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Oh hell no.
I straightened and opened my mouth, but before I could say anything, Remy went on.
“I can use what happened to me in my childhood as an excuse. I can do that with what I did to our marriage. I can do it with how I treated Myrna. But Wyn, baby, how can I sit down with my mother and talk to her about who she is to me, what she did to me, what she’s still doing to Dad, knowing a long time ago she knew it was wrong, and she didn’t find some way to stop herself from hurting people she loved. And in the now, when she’s dying, find some way to reach out to us and assume culpability for how she fucked up her entire family’s life, and not assume culpability for what I’d done in mine?”
He had a point there.
He wasn’t finished.
“I never loved Myrna, but she’s a human being with feelings, and actions speak. I let her move in. I might not have made promises, but I did have a relationship with her, and I can understand how she expected that to grow because that’s what happens.”
“In some instances,” I retorted. “In others, it doesn’t. People break up, Remy. And when they do, they don’t stalk the other person’s child or break into his wife’s house.”
“I’m not excusing what she’s done. I’m copping to my part in it.”
Why did he have to be so mature?
Well, two could play that game.
“You’re right, actions do speak, as do words,” I returned. “You made no verbal promises to her. On top of that, you told me you didn’t ask her to move in, she asked, and you let her because she was in a jam. And in the end, you didn’t ever really let her move in. All of those things say something, she just didn’t want to hear it.”
“Would you want a man who didn’t take responsibility for hurting another person? Whatever that person did, however that person behaved, would you want a man who didn’t assess his part in the situation and admit he fucked up too?” he asked.
Damn it.
“No,” I muttered.
His lips twitched.
They stopped doing that, and softly, he said, “Everyone talks about the bunny boiling. But no one says dick about the married man who started a relationship with a woman when he had no business doing it. I’m not excusing bunny boiling either. But this narrative has to shift, and we both know it. And I don’t want to be a part of that narrative not shifting.”
“Sometimes it’s hateful how wonderful you are,” I announced.
He grinned and replied, “Say that looking hot in black underwear when you’re over here.”
“There’s three feet of space between us and you have longer legs,” I pointed out.
Remy didn’t take time to consider my statement, nor did he reply.
He just erased the space, and I was glad I hadn’t done my lipstick, because the kiss he laid on me would have meant I’d have to do it again.
Remy and I were lying in our bed that night, in the dark, on our backs, both of us staring at the ceiling, and we were holding hands.
“Well, that sucked,” he said.
He wasn’t talking about the food, the ambience, or the company of that evening.
He was talking about the mood and how all of us tried to pretend it wasn’t as shitty as it actually was.
“Yes,” I agreed. “But this won’t last forever. We’ll get past it.”
He blew out a deep sigh.
“So, you know, you being adult and accountable is making me realize I’m not.”
That made him turn to me, still holding my hand, but he reached out and rested his other on my belly.
“You’re entitled to be pissed at Myrna for being a pain in the ass,” he noted, then reminded me, “You didn’t do anything to her.”
“No, I mean with Bea.”
The air grew dense around us.
“I can’t hide behind my posse with this,” I told him. “I need to face her. Me. Personally. She’s been the worst with you. I care about her. She’s my friend. But you’re my husband. She should know she’s been hurtful, she’s still being it, and I should listen to whatever she has to say about why she does it.”
“I never thought I’d say this in my life, especially after today, but now I’m not looking forward to either of us leaving here and going home.”
That made me turn to him, slide close, press closer and repeat, “We’ll get past it.”
He circled me with his arms and grunted, “Yeah.”
“We’re together and I love you.”
He pulled me deeper into his body and his grunt of, “Yeah,” was sweet this time.
We snuggled.
Neither of us found it easy to fall asleep.
But eventually, we did, which was good.
Because we had one more day in New Orleans, and there was no way around it.
