew—that was a big mistake.” I let out a breath. “I was the one who called it quits after a year of therapy got us nowhere. I’ve always taken pride in being a workhorse. I make shit work. Literally. But I couldn’t make my marriage work. I couldn’t make myself fall back in love with her. And one day I just woke up and felt tired. I couldn’t do it anymore. So I ended the perfect marriage.”
“That wasn’t actually so perfect.”
“Right.”
Julia’s still looking at me. Sympathy still in her eyes. In the slight curve of her brow.
She is still here.
“So why the struggle to forgive yourself then for walking away?” Julia asks. “If you were unhappy and you knew that you and Cameron didn’t want the same things? If you knew that being shallow and fake was…well, shallow and fake and wrong?”
I spear a hand through my hair. Let out another breath.
“I can’t help but feel that I shouldn’t have married her in the first place. I should’ve known better. I should’ve seen the signs for what they were. Why did I make that choice? I’m so methodical in all I do. I’ve been trained to consider every outcome. Look at things from every angle. How did I not see that I wasn’t head over heels in love with the woman I promised my life to? I lied to her, Julia. Lied to our families and to myself.”
She swipes her thumb across the back of my palm. “You said it yourself. You were blinded by the gorgeousness of it all. By your need to be the perfect son with the perfect, beautiful life. Why you did what you did—it makes terrible sense, Grey. And you made a terrible mistake that hurt people you cared about.”
“Yup,” I say, my throat swelling. “Cameron was devastated. So were my parents. I couldn’t forgive myself for hurting them so deeply. Julia, I have never, ever felt so awful in my life. And I was once awake for seventy-two hours straight when I was put on a deal back in my banking days. While I had the flu. And pink eye. I was surrounded by a perimeter of trashcans I’d puke into between working on decks.”
Julia laughs. “Bet your co-workers loved you.”
“They hated me. I gave all of them the flu and pink eye.”
“You really do destroy everything you touch.”
“Whoa whoa whoa.” I hold up my hands—one of hers, too, still clasped in mine—in mock consternation. “I’m pouring my shriveled black heart out to you, and you’re gonna hit me below the belt? You play dirty.”
Julia levels me with this saucy, simmering look. “You like it dirty.”
“Well, yeah. But so do you.”
“And I’m damn proud of it.” She tilts her head. “So. Why you felt the way you have about your divorce is totally valid. You made a big mistake. But you also learned a big, important lesson. You learned to tell the truth, even when it hurts. That takes courage.”
“I wasn’t courageous. I was tired. And lonely.”
“Of course you were tired. But you were also brave, Grey. And when you’re brave like that, you’re inevitably going to hurt people. By telling the truth, your truth, you’re going to hurt them. But telling your truth, and living it, is always the right thing. Maybe it sucks. Maybe it complicates things beyond repair. Keeping it in, though? Smothering who you truly are to fit into some Instagram-sized box of what passes for happiness? That’s much worse. You’re not a liar. You’re honest and brave, and I adore you because you did the hard thing when it would have been so much easier just to keep quiet. Keep pretending that everything was perfect. That’s how tragedies happen—tragedies like spending the rest of your life pretending to be someone you aren’t.”
