by Aidèe Jaimes
“He risked losing me.”
She purses her lips but nods and accepts what I say. “Yeah, I know. Whatever you decide, whatever happens from here on, I am your friend and I love you. I will be here.”
I wait for Owen sitting on the living room couch facing the front door. The moment he walks in he knows something is up.
He gives me a long look, closes the door behind him and comes to sit in the chair opposite me. The living room isn’t that big, but right now it feels like we are miles apart. When our eyes meet, there is a myriad of emotions going through me, and I can see them in him as well, yet again we can’t connect.
“Where’s Mia?” he asks.
“At Jess’.”
He leans forward, his hands are clasped, his forearms on his knees. He seems calm, collected, and serious.
“I thought we were past this.” He gets to the point, already having figured out the gist of the problem.
“What gave you that idea?”
“I don’t know. The fact that you’ve seemed happy. We haven’t talked about this in months, it didn’t seem to be an issue. And I’ve done nothing but my best to regain your trust. Was I wrong?”
“Not entirely. I have been happy,” I say honestly. “These have been some of the happiest months of my life with you.”
“What is it then? Tell me, Cris, what else I can do. Because I’m out of ideas.”
“Owen, there is nothing more you can do. You have been perfect these past few months. But the only reason you’ve had the opportunity to be perfect, is because you essentially bought yourself that chance.”
He sits up suddenly. “What are you talking about?”
I set the handwritten ticket on the coffee table. He reaches for it automatically, but freezes the moment his eyes confirm what it is. His face turns to ice, though he spits fire at me when he speaks.
“What the fuck is that?”
“You know what it is.”
“Have you been holding on to that this whole time? What, are you trying to cash it in or something?”
“Yes.”
“The fuck!” he yells and stands up, all cool and calm gone. “Who does that? You said you forgave me!”
I stand now, angry too. Though I’m pretty small, I know I can be terrifying. He takes a step back when I get closer. “The fuck you say? Who does that, you ask? Who does what? Cheats on the person they are supposed to love? Tries to hide it? You are lucky, I am telling you, giving you a choice. And hear my words, Owen, and hear them well, because I will not repeat myself. I Never Forgave You.
“I told you that I would let it go, IF I could do the same as you did. And IF you did not agree, we would go our separate ways. You agreed. I think the problem is that in your mind, you assumed I would forget. ‘Oh she’ll let it go just like she lets everything go,’ I am sure you thought. That there would be no real consequence.
“Sorry to burst your bubble. We are all going to pay for your sin.” There is conviction in my words, venom, and intolerance.
“Please don’t do this.” His voice is soft now. Pleading. It touches me deep inside because I know I am hurting him. But I am still hurting too. I am not lying, the only way for me to get beyond what he did is if I do this. “Let’s see a marriage counselor,” he implores.
“I’m sorry.” He has suggested that before. I don’t want that. What if they tell us to just end it then and there? That I am the problem? It’s not what I want. “I have already booked the flight.”
“What?”
“It leaves Friday. I will be back on Sunday. I can take Mia to my dad’s if you feel like you can’t handle it.”
He shakes his head in disbelief. “I… what? You’ve already booked it?”
“Yes.”
“How did you pay for it?”
“I used the money from DTM.” After realizing I had nothing, I searched for work from home and applied as a search engine tester. It doesn’t pay me much, about ten dollars an hour, and working only a few hours a night doesn’t add up quick, but it’s a start. And it’s my money.
“Where are you going?”
“New Orleans.”
He winces. It was my favorite city to visit before we had Mia. We enjoyed several trips there together. It hadn’t crossed my mind that he might have considered it our city. But it is done now.
“Who is it?” he asks.
“Does it matter?”
“Yes! Have I met him? Will he be able to look me in the eye after he’s fucked my wife!” His voice drips with anger and jealousy.
“Owen, I will not go into the detail of it.”
“Will you be safe? Is he decent? What if he’s a murderer? How do you know he doesn’t have an STD?”
I feel my blood boil. “Do you think me stupid? Did you know these things about Cassandra before you fucked her? Because if you did, then we have bigger problems.” It takes a lot of self-control not to remind him that after his affair we both had to be tested. The humiliation of it still stings, explaining to my doctor that I needed a test for sexually transmitted diseases when she knew I was married.
“No, no, God! Cris!”
I take a deep breath and try to see things from his point of view. “I know, and you’re right. I am being safe. I don’t want to discuss him with you further than this.”
Owen’s shoulders slump. He wipes his face with the palm of his hand. “You’re really doing this?”
“Yes.” I stand very still. Will he accept? What will I do if he doesn’t?
He nods in agreement, almost defeat. “Then will it be over?”
“Yes.” I am certain of it.
“Then do it.” He takes the ticket from me and walks to the front door, but stops before he opens it. Without looking back at me he says, “We will be even, do you understand? If you do this, all of this is done and you will never bring up my affair ever again.”
“Where are you going?” I ask.
He slams the door behind him without answering.
I haven’t seen Owen in three days. He will not respond to any of my texts or calls or even my emails. I’m not trying to apologize for anything, and I certainly haven’t changed my mind. All I need is confirmation from him that he understands what’s happening, of where Mia will be and when I will be back.
Though I have no idea where he’s going all day, he’s definitely been home. He leaves before I wake, and comes home sometime after I go to bed. But I find his dirty clothes, those he’s been leaving for me to take care of. That along with the dirty dishes I find in the sink in the morning. Though he won’t eat anything I make. I think it’s more of a protest to my actions than him thinking I’m poisoning him or anything like that.
I get it, really I do. Unfortunately, I do. But it breaks my heart when Mia looks for him. Last night she stood at the living room window for about an hour, searching. When I asked what she was doing, she said, “Waitin’ for Daddy.”
As if that wasn’t bad enough, she squealed with joy when she saw a black truck coming down the street. It wasn’t him. Actually, I think it may have been Bo.
“Mommy, where is Daddy?” she asked.
“Working, baby,” I said pulling her away. “Working so hard so that we can have nice things. A house, food, toys. But he misses you terribly. He comes in and gives you a kiss on your forehead every night!”
“He does?”
“He sure does!”
She smiled at that and hugged me. It tore me up.
The truth is I have no idea if he goes into her room at night. It’s a terrible thing. I sent him a message telling him she misses him. No reply.
I realized if he’s this affected, I definitely need to leave Mia with my dad. Jess offered but I don’t want to involve her more than she already has been. It’s not fair to her.
So, this morning I took her to my dad’s. I decided it was time to tell him what has been going on. It was hard. I didn’t know how he would handle this. When my mom cheated on him, it broke him. He was devast
ated to the point where he lost everything. His job. His home. And even my brother left with her for a while. It took him almost an entire year to rebuild his life. But he did.
My dad took me completely by surprise; not only did he say nothing negative about Owen, but he said he felt sad for him and understood that he is also in pain.
He wasn’t so easy on me though, when I told him about my plans to take a trip. Of course, I said nothing about the ticket, just that Owen couldn’t watch Mia and I was going with a friend.
“Where are you going? Who are you going with? Is it another man? Cris, you know that revenge is only going to make it worse,” he said on the phone last night.
“Daddy, please don’t ask so many questions, you make me feel like a terrible person.” Like a whore, I didn’t add.
“It’s just that I don’t want you to ruin your marriage. If things have been good, if you’re happy…”
“Daddy, please. If you can help me out with Mia, then do it. If not, I can find someone else.”
“What, and miss out on a few days with my baby. Of course, I’ll take her. Just please be careful, Cris. You’re my baby too.”
Mia is excited to see Abuelito. He’s always been great with kids, and I feel very comfortable leaving her. But I miss her the second their waving figures disappear from my rearview mirror. I burst out in huge sobs, and do a U-turn. They’re gone by the time I get back to his house, and I just keep driving. I hate being without her. I guess that’s one of the tough things about being a mother. You need a break, then hate being without them when they’re gone for more than two minutes.
I leave tomorrow at five in the morning. All day I spend getting the house ready for my absence. Even though Owen isn’t talking to me right now, I don’t want to leave him with a dirty house. I clean, do laundry, buy groceries. I make spaghetti and meatballs, and chicken fajitas, and put all the fixings in containers, ready for him to serve. I pay the bills and water the plants.
In the evening, when the house is quiet, and it all begins to set in, I miss him. I want to call everything off, but at this point, it wouldn’t matter. It’s as though I’ve already done it anyway.
So I write him a note instead and set it on his night stand.
Owen,
I know it’s impossible to see now, because it hurts. But maybe that is why I need to do this, so that you can truly see. I need that.
I miss you. Please don’t hate me. I am coming back, I promise. When I do, this will all be over. For both of us, and if you take me back, then we can finally move on.
Cristiana
I go to bed, though it’s impossible to sleep. The wheels of my mind rotate continuously, thoughts of Owen, Bo, Mia. Over and over. What am I doing? It’s a mistake, I am sure. But I don’t want to stop. The resentment and guilt over Owen. The desire for Bo. The need to feel in control over my life.
At about eleven I hear the front door, though I don’t ever hear Owen’s steps or any other sound.
I get out of bed and search for him, needing to see him one more time before my trip. Maybe, just maybe it would change my mind.
There’s a muffled sound that comes from the walk-in closet in the office that alerts me to his whereabouts. I open the door to find him sitting in the dark, his back against a stack of boxes full of old documents.
“You okay?” I ask, though even I know it’s a stupid question.
He gives me a meaningful look as he takes a long drink from his beer, licking his lips and belching loudly. I wave the smell of too much hop and barley away.
Then he says, “What does it say about me as a man, that I would let my wife leave with someone else? Am I weak?”
I shake my head and sit beside him, taking his beer from his hand. It’s rare that I drink the stuff, but there are times when it just feels good to take a nice deep swig. Usually they are rough times.
“I don’t know. That’s something only you can say,” I tell him.
“Psh, it means I’m pussy whipped. Pathetic. So scared to lose you I’m willing to sit back and let you do whatever the fuck you want and wait for you hoping you come back, you bitch.”
I don’t respond because I know it’s said in anger, but the word stings.
“You’re mine, Cris. Say it.”
I sigh. “No. Not now.”
He lets his head fall back to the wall and takes his beer back, downing the remainder before he says, “What if I don’t want to take you back after you’ve spread your legs for someone else? Have you thought about that?”
Yes, the thought had crossed my mind, that what I’m doing could be a whole lot more damaging to my marriage than what Owen did.
“Then let me go now,” I say gently. “Let’s end it now and save ourselves more pain.”
He laughs and it’s so full of sarcasm it makes me cringe.
“Isn’t that what love is, Cris? Pain?” He shakes his head. “Nope, I’m not letting you go. Do what you have to do. Hurt me as much as I did you. Then we can be fucked up together.”
“I’m not trying to cause you pain, Owen. I’m trying to ease mine.”
“Yeah, you are. You are.” He pats me on the knee before he gets up and as he walks away he mumbles, “Just don’t forget who you’re coming home to.”
12
35E, middle seat. It’s a sure bet it will be right between two big men whose bodies will somehow spill onto my seat and armrest. Happens every time. With my bag and my body set at sort of a sideways angle to avoid hitting elbows and heads, I make my way down the aisle to the rear of the plane. I take in the face of everyone I pass as I go, looking for the one I came to see.
To my disappointment I don’t see Bo. He hasn’t boarded yet. A moment of terror seizes me in which I think he’s stood me up. My legs freeze up and it’s a struggle to make them move again. Maybe I’ll be making this trip on my own.
Well, I wasn’t wrong about at least one of the passengers. There is a pretty big fellow sitting there already and he has to get up to let me through. Not only does he have to remove his laptop from my seat, his knee and arm come over too, when we sit again. Literally, my ass goes right over his hand on the way down. I can only hope the other passenger isn’t so invasive.
We sit there for a good ten minutes watching everyone moving about the cabin, taking their seats, putting bags that are much too big in the overhead compartments, and chattering. None of them are Bo. My stomach is in my throat. Has he boarded and I’m just too damned short to see so far up the plane? Ugh! The suspense is killing me!
“You’s okay, lady? You’s ain’t gonna puke on me, are ya?” The man beside me asks as he burps and blows it my way. The smell of tacos and sour beer fills my small space and I waive it away irritated.
“Dude, really!” I complain, and shove my knee against his in an effort to regain some ground. Now, I’m normally not so defensive, but my nerves are totally on edge.
A middle-aged man with a pair of wings on his blue shirt and a no-nonsense sort of smile forces his way up the aisle and stops next to us.
“Ms. Roberts?” asks the flight attendant.
“Yes, that’s me.”
“Today’s your lucky day,” he says looking at the man beside me. “You’ve been upgraded to our first-class cabin.”
“But how?” I ask, already up and squeezing my way through before the attendant has a chance to explain.
“Coming through!” he exclaims and easily moves up the plane with me in tow. I follow him, past envious passengers, the bathrooms and galley, and through a panel of blue and gray striped curtains into first class.
“Here you go, this young man here has covered your ticket. Enjoy your flight.”
Bo. He is sitting in the oversized seat looking up at me with that devilish smile that I see in my mind all day. My heart skips a beat and I can feel my cheeks and neck burn. He came.
“Thought you might find this a bit more comfortable.”
“I thought you stood me up,” I admit and take my seat.<
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“No, I saw you sitting down there and thought there was no way in hell I could leave you there to your fate. So I upgraded you.”
“Thanks, that was thoughtful. I don’t know if I can pay you back though.”
“Nah, don’t worry about that,” he waves the thought away. “We’ll figure something out,” he winks and grins at me. There’s no missing the suggestion in it.
It’s awkward at first, with either one of us barely saying a word.
“You comfortable?” he asks.
“Yes, very, thank you.”
Try as I may I can’t think of anything to break the ice. At least on my part. Thankfully there is no lack of sound with all the chattering and chuckling, luggage rolling and being stored, lap belts being buckled and the obligatory cough and hack. We sit there next to each other in uncomfortable silence. Maybe he’s as nervous as I am.
I look at Bo without turning my head, hoping he doesn’t catch me staring. He’s a big man, very tall. I can see why he travels first class. The seats on a plane are not meant for a man of his stature. Even these larger spaces can’t hold him comfortably, his knees are practically digging into the seat in front of him. His hands are big too. They are resting on his lap. And oh, God does he smell good! I don’t know what it is, I don’t even think it’s cologne. Just clean soap and him.
He is wearing khaki shorts, a blue golf shirt and sandals. Very casual. He doesn’t have on any rings, only a large watch with an orange face on his left wrist. I can’t tell what brand from this angle. It doesn’t matter, I don’t really care about that stuff.
My eyes strain to look higher. I can just make out his handsome face within my peripheral vision. I am so attracted to this man I can literally feel the pull of his body on mine, like a freaking hot Sun to a little planet. This man that is not mine. And it hits me that I am sitting next to a virtual stranger, on my way to New Orleans to have my way with him, and he with me, then come back home to my husband and child as if it didn’t happen.