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Davis
“How was your day?”
Fucked. Every single day is completely and totally fucked.
Probably not the answer I should give her. I doubt it’s what she wants to hear anyway. She wants me to tell her that everything is just perfect. That I’m positive about this second chance we’re giving one another, and that I have high hopes for the future.
I can’t tell her any of that, because it would be a complete and total lie.
Obligation sucks ass. So does walking away from someone you love. My moods these days are vast and varied; focused and intent on making our marriage work. Pissed off and weepy from missing Merrick, I’ve picked up the phone a hundred times to reach out to him, and each and every time I remind myself how selfish I am to think I have the right to do so. I walked out on him because I felt a sense of duty toward the woman who is currently seated across the table from me. Playing head games with Merrick just because I’m lonely and missing him is nothing short of cruel. I need to let him go.
Easier said than done. Especially when my dreams are haunted by the look on his face that morning; part surprise, part agony, part understanding. Merrick is the most unselfish person I’ve ever come across and there’s a part of me that hates him for it. I wanted him to convince me that getting back together with Chantal was a bad idea. I needed him to give me reasons to stay. Instead, he somehow managed to understand my need to leave. He told me he loved me….and then he let me walk away.
Shoving my mostly full plate aside, I grasp the beer bottle in front of me and start to chug. Chantal is picking at her meal like she has most nights, struggling to make conversation with me. It’s like we’re strangers again, instead of two people who have been married for almost a decade. Now we’re not those same two strangers working toward a happy future, we’re a couple treading water and trying not to drown. Other than the few work items she’s willing to share, I know nothing about her anymore. Not sure I really know myself anymore either.
Her hand falls across my forearm and I instantly recoil, bristling at the contact and willing my stomach to unclench as nausea rolls over me. I don’t want to feel sick at the idea of her touching me. Eventually, sometime in the future, we’ll most likely share a bed again. At some point, I’m going to have to accept this new path I’m on—or rather the old path I once took—and forget about the man who once wanted to walk into the future holding my hand.
“What’s wrong?”
Everything. Everything is fucking wrong.“Nothing.”
Wiping her mouth with a napkin, she tosses it down onto her plate and stares at me. I wonder what she sees. Does she see the same man she once claimed to love, the man she made vows with? Does she look at me and see a stranger? Does she realize like I do, that second chances aren’t always a good thing?
“Okay, so….how was your day?”
I don’t want to make shitty small talk with her. I don’t want to feel like I have to force happiness. I really just want it all to go away. “Fine. It was fine.” Rising with plate in hand, I scrape the uneaten food into the trash, rinse the plate and fork, and stash it all into the dishwasher.
I can sense her coming up behind me and I try to brace myself for more touching. Chantal has suddenly becomethatperson who feels the need to touch you at every opportunity. I’ve tried, but I just can’t make myselfnotreact.
Predictably, her palm comes down onto my shoulder. “My day was good, thanks for asking.” The words are dripping with sarcasm but the tone is warm, which totally fucks with my head. I can’t decipher whether or not she’s playing me, or simply trying to get me to react.
“Sorry,” I grumble, taking the plate from her outstretched hand and rinsing it too.
She stands next to me with her back braced against the counter, arms folded. “Can I ask you something?”
No…no…no!“Yep.”
“Did you tell the woman you were seeing that we are back together?”
My entire body tenses as bile burns the back of my throat. I have no idea what to say. We aren’tback together, as she claims. We’re trying to give it another shot. And it’s failing….miserably, in my opinion.
That said, like it or not, I made my choice. I told Merrick goodbye and have made every attempt to act like a husband to her again.
A husband who still lives over the garage.
A husband who refuses to touch her.
A husband who loathes the idea of her touching him.
A husband who is physically aching to be with the one person he loves unconditionally, but cannot be with.
Fury rises in my chest as I toss down the dishrag and glare at her. “I’m not doing this with you.”
Cocking her head to the side, she asks, “Why not? It’s not like I’m going to allow you to continue seeing her.”
I know I should be nice, maybe even grateful she’s willing to give us a go one more time. But nothing about this makes me feel grateful or even wanted. It’s like we’re both trying to be two people who don’t exist anymore.
“I’ll see you tomorrow.”
Without waiting for her to comment, I head out to the garage. I’m running up the stairs two at a time and locking the door behind me, like I’ve got mad dogs on my heels. Shaking my head at my idiocy, I stomp into the tiny kitchen area and grab the fifth of vodka off the counter.
Falling down onto the middle of couch, I twist the cap open and take a few big gulps. The fact that I’m sitting alone drinking too much should tell me something. The lines are starting to blur between what I feel obligated to do and what I need to do, and I have no idea if this supposed second chance is ever going to work. My heart is just not in it. Neither is my body if I’m being honest. The idea of eventually sharing a bed with her makes me want to puke, as does the knowledge that I will soon be expected to return the words of love she’s back to saying on a daily basis. The thought that I’d be betraying Merrick by doing either of those things brings tears to my eyes.
Finding a solution in this shit-storm isn’t going to be easy. I can either say fuck you to my obligations to the woman I once vowed my life to, or bite my tongue and suck it up and continue to try our marriage work. By doing that, however, I will lose the only person who has ever completely understood me. The person who has healed my soul and breathed life back into it with each kind word he has said. The person—the man—who I love more, every single day.
The booze slides down easily, not a solution but a nice balm for all my heartache and indecision. My life choices will still be there tomorrow, and the day after, and the day after that. For now, I’m content to let the bottle pull me under, until I can no longer see the surface, only the silent abyss that shelters me down below.
