You're Still the One

by Sasha Clinton

  He bit down on her bottom lip, making her want to do things that would be inappropriate in public on her wedding day. This is how a kiss should be, she thought as the minute mark rolled by.

  Andrew was flushed when he retracted. She saw uncertainty loom in his features.

  “Forget what my father said. His divorces have made him cynical. We won’t go down the path he did. I love you, Ashley. I always will.”

  “I love you too.”

  Then she reached up and lost herself in the depths of his mouth.

  ***

  A year later

  Ashley took a step back, attempting to get away from the physical manifestation of her insanity. The wreckage from her inner battle was spilled out onto the floor of her apartment. Andrew would be back from work any minute now. She needed to clean this up. He couldn’t see this. Couldn’t see how mad she’d become.

  In her backward momentum, Ashley stepped on a shard of glass that sliced her foot. She didn’t even have the energy to wince when a scarlet stream emerged from the linear wound.

  She’d not eaten dinner yet, and she probably wouldn’t be able to now that she had smashed all the plates into smithereens along with the glasses and anything else that had dared to intrude into her line of vision.

  A surge of panic strangled her. She trembled and then started sobbing loudly. How could she spare money to buy more crockery on her minimum wage? How was she going to eat and cook starting tomorrow?

  The death march of the clock’s hand grew louder in the silence.

  Her life was as much of a sorry mess as her living room. She didn’t know who she was or what she was doing anymore. She didn’t even have time to think of such things. She worked two part-time jobs just so that she could run the household and support herself and Andrew. And when she was at home, a large pile of laundry and a sink full of filthy plates and spoons were all that greeted her.

  No hugs. No smiles. No Andrew.

  Dracosys had hit a rough patch three months into their marriage, so Andrew was perpetually at work, only coming home when she had left for her night shift at Walgreens.

  This wasn’t how her life was supposed to turn out. She should have found a respectable white-collar job a year ago and gotten her first promotion. She should have married a man who talked to her face-to-face rather than over the phone all the time. She should have had a sex life that was more than a graveyard. Her life should have been happy—she should have never been diagnosed with depression.

  Depression, something that had been alien to her for the first twenty-three years of her life, was now her constant companion. She was underemployed and her current work experience as a cash clerk would not help her get any better jobs in the future.

  And the man she was doing all this for was absent from her life every single day. What a wonderful life.

  Divorcing Andrew had crossed her mind a thousand times during the last year. But every time, she’d decide to give him another chance… then another… then another until she lost count.

  The click of the doorknob served as the precursor to Andrew’s arrival.

  He gasped at the sight. She expected him to shout, scream, pick a fight, anything after looking at the mess, but he immediately searched for her.

  “Ashley, what’s wrong? Did we get robbed?”

  A cynical cackle broke from her vocal cords. “Who would rob us? We have nothing. We are poor as dirt.”

  “You’re hurt.” His eyes darted to her toes. “That gash on your leg is going to get infected if we don’t do something about it soon. I’ll get the first-aid kit.”

  No questions were asked about what had happened.

  He only cared about her, not the vases, plates and furniture she had destroyed… which was why she loved him so much. And also why she hated him so much. He had trapped her in this horrible life and she couldn’t leave because she was addicted to his love.

  Every time she thought of leaving, she slipped into thoughts of her hopeless future… unemployment, homelessness, emptiness. He was the only thing she had in the world now. The only identity she had. The only thing she could hold onto.

  She tried to ignore the dark shadows under his eyes and his fading syllables—the result of overwork and exhaustion. No more chances. She wasn’t going to sympathize with him anymore.

  “I am sick of this life.” Her voice was lifeless as she said it. “I can’t take it.”

  “What’s the matter? Are you okay? What’s bothering you?” Ever sensible, ever solid, ever stable, he pierced her heart with his patience. “And sit down. We need to clean all that blood.”

  She slumped on the sofa and he soaked up the running blood at her foot with a wet washcloth.

  “I work fourteen hours a day and smell of laundry detergent all the time!” she yelled. The neighbors were going to complain about the noise. Not that she cared. “This is not the life I imagined for myself.”

  “I’m sorry. Things are hard at Dracosys right now, but I promise it will get better.” He pressed cloth harder and Ashley flinched.

  She was sick of the apologies, so sick of them. He wasn’t lying. But he wasn’t telling her what she wanted to hear—that her poverty-stricken life was going to end tomorrow by some stroke of magic.

  “That was what you said last month. And the month before that. Why is it still like this?” Her eyebrow slanted up.

  “It’ll take time for things to improve, as much as I wish it could be done overnight.”

  Realism. Ashley had no appetite for that now. She wanted improvement and she wanted it this very instant.

  “I can’t go on. I hate my job at Walgreens, standing around like a dummy. I didn’t get a college degree so I could do this.”

  “Then get a better job. I didn’t force you to work at Walgreens.”

  “I can’t get a better job! If I could, I wouldn’t be sticking with you, being your full-time maid, doing the dishes and laundry and working two shifts. You only come home when it’s time to toss your clothes into the washing machine or eat.”

  “Speaking of which, what’s for dinner?” It was an untimely attempt at humor, which riled her up.

  “Is my life a joke to you? There is no dinner today. I got fed up of cooking, so I smashed all the dishes. You can cook you own dinner starting tomorrow and also do your own dishes and laundry.”

  “You broke them?” He exhaled exasperatedly. “Oh, for goodness’ sake, give me a break! My clients are trying to kill me at work and you’re trying to kill me at home.”

  “I am surprised you are still alive. You must have a strong constitution.” The pain in her legs kicked up again.

  Andrew buried his head between his palms. “I can’t believe you said that. You aren’t the woman I married. What happened to her?”

  “You turned her into a bitter, career-less, sleepless housekeeper,” she hissed out. “Do you have any idea how depressed I’ve been for the past months? You don’t have a clue, right? You’d have to actually talk to me to know that.”

  “You’re depressed? Why didn’t you say anything before? I call you three times a day.” Her irritation was rubbing off on him, making this argument a who-can-shout-the-loudest contest.

  “At your convenience! I can’t discuss my depression when I’m at work.” A drop of blood from her wound seeped into the beige upholstery of the couch. Great! Now she had to clean this on top of everything else.

  “What do you want me to do? I have to run the company. I told you that this year would be rough. I know you’re pissed, but just hold it in a bit longer. Things will look up soon.”

  He swung back to his equilibrium, and some of the edge came off him. His arm hair generated static when it whisked past her cheek during his attempt to pull her to his chest.

  “How soon?” Having been starved for intimate human contact, her animosity decreased a pinch. She liked being in his arms.

  “In another year or two.”

  “That’s not soon. That’s an eternity.” The claw
s of uncertainty scratched at her throat. “Every day is a battle for me right now. I don’t have the stamina to fight for that long.”

  The push at the back of her head when he wove his fingers through her hair made her neck swell with a lump of tears.

  “I’m depressed, Andrew. Clinically depressed. And this life is making it impossible for me to recover. You’re making it impossible for me to recover.”

  One more year of poverty, of hopelessness, of living a life that wore her out… how could she do it? She’d have nothing left by the end of that time. No beauty, no figure, no intelligence. Nothing.

  “Did you see the doctor about your depression?” Andrew asked.

  “Yes, and I’ve been seeing a therapist for three months now. In our last session, we figured out that the cause of my depression is loneliness and low self-worth, but that is hardly revealing. I’m all alone all the time and I have no steady job, so what else could be the cause?”

  The fine lines around his eyes intensified. He withdrew his fingers, which had been caressing the top of her head, and dug into the first-aid box for bandage and disinfectant. She winced as her cut was disinfected and the sting sent needles of pain into her nerves.

  “Why are you not saying anything?”

  “What can I say? If I tell you I’m going to spend more time with you, that would be a lie. Did the counselor tell you how to work through these… issues?”

  “Yeah, and I split my sides when she told me to spend more time with my husband.” A sarcastic cackle emerged from her.

  He didn’t react. It irked her that the whole thing was his doing, yet he was the one least affected by it.

  “I think you should take it easy for a while and hang out with your friends. That way you’d have some social interaction,” Andrew suggested.

  “Unlike me, Kat and Bella are busy because they have real careers.”

  That wasn’t the entire truth. She’d been ignoring her friends for the last year because she was jealous of them—they had the glittering careers she didn’t. She was a crumpled-up rag and they were luxury silks. She had no accomplishments, no achievements. She didn’t want them to see her like this.

  “Make some new friends. Don’t you have friends at work?”

  “With my rotating shifts, I don’t see anyone long enough to befriend them. And most of them are still in college. I feel so old compared to them.”

  “You’re only twenty-four.”

  “And yet I feel like I’m fifty-five.”

  “Take a vacation. You’re stressed because you haven’t had a change of scenery in a year. Go somewhere. Go to Hawaii. Someone I know has a vacation home there. I’ll talk to him about letting you stay there for a week or two.”

  “What about you?” she questioned.

  “What about me?”

  “Can you leave your company long enough to come with me on a two-week vacation?”

  “No, I can’t. Take a solo vacation. It’ll be good for you to spend some time on your own.” Again, he had smoothly maneuvered himself out of this.

  “Have you been listening to anything I’ve been saying? My problem is that I spend too much time by myself. That’s why I’m lonely and dejected. That’s why I am seeing the therapist. Or do you think I am idiotic enough to mistake the warmth of Hawaiian sun for the warmth of a person?”

  She exhaled. It was a hopeless situation. He was never going to change. He was never going to make her his priority. It hurt to see that she meant so little to him. All this time, she had slaved for a man who couldn’t even spare a week for her sake.

  But Andrew, ever resourceful, had a solution ready—a solution not involving him that is. “Invite your parents over to Hawaii with you. They’ll love spending some time with you.”

  “I have an even better idea.” She craned her neck backwards to stop the tears from spilling. “I’ll go to Greenport. I’m leaving tomorrow.”

  He nodded, approvingly. “That’s a good idea. David and Violet would love to see you.”

  “Yes. At least I have two people who care about me in the world.” She stretched her arms wide. She should pack.

  “How long will you be there for?”

  “As long as it takes for me to forget about you.”

  She had made up her mind. This conversation was over. There had never been a point to all this anyway.

  “What does that mean?”

  “It means I’m done with you. I’ve had enough of your evasive, sweet words. I hope I don’t have to see you again. I gave you so many chances, so many opportunities, but you just threw away all of them. I can’t be patient any longer. I want a divorce.”

  His armor shattered. Bewilderment reshaped his features. “You want a divorce?” The words stuttered out slowly, like a dot-matrix printer.

  She took a deep breath and showed no sign of weakness when she delivered the final syllable that would separate them. “Yes.”

  Don’t look at him, don’t look at him, she repeated to herself. It would weaken her resolve. And then she’d give him another chance.

  “I didn’t know… you were considering separation.” he said. It echoed through the empty chambers of her chest, but meant nothing.

  “You don’t know anything because you are never here. We are virtually strangers.”

  He inhaled swiftly, filling his hollowed-out lungs. His spine drooped. “I still believe we can make it work.”

  The clock bellowed, ushering in midnight. “No, we can’t. We are getting a divorce. That’s it. This is the last time I’m asking you for a favor, so grant me this.”

  “Ashley, think about it carefully. Don’t be hasty. You’re emotional right now, but when you’re feeling better, you’ll see that things are not as bad as you’re making them out to be. I mean, we rent a house. I’m making some money. You’re making some money. Between us, we have enough. And things are picking up at Dracosys. In a few years, we’ll be able to buy a house. I’ll be able to take you out to nice restaurants. And your career will work out, too.”

  “Why is everything you’re promising in the future, Andrew? Why can’t we buy a house now? Why can’t I have a luxurious life now? I can understand you wanting to hold onto me. Actually, I’m worried what you’ll do without me. But I’ve thought about this enough to know it’s going nowhere. It’s hopeless. All we have is dreams for the future that might never materialize. I want certainty. I don’t think you can give me that.” Limping on her bandaged leg, Ashley put some distance between them. “Ouch. It’s twelve. I have to leave for my shift. I have the night shift today.”

  “Take the day off. Your foot is bleeding.”

  “I can’t. I took too many days off this month already.”

  She had been becoming irregular with her attendance at work—she felt so low all the time, she couldn’t muster up enough energy to do anything.

  “One more day doesn’t matter.” he said. “Don’t push yourself so much.”

  “I don’t want to stay at home and clean up this mess. I’d rather scan barcodes.”

  Clamping her mouth to stop her sobs from breaking out when she imprisoned her feet into her shoes, Ashley walked out hurriedly.

  For three minutes, she reveled in the quietness of the corridor.

  Then, through a gap in the door, as wide as a strand of hair, she watched Andrew. He started to clean up the broken remains she had left. When he kneeled to pick up a large piece of ceramic, she slumped to the floor and a river of tears ran down her nose and eyes.

  Goodbye. Goodbye, Andrew.

  Chapter 5

  Present

  Ashley rotated the steering wheel of her Cruze, trying to reverse out of the parking lane. Seeds of annoyance sprouted inside her when she realized that the empty spot she’d seen had been a mirage.

  Monday morning, back to work and back to fighting for a parking spot.

  She didn’t dread the first day of the work week, like most people did. Maybe because she liked her job. But she did dread getting a par
king spot on Monday morning.

  It was a lot of work, being an editor, but also a lot of fun. The feeling of seeing a rough manuscript polished into a refined diamond was priceless. It made all the hard work worth it. And how many people had the privilege of discovering the next big writer? Being an editor was not just about editing, it was about bringing compelling new voices into the world. She saw her role as a cheerleader, motivational speaker, best friend and mentor rolled into one.

  Since the first day she’d started working at Doubleside Publishing, she had clicked with the people and the environment. It was like she’d found home—a place where she could be comfortable enough to grow every day. Plus, the coffee machine made a mean cappuccino.

  Crawling at five MPH, Ashley looked out for another spot to box her Cruze into. The parking lot was overflowing today. Cars were stuffed into the space like bees in a beehive. Wherever she turned, there were cars, cars, and more cars.

  Usually, she didn’t have to deal with this because she came ten minutes early, so that she could park. In four years, she’d worked out that a five-minute delay in getting to work meant a ten-minute search for a parking spot.

  She was half-certain that it was one of the management’s devious strategies for getting employees in early, which was the reason that they hadn’t expanded the staff parking for years. They’d hired fifteen new people this quarter, meaning fifteen new cars, but no new parking spaces.

  Ashley wondered why couldn’t people take the subway to save the environment? Hell, why hadn’t she taken the subway? Now, she was driving around in circles when she had a meeting in fifteen minutes.

  Nine-thirty meetings should be illegal.

  Her breakfast—an overripe banana, an apple and a buttered toast she had whipped up this morning—was rapidly losing its freshness as it sat in a brown paper bag on the passenger seat.

  Ashley slammed a fist into the wheel. Angst turned into hope when she saw something. Lady Luck was shining on her because there was a stretch of concrete that seemed to be vacant.

  Yelling an excited, “Yes!” she pushed the gearstick into second gear and charged into the clearing between closely packed automobiles, only to find that the owner of the blue Fiesta to the right had double-parked.