Once my skin was drenched and red, I started feeling other things again. I saw Regan again on the dance floor with Nessa. I felt the abandonment of him turning his back to me in bed after I’d flown to Minnesota wanting to make love to him. I wailed above the static noise of the shower, sinking to my knees when I admitted to myself for the first time that I didn’t know if I wanted children—and how above everything else, that was likely to be the final blow to a marriage that was already on life support.
How could I possibly look Regan in the eyes, bullshit from the last few weeks aside, and break his heart with the news that I didn’t think I was cut out for motherhood? How could I do that to the best man I’d ever known—one who’d make a better father than I could ever imagine?
Twenty-Seven
Regan
I’d stood at the door of Sweet Forty-Two, peeking in as Amanda worked in the kitchen and a couple with toddler twins binged on cupcakes in the front window. After a couple of minutes it was obvious Georgia wasn’t there. It was just as well, since I didn’t want to do any of this in her place of business.
I ascended the stairs and heard water rushing through the pipes. She was in the shower. Unlocking our door, I planned to set my bags in the bedroom, and use the rest of the time to think about what I was going to say to her—and figure out how not to scare the shit out of her when she got out of the shower. She hated being startled almost more than anything.
Before walking into our bedroom, I decided to set my duffel bag in the hallway so she’d see it on her way back from the bathroom. The rest of my plan went out of the window, though, as I heard a sharp cry come from the bathroom. I paused, my feet cemented in place as my heart raced. It didn’t sound like she’d hurt herself from a fall, or anything like that. It was a different kind of cry. A broken scream of complete heartsickness.
Within a couple strides I was at the bathroom door with a sweaty, shaking hand on the knob. My chest was still pounding with anxiety. I argued with myself about how comforting I could actually be for her in this moment, since I was the one that caused the horrible sounds spilling from her chest.
After a few seconds of her coughing, sobbing, and more coughing from crying so hard, I knocked on the door, still wanting to minimize scaring her. “Georgia? Georgia it’s Regan. Can I come in?”
The crying stopped for a second. So did the shower.
“No!” she wailed.
I fought wanting to turn the knob. She never locked the bathroom door, and I couldn’t bear the pain in her voice, but I knew that violating her requested privacy at the moment wasn’t likely to help my case any.
“Please?” I tried again.
“No Regan. Don’t come in. Please. What are you doing here, anyway?”
I swallowed hard, but it hardly helped the shaking in my voice. “I need to talk to you. I … I’m, uh … I’ll be in the living room when you’re, uh, ready, okay? Unless … unless you want me to leave.”
I was dizzy with anxiety while waiting for her response. I wanted so badly to fix this, but I didn’t know how. I barely even knew the totality of what was wrong. I had a feeling that, for both of us, Nessa was just the catalyst of a whole bag of shit we’d been ignoring, but I was too strung out on worry and anger and maybe a touch of depression to begin to tease it all apart.
Finally, her voice came from the other side of the door again. Flat and exhausted. “You don’t have to leave.”
I exhaled. She didn’t ask me to stay, and she didn’t tell me not to leave, but she didn’t kick me out, either. That was something.
I planted myself on the couch, which overlooked the ocean. The day was sunny, and white caps from the wind speckled the top of the water. I sat and leaned forward, my elbows digging into my knees as I cradled my forehead in my hands. I was exhausted and scared.
This position left my back to the rest of the apartment, only allowing me to hear the bathroom door open; soft, slow footsteps that seemed to pause for a moment before heading to the bedroom. It was all I could do not to turn around. But I didn’t want to invade the privacy she’d requested, and I sure as hell didn’t want her to see the mess I’d become over the last twelve hours. Not yet, anyway.
It was torture waiting for her to emerge from the bedroom, but once she did, I wanted to crawl into a hole. She walked around the large couch, bypassing the available cushion next to me in order to sit cross-legged on the oversized footrest facing me. She was wearing short pink cotton shorts dotted with a cupcake and ice cream sundae pattern. A long, snug white tank top hugged her breasts and waist. Her hair was wet and disheveled, the short pieces in the back scattered every which way, and the long pieces in front tucked behind her ears. I wanted to touch her, feel her skin and hug her and tell her I was sorry. But, I couldn’t. Her face was pale, eyes grey underneath from lack of sleep and crying, I knew I had to give her her space while we talked.
Or sat in awkward silence.
“Look at me,” I finally pleaded when she’d stared at her fingernails for two whole minutes. I know because the Cheshire Cat clock ticked away on the wall behind her.
When she did, I wanted to take it back. Her usually bright blue eyes were bloodshot and dull. She moved them around my face, her lips parting a couple of times as if she wanted to say something, but couldn’t bring herself to.
Sliding off the couch and onto my knees, I inched my way to her. Her pouty lips were downturned, hopelessly frowning at the mess that lay before us. It was my mess, and I had to clean it up.
“Georgia,” I started softly as I sat back on my heels, keeping my eyes in line with hers.
She looked at me out of the corner of her eye before shifting her gaze out the window while she spoke. “Did you kiss her?” she whispered, her voice hoarse.
I shook my head. “No. Never.”
“Did you want to?”
“No,” I answered quickly, then I sighed. “I don’t think so.”
Her wet eyes, brimming with tears, finally focused on mine. “You don’t think so?”
I eyed her, helpless. “I don’t know why I would have danced with her like that, Georgia. But, I don’t want to start there.”
She curled her lip. “Where do you want to start?”
I cleared my throat, not wanting to lose it before I really said much of anything. “With the awful things I said to you on the phone this morning.”
Seemingly caught off guard, Georgia’s face turned pink as her chin quivered and her mouth opened in a silent cry. She pulled her knees up to her chest and let her head fall to them, her back heaving, wracked with not-so silent anymore sobs.
She didn’t flinch from my touch as I rested my head against her on her knees, wrapping my arms as far around her as I could in this awkward position. “I’m sorry for the things I said.”’
“They’re all true!” she shouted into the cave formed by her body folding over itself. “I know they are and you know they are. I just didn’t know how bad I’d been fucking up, or how resentful you were about it.”
“I … it’s not … I’m not resentful,” I started to say, then caught myself. We’d get nowhere, today or ever, if I wasn’t brazenly honest. “Okay,” I admitted. “I’d been getting resentful. But that just tipped things over. Or it was brewing in the background, I don’t know …”
Georgia lifted her head, her tearstained and swollen face looking empty and angry. She fought her emotions as she spoke, her voice stuttering through persistent tears. “Y—you do all those things for me. All the th-things you sa-said. I know that. I thought you were just supporting me.”
“I was,” I cut in, pleading. “I do support you.”
Her eyes pinched at the sides as her head collapsed again against her knees. “But I don’t support you like that.”
I was silent. I didn’t know what to say. I didn’t want her to feel like this, not in a million years. But there were shards of truth in the words she spoke that couldn’t go unsaid. There were more times in the last few months that I
’d felt alone in my marriage than I cared to count or remember.
“I mean to,” she started again, lifting her head and wiping under her eyes. “But I fucked up, and I’m sorry. I just … supporting you has to go beyond me not giving you shit whenever you’re on the road. It’s just … you are the only person I’ve ever trusted completely in my entire life, Regan.”
My jaw flexed as I took in the words, ones she’s repeated since the early days of our relationship. Back when we were both treading carefully. Both wounded. Both needing security. I stood up, unable to keep it in any longer.
“That’s too much pressure for me, Georgia!” I hadn’t meant to shout, but I did. She jumped, looking at me, betrayed. “I can’t be the guy with all the gold stars next to his name. I’m not perfect, Georgia. I never was, and never will be. I’m human and can’t think that if I make a mistake that will be the end of us.” As nice as the pedestal had been, it was time to tear it down.
Georgia’s tears seemed to dry on the spot. She stood in a flash, gesturing her hands wildly. “That’s a hell of a leap, Regan. From being so-called perfect to dancing with another woman in a club. You’re suggesting this is my fault—that my expectations of you, or preconceptions, or whatever, drove you to another woman?”
I huffed, setting my hands on my hips. “That’s not fair.”
“You’re fucking right it’s not.” Gone were the tears, replaced by rage as she cursed through her raw voice.
I ran my hands through my hair, tugging tight in frustration as I took a deep breath. “I think we need to back up.”
She gestured to me before folding her arms under her breasts. “Be my guest.”
I looked up to the ceiling. “This isn’t even about Nessa.”
Georgia shocked me with her flat response. “I didn’t think it was.” She stepped closer to me, speaking quietly as if trying to hold it together. From yelling or crying, I couldn’t tell. “But what I want to know is what happened to get there. To her.”
Looking down, I found my wife waiting expectantly for my answer. I collapsed into the chair behind me, biting the inside corner of my lip as I spoke. “I’m not happy,” I admitted for the first time out loud.
“Neither am I,” she echoed, sounding startled at her own voice.
Twenty-Eight
Regan
We’re not happy.
Flailing in the aftershocks of our dual confessions, we stared at each other like deer in headlights.
That stupid fucking cat clock ticked away, highlighting all the moments we said nothing, staring at each other like strangers and heartbroken lovers at the same time. She was hurt, so was I, and I didn’t know how much fight I had in me. I’d spent a long time fighting for the both of us. Loving for the both of us. In that moment, however, I barely had enough energy to stand.
I sank deeper into the chair with a sigh.
“I’m no martyr,” I started, though I wasn’t sure if this was a martyr’s final act, or not. “You love me. I know you do. You just show it differently than I do. Aren’t there, like, five love languages, or something?” I stared into space, mentally scanning our therapist’s bookshelf.
A therapist we desperately needed an appointment with if we made it out of this conversation alive.
“How do you know I love you?” She dragged the footstool two feet in front of the chair, sitting cross-legged on it once more.
I looked up at her. “What?”
She shrugged, speaking plainly like we were discussing the weather. “How do you know I love you?”
I looked down, blinking long and slow before answering. “You’re kind. You’re enthusiastic about my music, you’re the loudest at all the shows and you’re interested in the projects I’m working on. You send me stuff when I’m out on the road.”
“That’s all stuff,” she replied flatly. “Just stuff. How do you feel it? How do you really know that I love you? Anyone can do all the things you just said I do.”
Swallowing hard, I continued. “It’s just a feeling that I have, Georgia. It’s so intangible, like the wind. The way you stroke my face when we make love. The noise you make when I kiss your neck, all of it …”
“Then tell me why you aren’t happy, Regan.”
She was begging me for truth. Honesty.
I let it fly. “Because I feel like the biggest way you show me you love me is by letting me love you. And while that’s huge, and I’m honored that you chose me, I need more, Georgia. I need—”
“You need someone to fight for you, too.” Her voice rose to a high pitch at the end of her sentence as tears started to fall again.
It felt like my chest had been cracked open as her words, my deeply-hidden truth, were spilled out before us. I couldn’t help the few tears that escaped my yes.
I nodded. “And you deserve someone who is honest about more than their whereabouts. You deserve someone who isn’t just focused on protecting your feelings if it means hiding theirs. Why aren’t you happy?” I asked quickly.
Her chin quivered as she considered her answer. “Because, in the end, I fear you’ll choose music over me. And I don’t know what that even means. It’s your passion and runs through your blood, just like the bakery does for me … I … my insecurity isn’t your problem.”
“Until I proved your fears right with Nessa …”
She tilted her head to the side. “What is that about?” she asked quietly.
I shrugged. “I got carried away. It wasn’t even attraction. I just … got swept up with the tour and her story and the violin … I …”
“She was new.”
Looking at Georgia, I found her pokerfaced, impossible to read.
I shook my head, slowing down before offering a sigh. “I guess. There were no complications. NO questions about where we were or who we were with, because we were with each other. There was little to explain or worry about. No family drama, and she wasn’t pressuring me to have a baby.”
Georgia’s head recoiled as if I’d slapped her. “You think I’m pressuring you to have a baby? We talked about that together.”
“What was I supposed to say, Georgia? I figured as time went on … I figured as time went on I’d get fully behind the idea, but the truth is—”
“You’re scared,” she cut in.
“No.” I felt pain deep in my bones as I prepared my next sentence. One delivered with rough tears. “The truth is I don’t know if I want to have kids. At all. And I’m sorry.” I pressed my face down into my hands as I cried through the rest of my words, unable to look at what they might be doing to her. “I’m sorry, Georgia. I just don’t know if I’m ready, or if I’ll ever be. I felt like our life was already revolving around a baby we didn’t have yet and I wasn’t … I’m not ready. And no matter what fun I thought I could have with someone else and, I promise you, it never went there, I was stuck.”
“Stuck?” she asked, and I could hear the tears in her voice.
“I didn’t want to lose you. I don’t want to lose you. And I was afraid. Tired and afraid. Tired of you not trusting me, even before this whole Nessa shit, and afraid of what would happen to us if we had a baby we both weren’t ready for.”
Georgia sniffed, but I still wasn’t looking at her. “Is that why you turned me down three days ago?”
God, has it only been that long?
I nodded, lifting my head and dragging the heels of my hands under my eyes. “And I’m sorry. I knew it would fuck with you, but I didn’t know what else to do. I was scared to tell you. I didn’t want the fight.”
Georgia stared at me for a long time, her tongue working against the inside of her cheek. Licking her lips, she rolled her eyes up to the ceiling before she spoke. “I was scared, too.”
“Everyone gets scared, I guess. But this is diff—”
She held up her hand. “No, Regan. I was scared that you’d leave if I didn’t or couldn’t give you a baby. I thought you’d be such a good dad, but …”
“But what?”
“I don’t think I’m ready for a baby right now. Or if I’ll ever be. Or if we’ll ever be …”
I was confused by the fresh sobs overtaking her body. Hadn’t I just said the same thing? Why did she seem like she was mourning something?
“Hey …” I reached forward and tugged the footstool toward me. Once it reached my legs, I lifted her chin with my index finger. The first intimate touch we’d had in weeks. “Why are you crying?”
She took a deep breath, swallowing a few times before she was able to speak. “Be … because what if I want kids in the future and you don’t? What if you do? What if one of us does and the other one doesn’t? I don’t feel like I don’t want kids ever, just not right now. But you …”
I nodded. “I know …”
What more could I say? The what-ifs hung over us like a thick raincloud, and there were no solid answers to be had in our stormy corner of the living room. Finally, I said the only thing I could think of. The only way to put this on hold until we had some time to clear our heads and organize our thoughts.
“Let me put you to bed.”
She nodded, not fighting me when I cradled her in my arms and walked her to our bedroom. She looked worn out as I pulled the sheets up over her and sat on the edge of the bed next to her. I smiled when I stroked my hand along her jawline, uncertain of a lot of things, but not how much I loved her. I still didn’t know if that was enough, but it had to be for tonight.
“Regan,” she called to me, opening her eyes.
“Yeah?” I whispered back.
She reached for my hand. “Get in bed with me?”
A lump formed in my throat as she slid over and moved the covers so I could join her. Settling into her coveted side of the bed I pulled her close, reveling in the feel of her breath against my neck.
Suddenly, her body shook with tears she produced from deep in her chest. She pulled back, reaching for my face with her hands.
“I’m not leaving you, Regan. Not ever. I don’t care how we have to work through this, but we have to. We have to. You’re it for me.”
Chasing Kane Page 23