“Amen, and so shall it be,” I intone, getting into the spirit of things.
We find the movie we’d agreed on, get it going, and share the gallon of ice cream while slurping wine; we have an ongoing contest to see who could slurp the loudest before the other one gets pissed off. So far she always wins, thanks to misophonia.
Tess is my best friend, and really, my only friend. Adrian and I have lived in Atlanta for six years, but my work schedule sort of precludes a social life. Tess and I went to college together, and she and her husband Clint moved down here from Pennsylvania shortly after Adrian and I moved here from North Carolina. The moment her moving truck arrived, we picked up our friendship where it had left off. During college, she and I and the girls in the rooms around ours instituted what we called the Period Party, where we’d get together once a month, usually around the same time because these things tend to synch, and eat garbage and get drunk and watch movies and commiserate about nature and men and life. When Tess moved near me, we started it up again, just the two of us.
We finish the ice cream and the wine—well, the first bottle—and have to take a pause break to take care of bathroom issues related to the reason for getting together. Tess brings another bottle, but this time it’s not wine, it’s tequila.
I frown at the bottle of Patrón. “Um. Are we escalating this party to upper management?”
She nods. “I got an email while I was in the bathroom.”
“At ten fifty-five at night?”
“From Clint.”
“He’s in Chicago, right?”
“Supposedly.” Her eyes are red-rimmed.
“Oh. Oh no.”
“He’s filing.”
“What? For divorce? Why?”
She sits down, pours tequila into her wineglass, shoots it, hissing. “I guess these business trips he’s been going on for the last few years haven’t been all entirely business. He’s been seeing someone, and by seeing I mean fucking. From his department, I guess.”
“Tess. God, no.” I wipe my face, as if to wipe away disbelief. “And he’s filing?”
She nods, shoots another. “Yup. He’s giving me the house, my car, and fifty percent of our financial assets, either cashed out or transferred to me through some banker mumbo jumbo I don’t give a shit about. All he’s asking is avoiding court, squabbling over bullshit. And I’m fine with that.”
“No, you’re not.”
She laughs bitterly. “No, I’m not. But I don’t have the heart to fight. He’s been miserable for years. I thought it was me. I’ve tried everything, Nads. I pulled back my hours so I could be home more, but he increased his, started these trips. I moved my yoga area in the basement up here so he could have a man-cave…he never uses it and isn’t home to use it anyway. I…I spent a thousand dollars on lingerie, went on this whole spice-up-the-bedroom campaign. Started blowing him the moment he walked in the door, cooking in lingerie. Surprising him in the shower, everything I could think of. He’d let me do shit for him, but then blew me off as soon he got off. Nothing was enough.”
“Tess, come on. You know this is on him.”
“Damn right it’s on him. But it makes you wonder—what’s wrong with me, you know?”
“Can I just say fuck him for telling you via email?” My voice goes shrill with rage. “Fucking email? What a pussy.”
She glares at me. “No, don’t you dare denigrate the sacred pussy that way. Pussies are strong. Powerful. Mysterious, sexy. We have babies with our pussies. He’s a limp cock—funny-looking and dangly and useless.”
I nod. “Truth, babe, truth.”
“He’s a limp dick,” she repeats. “Good riddance.” Another shot. “I’m not sad. I’m angry. But I also think I knew. His business trips suddenly went from a couple days to a week max to a week, two weeks, and from one every couple months to at least one a month. I think half that time has been actual business, and the rest is vacation and dicking his assistant or whoever this bitch is.”
“I’m sorry, Tess. You deserve better.”
She huffs, squaring her shoulders. “I’m not going to wallow. I’m signing his stupid papers, taking my maiden name back, and going on the warpath.”
“Warpath?”
“Against men.”
“Meaning?”
“Meaning I started dating Clint in high school. I went to college to be near him. Chose a job that would enable his career. Worked from home to take care of Yvette.” Their daughter, now eighteen and going to college—Tess is a few years older than me, and they had Yvette young. She pours a shot but this one she hands to me. “I know, I know, you have to work tomorrow. Just do a couple shots with me, Nads. Please.”
“Fine.” I take the shot, coughing and hissing. “But only for you, because I love you and this sucks. God I hate tequila.”
“It’s the glorious juice of forgetting.”
“It’s the glorious juice of getting arrested for reckless behavior, public intoxication, and public urination.”
She flips me off. “That was one time, bitch, one time.”
“What’s the warpath, though? Because I’m not following.”
“I’m gonna sow my wild oats, Nads. Yvette comes home for major holidays at most, and now I’m single again, so I’m gonna go out and get all cougar on Hotlanta.”
“No one here calls it that.”
“I know. I was being funny.”
“Well. Use a condom and take Ubers. Last thing you need is a DUI and an unexpected pregnancy.”
She waves a hand. “Psshh. I’m perimenopausal already, so that’s not an issue. Uber is magical, though.”
“You’re only just barely over forty.” I frown. “And I don’t think being perimenopausal means you’re no longer fertile. You have to be through it all the way.”
“I’m forty-two, and my mom was menopausal by forty-five. And I’ll be careful.” She points at me with her spoon. “You’re next, so pay attention.”
“Am not. I’m thirty-nine, so I’m a baby compared to you. I’ve got years to go, still.” I hate my next words even as they emerge. “Fat lot of good they’ll do me.”
She pours me another shot—it tastes funny, with the residue of the wine mixed in. “Nothing, still?”
I shake my head. “Nope. I’m fertile Myrtle, according to tests, but he’s not.”
“Shooting blanks?”
I nod. “Seems that way.”
“What about—”
“Tried it, twice. Didn’t take. Haven’t had the courage to try again.” I twist my wedding band. “Plus, he’s…I don’t know.”
She slowly sets the bottle down. “He’s what?”
“Lying about something. Or, hiding something, rather.”
“How do you know?”
“He told me.”
She laughs in disbelief. “He told you he’s hiding something?”
“Yeah.”
“But not what?”
I shake my head, tears stinging my eyes, words now clogged in my throat.
“He’s not cheating is he?” She sounds like she finds that as hard to believe as I do.
“No.” It’s barely a word, more of a hissed sound.
She huffs. “Yeah, I can’t believe that of Adrian. No man has ever loved a woman the way Adrian loves you.” A shake of her head. “So that being true, what could he be hiding?”
I shake my head and shrug, fighting sobs. “I…” One escapes, a low ragged one. “I’m scared, Tess. Really, really scared.”
“Like, you think he’s sick or something? And trying to hide it to protect you or some macho bullshit like that?”
I nod. “He’s losing weight. I think he’s secretly throwing up. I think his research trips aren’t all…just research.”
“Why hide it? I don’t understand.”
I wipe my face with both hands, rub vigorously. “Because he knows me. He knows I would full Amazon on his ass. Take care of him, baby him. I’d quit my job to nurse him. I’d sell my fucking soul fo
r him, and he knows it.” I now take a shot for me. “My dad died young, you know that. When I was six. He died slow, and I…it’s why I went into nursing. To take care of people, the way I did Dad.”
“Nadia, Jesus. You were six.”
“Some things you don’t forget,” I say. “So Adrian…he thinks he’s protecting me from him, from myself.”
“It’s bullshit. You deserve to know.”
“One time, when we were first married, he lied about being sick. Toughed it out, pretended he was fine. And then his appendix burst and he almost died. I was so mad at him, Tess, you don’t even know. He wasn’t sorry at all. Not a word of apology. Told me he did it for me and he’d do it again. And he has, our whole marriage. He refuses to let me nurse him. Says I do it enough for work, so he’s going to be my husband, not my patient.”
“Wow.”
“Won’t even cop to having a damn cold.” I speak like I have a stuffed-up nose: “He’d dalk lide dis, and have the balls to be like, naw, I’m fine. Just a stuffy nose. Flu? Waits till he can’t stand up before admitting he’s sick, and then he locks himself in his office with a water bottle and an iPad and doesn’t come out till he’s on his feet again.”
“I knew he was stubborn, but damn.”
“So I guess I should expect this from him, but…” I shake my head again. “I have no proof that’s what it is. I just know he’s not okay.”
“What are you going to do?”
“I don’t know. I can’t make him tell me. I mean, I can put down an ultimatum or something but…I don’t want to do that.”
“So you’re just gonna wait him out?”
“He’s not lying out of malice, or…or to like, hide something he shouldn’t be doing. It’s not a white lie, because that’s bullshit anyway, but it’s…I don’t know. He has good reasons, in his mind. I don’t know, Tess. I just don’t.”
We both cry, then.
“What a pair we are today, huh?” Tess says.
“Yeah,” I whisper. “No kidding.”
“Call in tomorrow,” she suggests. “Get hammered with me.”
I shake my head. “I think I have to start saving up my liver function. Just a hunch. Plus, we’re already short-staffed tomorrow, that’s why I’m working a double—I’m covering for Rachel.”
“Fine. Lame-ass.”
“Not lame—responsible.”
“Lame.”
“Shut up.”
A companionable, sorrowful, angry silence.
“I’m gonna sell the house. Get a condo downtown.” She flaps a hand. “It’s too much house for one little old lady.”
“Little old lady my ass.”
“It’s too much house.”
“I know.”
“Nads?”
“Tess-icles?”
“You know I’ll be here for you. No matter what.”
“I know. Same.”
“Am I allowed to be angry at him for you?”
“No.”
“You’re too nice.”
“He’s my husband.”
A sigh. “Yes, he is.”
“Condoms, Tess. They’re not just for pregnancy. You also don’t want syphilis.”
“Shush. I know. I’m forty-two, hon, I know how safe sex works.”
“You do not. You’ve never slept with anyone but Clint.”
“Have too.”
I sit up and look at her. “You have? Who?”
“We were on a break.” She snickers at the Friends reference. “It was freshman year of college. I fucked a guy on my debate team.”
“Oh. Oh god. And how was that?”
She snorts. “There’s a reason I went back to Clint. He’s a douchebag, and I’m realizing he always has been. But god, the man can screw like nobody’s business.”
“Well, like more than just your business, it seems.”
“Too soon, Nads. Too soon.”
“No it isn’t.”
She snickers. “No, it’s not.”
I sigh. “I’m gonna go.”
“You should wait a bit longer. It’s only a few blocks, but still.”
“I’ll walk.”
“It’s nearly midnight.”
“We could borrow Rufus. Toby is always awake till at least two.”
Toby: Her gay next-door neighbor owns Rufus, a Rottweiler the size of a 747. The dog is sweet as sugar to Tess and me, but to anyone else? Don’t get too close, is all I’m saying.
“Good plan.”
Toby answers the door wearing a pink kimono, sipping something vividly orange from a martini glass. “Ladies? Here to party, are we?” His voice is deep, smooth, and masculine—not a hint of a lisp or affectation. You wouldn’t know his orientation from talking to him, or seeing him in his business suit at nine in the morning.
“We already did our partying,” Tess says.
He glances up and to the side, thinking. “Oh. That party.”
“Right.”
“And you’re out of booze? I’m making these martinis. I could whip up another batch.”
“Actually, we just need to borrow Rufus so we can walk Nadia home.”
“Ah. By all means. Rufus!” He calls the dog like you’d call for a person in another room. There’s a scrabbling of paws on hardwood, and a short-furred brown bear appears next to Toby. “You want to go for a walk?”
Rufus barks, and I feel the bass of it in my gut.
“Say his name, pat your thigh, and tell him to heel,” Toby tells Tess. “He’ll stick right by you.”
I eye the dog nervously. I’ve only been with him around Toby. “Um. Do we need a leash?”
“Nah. A cat could run in front of you—unless you tell him to go, he’ll stay on your heel. I paid a shitload of money in dog training, but it’s worth it.”
“And if someone makes trouble?” I ask.
He laughs, a morbid chuckle. “You call me, and we get rid of the body.”
“Oh.” I giggle, inappropriately. “Wait. Can you really do that?”
“I’m a deputy DA, sweetheart. Yeah, I can do that.”
I pat Rufus on the head. “Good boy, Rufus. Nice pup.”
Rufus barks again, and it startles me even though I’m expecting it. He’s got a big doggy grin, happily waiting for the walk.
We go slow, talking about less heavy things; as promised, Rufus walks next to Tess’s heel as if tethered there by an invisible leash, exactly one step behind and to the right of her—he’s tall enough she can rest her hand on his shoulder as they walk, and I notice his eyes are constantly roving, his nose sniffing, alert, watchful.
Tess walks me home, takes me to my door. She hugs me. “When it’s time to go to court to end this whole shitshow, you’re gonna go with me, right?”
“Wouldn’t miss it for all the Josh in California.”
She holds my arms. “Nads…”
“I’ll let you know when I know anything. But for now, if you were to suddenly develop an urge to pray, I wouldn’t mind a few prayers.”
She snorts. “Maybe we should go to church together this Sunday.”
“‘Dear God, I’ll go to church at least once if you promise to perform a miracle for me.’” I roll my eyes at her. “Not sure that’s how it works.”
“Worth a shot?”
I nod, suddenly exhausted. “Yeah, maybe it is.”
Another hug. “I love you, Nads.”
“Love you too, Tess-icles.”
When I go inside, Adrian is still in his office. Click-click-click, goes the keyboard. There’s a cough, a wet one, and I’m not sure if it’s him throwing up or coughing up blood, but it sounds awful. A groan.
“Adrian?” I call, through the door. “I’m home.”
“Hiya, babe.” He cracks open the door, leans in to kiss me. “Have a good time?”
I shrug. “Not really that kind of a party, but it was good to see Tess.”
He’s so pale, so thin. His cheekbones stand out more now. Our conversation over that bowl of stew
was a month ago, and there’s no denying something is physically wrong.
His eyes are haunted. He’s working all the time. Sometimes I come home from work and he’s gone. Or I wake up and he’s left before me. I don’t ask where he’s going, but I know I’m going to find out soon.
I can feel it.
And I don’t want to know.
I have to know, but I don’t want to.
Panic burns hot, deep down.
He pulls me inside his office, wraps me up in an embrace. He’s as strong as ever, it seems. He grips me fiercely. “I love you,” he whispers.
“Tell me.”
“Soon.” A sigh. “Soon.”
“When?”
He touches his forehead to mine. Kisses my hair, my temple. Then reaches back and picks up something off his desk. “We’re going on vacation.” A seeming non sequitur.
He hands me two first-class tickets to Paris.
“Paris?” I want to be excited, but fear is what I feel.
He nods. “Paris, for a month.”
“A month?”
He winks at me. “Pack light. You won’t need much clothing.”
I roll my eyes. “We’re not going to fly all the way to France to spend the entire time fucking in the hotel room.”
He kisses my temple. “No, we’re not. Not the entire time, at least.”
“A month. I’ve saved up a bunch of sick days, but…”
“I’ve already worked it out with your boss. It’s covered. You have three weeks off, paid, the fourth used as sick days.”
“Sneaky, sneaky,” I laugh, and lean against him. “Just come to bed, Adrian. Please?”
He glances over his shoulder at his laptop, open, the blue-white light illuminating the otherwise dark room. “Okay. Bed, then.”
I smirk up at him. “I’ll make it worth your while.”
He palms my butt. “You always do, my love.”
“Ah, the old ass grab. The most romantic move in any man’s repertoire.”
We tease each other all the way upstairs, and my heart is in it, my body is in it, and even most of my mind. But there’s a part of me that notices how he always manages to pull my attention away from the issue without answering any questions, manages to deflect away from his refusal to talk to me about what’s going on with him.
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