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Forty
Magnolia
He didn’t call me. I thought he might have — hoped, I suppose.
Yesterday spun so quickly and so chaotically in a direction I hadn’t foreseen, we were together and then we were yelling at each other and then I was crying and today I woke up and the photos were in The Daily Mail.
“At It Again” was the title.
This part of us that I hate. The no privacy, no chance to feel our feelings alone for a minute without nosey-parkers prying. It makes all our fights feel gimmicky and cheap when for us — for me — they’re real. Actual waking nightmares folding out in front of me. Cheating’s not a big deal to him? Clearly.
I thought forever about what I would wear for tonight, more than usual. I knew I’d see him, thought about the ways the evening might go. And I was rather sure — or hopeful, in the very least — that we’d perhaps patch things up. That he’d tell me he was sorry and that it is a big deal and we’ll work it out together anyway. I thought we’d probably be in the papers again once we were spotted kissing triumphantly because we’re grown ups now, and we love each other and we each know that now, we said it yesterday. So what, I thought — we might have some issues we need to work through, some things in ourselves we need to untangle but as I was leaving the house, I was fairly certain that I’d be returning later with him. It’d be the first night he’d stay over in my new apartment. It’d be the first time he’d see that I have a bookshelf of every National Geographic printed in the last five years. And I was sure that I’d remember tonight forever, because it would be the day that we finally began to sort ourselves out and make our way back to one another.
Some people remember their moments in song, I remember mine by material. The lilac crystal-embellished appliquéd cady mini dress from David Koma with the Crystal Twist 105mm Sandals from Aquazzura which match perfectly, and the black V-neck oversized cardigan from Alessandra Rich. BJ would love it.
When I arrived at Jonah’s club with Taura and Henry, she asked if I was nervous.
I nodded. “A bit.”
Henry squeezed my hand. “Just don’t toss the first grenade.”
I rolled my eyes and headed over to the boys in the back.
BJ’s easy to spot. He always is but especially tonight.
Green paisley-print cargo shirt jacket from Sacai, a plain white tee under it from Y-3 with the black cut-off relaxed fit double knee work pants from Dickies. Pepper Green Old Skools, and most importantly: no Jordan.
He looked so handsome, my heart was in my throat — I was relieved. Isn’t that funny? Relieved to see him. Even after our fight.
I walked up behind him — he didn’t see me coming, neither did Jonah, or he never would have let him say what he said.
“Actually, when I got home I fucked her.”
Oh my god.
I’m spinning. Instantly, I’m sick to my core. He slept with someone else after me the same day? That day? We did it in the morning.
I can’t even count how many times and he went home after one fight and slept with someone else? Again?
I feel revolting.
I hate him. How many times can he—
BJ stands, calls my name in that familiar way he does, where it’s as though he’s sad he’s hurting me. Like it hurts him to hurt me. Like it burdens him to make me feel this way. But he never stops making me feel this way.
I shake my head at him a tiny bit. Beg him with my eyes to please not follow me. I can’t have him following me.
I walk as quickly as I can without breaking into a run to get to the bathroom by Jonah’s office. I make it there just in time to throw myself into a stall before my legs give way. Grief is strange, don’t you think?
Because I am grieving, you can be sure of that.
Feels like the oysters, actually.
That time — remember? When I was seven, and I fell off the jetty in Capri? I hit every sharp shell on the way down. They cut me wide open and BJ dove in after me. He saved me. Who’s going to save me now?
The salt water in the cuts all over my body, all over who I am.
Oh my god.
