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“No, of course not. You don’t marry someone intent on divorcing them. I wanted our marriage to work.” He lets out a ragged breath and once more looks away. “I just can’t do this anymore…stay where I’m not wanted. I need to…to….move on.”
The relief that washes over me is immense. While I will always be an advocate for marriage—straight or otherwise—I see no point in continuing something that failed a long time ago. I wish I could hug him, congratulate him for taking hold of his life. I wish I believed the end of his marriage was a beginning for us.
I give his words a moment to settle, waiting for a young couple with their baby to pass us by before speaking again. “So what happens next?”
He sighs. “I’ll try to get her to sign the papers. And I’ll look for a new place to live.”
It’s on the tip of my tongue to offer up my house—my guest room or my own bedroom—but thankfully I’m clear-headed enough to stay mute. Living together will only add more uncertainty to the already guarded relationship we have. Besides, there’s no way he’d ever accept an offer such as that.
My heart goes out to him, this sweet man who is hurting in ways I can only imagine. The little I know about his marriage, I’ve learned that it seems like he’s been the one holding on, stubbornly hanging in there out of a deep sense of obligation that I have to admire. He moved into the garage apartment, when he could have very easily moved out completely. That big heart of his—broken as it may be—is still bound to a woman who treats him as nothing more than an annoyance. Granted…I have no idea of the inner workings of their relationship. The few times I’ve seen them together, she comes across as very cold. I’m sure there’s a kind part of her that I’ve never witnessed. There would have to be, right? Why else would Davis intentionally tie himself to someone so hateful?
With a quick glance around, I lower my voice and whisper, “I wish I could hold you right now.”
He clasps his fingers behind his head and rests it on his upturned knees, hiding his face from view. “I wish I could let you.”
“I’m sorry you’re going through all this. How can I help?”
Rolling his head to the side, he glances at me, a half-smile lifting the corner of his mouth. “I have no idea. Can’t even really help myself at this point.”
For long moments we just sit there looking at one another. I can see the exhaustion in the lines around his mouth and eyes, the flash of pain that he attempts to either ignore or push away. Regardless of what we are to one another in private, right now my friend is hurting and I need to help him.
“Let me take you away from all this. Let’s get away from here and spend a day just hanging out together. We can decompress and maybe then your head will be clear and you can make a long-term plan for yourself.”
Davis drags his hands through his short, sweaty hair and once more turns his gaze to the blue-green ocean beyond. “I don’t know. Maybe it’s not a good idea to…you know…spend any more time together.”
“So what are you saying exactly? We can’t be friends?”
“Maybe. I don’t know.”
I keep my voice lowered, though I’m unable to hide the anger I’m feeling. “That’s bullshit. We are friends. You know it and so do I.” Our eyes meet. “I can be your friend. Beonlyyour friend, if that’s what you want. It’s not what I want, but I also know it’s a lot to ask of you to be….more.”
“How the hell am I supposed to know what I want, when I’ve got all this shit with my wife to get through?” His arms drop down in front of him, fingers still clasped. “A part of me wants more too. The other part feels like I need to cut my losses and move the fuck on.” He doesn’t say it, but I hear the unspoken words—from both of you—loud and clear.
The sinking feeling in my gut makes me nauseous. I have no idea what I expected, but I should have expected nothing less. It’s my own damn fault for even attempting a closer relationship with a married man. When did I become such a fool anyway? Am I so damn desperate to be loved that I would sacrifice myself and my pride to become another man’s puppet?
Rising, I brush off the seat of my shorts. “The offer stands. I think it would do you some good to get away for a few hours, but that will have to be your decision.” When he doesn’t look up at me or respond in any way, I shake my head in frustration. “See you later, Davis.”
My pace quickens as I run up the block and away from the park; away from him, this banged up and bruised man who refuses to meet me halfway. The sad fact is that regardless of how much I might want for something different—somethingmorebetween us—until Davis has worked out all the details of his personal life, I’m just banging my head against the wall.
