Tell Me Everything

by Amy Hatvany

  Twenty-Eight

  The Mitchells’ upstairs family room was enormous—a rectangular space on the second floor that spanned the entire length of the front of their house. I found Tiffany curled up in the corner of a large, overstuffed couch, her head resting on a thick pillow and a blanket drawn up around her shoulders. At first, I thought she might be asleep, but she popped upright when I entered the room.

  “How is she?” she asked, concern etched across her face.

  “Upset,” I said. “Embarrassed and confused.” I made my way over to her and sat down a few cushions away. Ben’s loud voice rose up from the backyard, muffled, along with the screeching laughter of his sons as the three of them played. Sun streamed in through the windows, creating dancing rainbows on the plush, cream-colored carpet. The brightness of the day seemed at odds with my darker mood. “They sound like they’re having fun out there.” I nodded toward the wall facing the backyard.

  “Yeah,” Tiffany said with a wan smile. “He can be a really good dad, when he wants to. But I had to seriously beg for him not to go into the dealership on a Saturday.” She frowned, then, and shook her head. “I can’t believe this is happening. Do you think she’s going to be okay?”

  “I do,” I said. “She’s afraid that you won’t understand how she’s feeling, but I told her that you love her more than anything, and would do anything to help her get through this.” It felt a little strange, having a conversation this intimate with her, but I could relate to this version of Tiffany.

  I quickly explained that the boys at the party had taken photos and texted them to others, and Tiffany’s hand momentarily flew to her mouth. “That’s why she wanted to talk with you,” she said. “Because of the posts.”

  “Right.” My cheeks flushed. I couldn’t believe that this time yesterday, I was sitting in my office, working. It felt like I’d aged a hundred years since then. “I talked with her about how embarrassed I am right now, but that I’m going to do my best not to care what other people say behind my back, and that she shouldn’t, either.”

  “People are assholes,” Tiffany said, darkly.

  “Yeah, they are.”

  “What can I do to help her?” Tiffany asked. “What would help you right now?”

  “Can you build a time machine?” I said, only partially joking. I wanted to go back and change my decision to keep things about Andrew from Jake. If I had, none of this would be happening.

  “But really,” Tiffany pressed. “What do I do?”

  “I think you’re doing it,” I said. “You’re showing her you’re not going to let her go through this alone or that you’re going to ignore what happened. She may fight it and tell you to go away, but by staying close to her anyway, you’re giving her exactly what she needs. She’ll open up eventually. I think the key is to not tell her what she should be doing or feeling. Just listen. Tell her what happened sucks, but that she’s strong enough to get through it. That you’ll love her no matter what.”

  Tiffany nodded, crossing her thin arms over her chest and rubbed the outside of her biceps. “Should I take her to counseling?”

  “Maybe. But let her make her own decision about it. She’s feeling powerless, and needs to regain some sense of control.” I felt that way, too.

  “Thank you so much,” Tiffany said. Her pale blue eyes were full of gratitude. “I can’t believe you’re here when you’re dealing with your own...issues. It means a lot.”

  I gave her a half-hearted smile, because that was all I had energy to do. “It’s been good for me to get out of my head.”

  “Are you doing okay?” Tiffany asked. “How’s Jake?”

  I shook my head and dropped my gaze to the carpet, trying to fight off the scratchy ache of impending tears in my throat.

  “Oh, no,” she said. “I’m so sorry. You guys are such a great couple.”

  “Thank you,” I said. “It’s all so complicated.”

  “I’m sure you’ll work it out,” Tiffany said, sounding way more convinced than I felt. “Whoever hacked into your accounts was obviously trying to hurt you. I hope karma bites them in the ass.”

  “Jake punched him,” I said, venturing that I could trust her with this piece of information.

  Her eyes widened. “Really? That’s kind of awesome, in a horrible, you’re in a fucked up situation kind of way.”

  I chuckled. The cuss word sounded strange coming out of Tiffany’s mouth, but I liked it. I felt a sliver of relief.

  “You were kind to me, the other day at the pool,” Tiffany said. “I don’t have a lot of friends.” She laughed, but it came out harshly. “I try—I really do. I plan events and put up posts about the neighborhood and talk with other people all the time, but I never seem to make real connections.”

  This was a side of Tiffany I’d never seen before. Her defenses were down; she wasn’t trying to hide a thing. I decided to tell her the truth. “I guess I’ve had a hard time connecting with you, sometimes, but it’s only because your life always seems so picture-perfect. When I saw you at the pool, struggling with Lizzy, I felt for you. I related to you.” I paused. “I do, now, too. What happened to Lizzy at the party was a traumatic thing. I can only imagine how scared you were when the hospital called.”

  “I was terrified,” she said. “When I logged into Neighbors to delete your account and saw what had been posted, I realized that you were in the middle of your own total nightmare, yet you still took the time to talk with me and even offered to take care of the kids.” She teared up. “I can’t tell you what that meant to me. And then you call again, today, and show up with dinner and you talk with Lizzy...” Her voice cracked and she shook her head. “Sorry.”

  “That’s okay,” I said. “I’ve been crying off and on for the last twenty-four hours. I haven’t slept.”

  She laughed, even as a tear rolled down her cheek. “You must be exhausted.”

  “I am.” Simply saying the words seemed to intensify the heaviness in my eyelids and limbs. “I should probably go home and try to get some sleep.” But then something else hit me. “How’s your mom doing? Charlotte mentioned you had to find a home for her.”

  Tiffany bobbed her head. “She’s okay. Slowly getting adjusted. The facility has a wonderful staff, who are really good about keeping her to a routine, which seems to help her be less confused and agitated.” She waved her hand in the air, toward the window. “That was pretty much impossible around here, with the kids and all their craziness.”

  “I think it’s amazing you took care of her as long as you did,” I said. “Truly. You’re a good daughter. And mom.”

  “Thank you,” she said, softly, and we both stood up. “Let me walk you out.”

  I let her lead the way to the front door, and outside to her porch. As I said goodbye and walked to my car, I thought about how I didn’t know what would be waiting for me when I got home, but at that point, I was too exhausted to care. Sleep was what I needed. What might happen after that, there was no way to know.

  I held my breath as I rounded the corner of our street, fully expecting to find the driveway empty. It was almost four o’clock, and I hadn’t heard from Jake since that morning, when we stood in front of Peter and Kari’s house. Normally, he’d only hang out with Kevin for a few hours, but what if he went into his “cave” and decided to never come out?

  But his black SUV was there, glinting in the late afternoon sun. A flood of relief washed over me, immediately followed by a pulsing anxiety. He was home, but what did that mean? Was he packing a bag? Was he simply going to leave again?

  I pulled into the garage and rushed inside. Throwing my gaze around the kitchen, I saw him lying on the couch in the family room, on his side, asleep. His breathing was regular and deep, and I thought better of waking him up. I needed to rest, too. At least he wasn’t in a hurry to leave again. At least he’d come home.

  I stared at him a moment, taking all of him in, feeling as though my heart might burst. I loved the slightly crooked bent o
f his nose; the length of his dark lashes and the now-more-salt-than-pepper of his hair. I loved the way his upper lip was slightly thinner than the bottom one, and the fan of lines at the corners of his eyes, etched there by so many years of smiling. His chest rose and fell as he slept, and I longed to put my head upon it, to feel the steady and reassuring beat of his heart—the comforting lullaby that so often soothed me to sleep.

  Instead, I left him to sleep in peace, and I tiptoed upstairs to our bedroom, where with a few stumbling movements, I tore off my clothes and climbed beneath the covers. The shades were still drawn from the night before, so the room was dark, save for the straight, sharp slashes of light peeking around the window frames. But it likely wouldn’t have mattered if the sun had been shining directly into my face—at that point, nothing would have kept me awake. My head hit the pillow and the next thing I knew, I woke to find Jake sitting on the bed next to me, watching me.

  “Hey,” I said, groggily. I rubbed my eyes, which were still heavy with sleep. “What time is it?”

  “Almost midnight,” he said. “When did you get back?”

  “Around four, I think.” I sat up and leaned against the backboard. The room was dark, but I could still make out my husband’s face. “You were passed out on the couch. I didn’t want to wake you.”

  “Thanks for leaving a note,” he said. “How’s Lizzy?”

  “She had a rough night,” I said, quickly explaining the details I’d learned once I got there, about the pictures the boys took being sent out to all of their friends.

  “It was good that she had you to talk to, then,” Jake said. “And nice of you to take them dinner.”

  “It was good to keep busy,” I said. “I needed a distraction.” I paused. “I prepped crab cakes, too.”

  “I saw.” He stared at me, searching my face.

  “How’s Kevin?” I asked. Making small talk seemed silly, considering the weight of what we’d been through since yesterday, but I didn’t want to push him to talk about what had happened. Or maybe I was simply too afraid what he might say if I did.

  “A little obnoxious, actually. He really didn’t understand how I could be into what we did. I couldn’t take it for very long, so I went for a drive, instead.”

  It was unsettling, thinking about my husband’s friend passing judgment on our sex life, but not as troubling as the knowledge that I’d betrayed Jake’s trust. “Where’d you go?”

  “Franklin Falls.”

  My eyes flooded with tears. Franklin Falls was where he’d asked me to marry him—a beautiful gem of a hidden spot off of I-90, about a mile hike in from the main road. He’d taken me there early on a Sunday morning almost twelve years ago, and I’d grumbled on the way there, calling him a bastard for making me get out of bed before nine on a weekend when the kids were with their dad. But then, when we got to the waterfall, which was hidden amongst towering gatherings of evergreens and giant, verdant ferns, he got down on one knee and held up the ring he’d picked out—a simple, round stone in a silver band. “I can’t imagine my life without you,” he said, “or the kids. Please, marry me, Jessica. There’s no one else for me in the world.”

  Remembering that moment made the tears slip down my cheek. “That was an amazing day.”

  “Yeah,” he said. “I needed to remember how I felt.”

  I looked at him, my stomach churning. “And how was that?”

  He held my gaze, looking as serious as I could ever remember him being. “More in love with you and happier than any man had a right to be.”

  My bottom lips trembled, then, and more tears fell.

  “The way I grew up,” Jake said, “with my mom and her flavor-of-the-week boyfriends, I never really understood what it was to love someone. I thought I’d been in love a few times before we met, but then you came along and it was so different. Everything with us just clicked. We finished each other’s sentences, remember? We laughed at all the same things. We saw the world the same way. I looked into your gorgeous eyes and I felt like I had finally found a home.”

  “Oh, baby,” I said, through my tears, hoping that he wasn’t saying all of this as a preamble to saying that I’d broken something between us that was beyond repair. “I felt the same way. I still do.”

  “I’m mad that you didn’t tell me the truth about Andrew from the start,” he said, ignoring me. “I’m hurt and don’t really understand why you did it. It’s not like you, at all.”

  “I made a mistake,” I whispered. “A terrible, fucked-up mistake. I wish I could take it back.”

  “I believe you,” he said. “I’m still upset, but I think you got caught up in something and you made some stupid decisions. But it’s going to take me some time to get over it.”

  “I know.” I wanted so much to reach over and take his hand, but I was too afraid he’d pull away. “I’m willing to do anything to fix this. We can go to counseling, if you want. Or I’ll go alone. Whatever it takes, however long it takes. I can’t lose you.”

  He was quiet, and I held my breath, everything hinging on what he came out of his mouth, next.

  “I can’t lose you, either,” he finally said, and then he reached over, lacing his fingers through mine.

  In that moment, as we sat together in the dark, connecting in the smallest of ways, I knew, despite the damage I’d done, that Jake and I were going to get past this. We had been lucky for a long time to not have any major conflicts in our marriage, but because of that—because we had spent almost twelve good years together building a strong foundation of love and trust and consistency—this one issue, however terrible it might be, was not enough to crash us to the ground. We had been shaken, and I would need to get to the root of why I made the choices I did, but in the end, I would survive it, with the man I had chosen, above all others, by my side.

  Epilogue

  The last thing you need to know about me is that I love my husband.

  When I look at him, now, what I feel is deeper and more meaningful than anything I can put into words. And it did take time, as we both knew it would, for me to earn back his trust.

  We didn’t sleep in the same room for more than three months. He needed the space, and I needed to give it to him. It was heart-wrenching, every single time, saying goodnight to him at the bottom of the stairs.

  “Let me take the guestroom,” I told him, more than once. “You take our bed.” It seemed a pittance of an offering, but I was willing to do anything, make any sacrifice, no matter how small, if it meant that things would begin to improve between us.

  But he insisted on remaining downstairs, some mornings leaving for the office before I woke up. Most days, we didn’t talk until we both got home for work, save for the occasional logistical text about what was going on with the kids or who was going to pick up groceries. I cried most evenings, in what felt like the solitary confinement of our room, my chest aching with remorse, with fear that Jake might change his mind and decide that he couldn’t forgive me, after all.

  We didn’t kiss, let alone have sex, until an evening in early October, a little over two months after Andrew posted on Neighbors. I’d just climbed in bed, and saw Jake’s shadow appear in the doorway, backlit from the hallway overhead light.

  “Are you okay?” I ventured, sitting up and snapping on the bedside lamp. My heartbeat thudded like a steel drum.

  But instead of answering, Jake strode toward me and reached for the base of the lamp, turning the room dark again. He put his hands on both sides of my head, clutching it in his grip, and then leaned down to kiss me, fervently.

  “Jake,” I said against his lips, but he responded only by deepening his kiss, and then lay on top of me. I could feel him on my thigh, so I spread my legs, instantly ready for him. The weight of him, the scent of his skin was so familiar and comforting, I almost began to cry. He yanked down the thin shorts I wore, as I jerked his pants down, too. He grabbed my wrists and pinned them on either side of my head, and then without warning, without the normal outpour
ing of foreplay we’d always preferred, he shoved inside me. I gasped from the pleasure of it, and the memories of every moment our bodies had shared together came flooding back.

  He bit the spot where my neck met my shoulder, almost hard enough to hurt, and then shifted his body so his chest was lifted off mine, staring me directly in the eye. His hands remained tightly squeezing my wrists; I couldn’t move my arms, and I didn’t want to.

  “You’re mine,” he said, as he thrusted with more intent than I could ever remember before. It felt like he was on a mission, and taking my body back was his goal.

  “Yours,” I said, lifting my hips to meet him, feeling my orgasm build from a place deep inside me that only Jake had ever been able to reach—the place from where my love for him had blossomed and grown into something bigger than me, bigger than the both of us. I gave myself over to him; I let him take control. I liked that it didn’t feel as though I had a choice.

  We continued to move, not saying another word, our gazes riveted together. I tensed, and began to go over the edge just moments before Jake shuddered and moaned, pounding himself inside of me as though he were trying to leave a brand.

  He rolled off of me almost immediately, releasing my wrists, and onto his back. Not an inch of his skin touched mine. I was reminded of how I’d done the same with the other men I’d been with; my intimacy with them ceased the moment the two of us had come, and I would walk out the door not long after that. Except with Andrew, of course; one of the many mistakes I made with him. But in that moment, in bed with my husband, I yearned for nothing more than to curl up against his side—to bask in his body’s warmth and the security of his arm encircling me and his protective hand resting on the small of my back. I wanted that, but I was too afraid if I reached for him, he might push me away.

  “I love you,” I said, instead, with as much feeling as I could muster. I couldn’t deny the pleasure I’d felt with the way he’d taken me, but I didn’t know what it meant. I didn’t know what had led him to come to me that particular night, and I was too terrified to ask. All I knew was that I didn’t want him to leave.