The Man I Hate

by Hildreth, Scott

  Being confined to a home for an extended period of time wasn’t an easy thing to do. To keep from going bonkers, we each developed routines. Every afternoon, Anna visited with the neighbor across the street. Hap exercised four days a week. I alternated cardio and weight-training, seven days a week.

  The three of us agreed on a day-to-day schedule. On Mondays, we binge watched 90 Day Fiancé. Tuesdays were reserved for various board games. Wednesdays were a free for all, with each of us doing whatever we preferred. Thursdays were consumed with a drive to nowhere, generally a cruise around Los Angeles Counties many neighborhoods, or to the Mexican border and back. Friday was movie night, alternating who was able to select the movie from week to week. On Saturdays we ordered groceries and watched random shows on Hulu, Netflix, and Amazon Prime. Each Sunday, Anna prepared a feast for a king, and we ate like royalty.

  Knowing in advance what each day held allowed Hap to glide through the weeks without much to complain about. Anna seemed to be along for the ride, happy with whatever we were doing, as long as we were doing it as a family. Life was easy for me.

  If Anna was happy, I was happy.

  “What kind of dumb fuck would spend $150,000 to chat with a Russian chick online, and then claim he fell in love without ever actually talking to her on the phone or meeting her?” Hap asked during the commercial break.

  “He thinks he fell in love with a chick,” I replied. “He’s talking to some 13-year-old boy in Moscow who’s posing as a girl. The kid probably makes 10 bucks a week working for the dating service, and they charge that guy in Las Vegas $2,000 a month to chat.”

  Anna shoveled a fistful of popcorn into her mouth. “I think it’s funny that he only has one picture of her, he’s never met her, and he’s never spoken to her, but he claims he wants to propose to her.”

  “Goes to show you how gullible people can be,” Hap said. “This guy’s an absolute imbecile.”

  “I think it shows how much we all want to believe in love,” Anna offered.

  The premise of the television show was simple. It followed various couples through the process of bringing someone they met over the internet into the United States on a K-1 Visa. The law required that they get married before the visa’s 90 days expired. At the end of 90 days if they weren’t married, the rejected lover had to go back to their country of origin, never to return again.

  One of the men in the show’s current season was a retired computer tech from Las Vegas. He’d been chatting online with a Russian girl for seven years, spending $2,000 a month to subscribe to the chat service she used. He traveled to Russia three times to meet her, and on each occasion, she didn’t show up. He’d even booked a cruise with her and she failed to arrive, leaving him embarking on his vacation alone.

  Despite all the warning signals, he was returning to Russia, hoping to meet her and propose marriage.

  “This dumb fuck’s journey through Russia is like a compound bone fracture,” Hap said. “It’s gut-wrenching to see, but for some reason you can’t force yourself to look away.”

  Anna shoved her hand deep into her bowl of popcorn. “It’s like a train wreck.”

  I glanced at Anna, who was sitting beside me on the couch. Two months earlier, falling in love was incomprehensible. I tried to imagine it happening without meeting her. To chat online, develop a feel for who she was, and allow myself to become attached to her. To me, it made no sense, whatsoever.

  Touching her. Feeling her skin against mine. Holding her in my arms. Seeing her smile when I spoke. The warmth I felt when she looked at me for answers, and the joy I saw in her eyes when I complimented her on yet another spectacular meal. All absent. The sensation that rushed through me when we kissed, non-existent.

  I’d never felt such desire—or necessity—to have another person be part of my life. It was unimaginable to live a life without her in it.

  “Anna,” I muttered.

  She took a quick glance in my direction. “What?”

  “I didn’t love her,” I said.

  Her face washed with confusion. “What?”

  “My first wife,” I said. “I never loved her.”

  “What are you talking about?” she asked.

  “Yeah,” Hap chimed. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

  “I didn’t love her,” I said, glancing at Hap and then at Anna. “Now that I know what love is, I know I never lover her. This is a first for me. That’s all. No big deal.”

  “Shut your pie hole, lovebird,” Hap said. “Show’s back on.”

  Anna kissed me. “I love you.”

  “I love you, too.”

  The show’s next scene followed the travels of “Big Ed”, a mid-fifties So-Cal native from San Diego who had fallen in love with “Rose”, a Filipina twenty-year-old woman who had one child from a previous relationship.

  Rose expressed during their Facebook chats—prior to meeting face-to-face—that she wished to have more children. At the time, Ed took no objection to her desires. After flying to the Philippines, having sex with her, and spending time with her family, he admitted that it was his intention all along to get a vasectomy as soon as he returned to Southern California.

  “That fat little prick needs his cock snipped, not his balls,” Hap seethed. “Sick fucking bastard flew down there to knock off a young piece of Filipino ass, that’s all. Take a look at her face.” He pointed at the television. “She’s done. It’s over between them.”

  “I agree,” Anna said. “Rose isn’t coming back from this one. Ed lied to her one too many times.”

  “I thought she was done when that little troll handed her a toothbrush and said, ‘Here, your breath stinks.’” Hap added. “He’s got no tact, whatsoever.”

  “It’s pretty obvious to me that the people on this show are of two types,” I said. “The US citizen who is unlikely to find anyone interested in them through the normal course of living life, and the foreigner who wants to become a US citizen and is willing to get married to do so.”

  “Agreed,” Hap said. “They’re getting married to obtain citizenship. They ought to do a follow up and show us how many of these nitwits are still married five years down the road. It’d be void of any participants.”

  “They have another show,” Anna said excitedly. “It’s called After the 90 Days.”

  “I’m guessing this short little mayonnaise-haired no-neck having prick isn’t going to be on that show,” Hap snarled. “Because these two aren’t getting married in the first place. There’s no love between these two.”

  “This show’s entertaining, but none of them are going to make it,” I interjected. “They’ve got 90 days. That’s not enough time to commit marriage to one another.”

  “Neither love nor marriage has a time requirement,” Hap argued as he watched Big Ed and Rose argue. “Two people can fall in love over a weekend together. If they’re willing to make the commitment, they could get married the next weekend. A marriage’s success requires two elements. Love, and a willingness to fulfil a commitment. Time doesn’t enter into the equation.”

  I gave Hap a look. “I’m confused, Old Man. You’re saying these people can or can’t be in love?”

  “This show is filled with deficiencies.” He shifted his attention from the television to me. “Love ought to be developed, naturally. Claiming it happens online with someone you’ve never met is wishful thinking on the part of the numbskull who’s thinking it. Fucktards like this give love a bad name. Doesn’t say much about the covenant of marriage, either.”

  “Love lessons from Hap Rourke,” I said with a laugh.

  “Faithful to your mother for forty-plus years.” He pridefully puffed his chest. “Ought to be enough of an accomplishment to get a little recognition from a man who admits that he didn’t even love his first wife, that’s for goddamned sure.”

  “I was joking,” I said.

  His wiry brows raised. “About the time necessary to fall in love, about your first marriage, or about my inabi
lity to give love lessons?”

  “Don’t be difficult, Old Man.”

  “Nothing difficult about what I said, or how I said it,” he argued. “Marriage isn’t something that should ever be done for the sake of convenience or financial gain.”

  “If that’s the case, none of the people on this show ought to be getting married. Is that your opinion? That they shouldn’t be allowed to?”

  “Marriage should be set aside for those who are in love.” He wagged his finger at me. “But only if they’re willing to devote themselves to a lifetime of commitment and sacrifice. If they are, and they do, the rewards are monumental. If they’re not, they end up fifty years old with a shitty head of hair, a physique they’re not proud of, and a respective other who is out searching for someone better each time she goes to get groceries.”

  “My physique’s improving,” I declared. “I’ve gained 7 pounds.”

  “I’m not talking about you, Dipshit,” he snarled. “I was talking about the dipshit on television.”

  “Oh.”

  “You two ought to be married,” he said, rising from his seat as he spoke. “Even a blind man could see that you’re in love. All it gets down to is your willingness to commit.” He gave me a lingering look before glancing at Anna. “Pause that idiot box my dear, it’s dinnertime.”

  I looked at Anna, and she at me. Without speaking, we shared a moment.

  If my father were right, Anna and I could spend the rest of our lives together. If he were wrong, I’d suffer a heartbreak.

  I had no idea if he were wrong or right, but I knew I couldn’t survive another broken heart.

  Anna

  “This staying at home business might be frustrating,” Marge said, pausing from her task of sweeping the sidewalk. “But no matter how bad things get, there’s always a grain of good amongst the pebbles of bad. It’s only a matter of finding it.”

  “I suppose.”

  She patted me on the shoulder. “You’re frustrated, but you’re not alone. The entire country is frustrated. They’re revolting in Michigan, demanding that the governor open up the state.”

  “But people are still being infected—and dying—at an alarming rate.”

  “This disease has divided the nation,” she said, shaking her head in sorrow. “There’s the group that believes the threat is real, and the group that believes it’s nothing more than the common flu. My brother has lost lifelong friends over his support of our governor’s position. It’s sad, really.”

  “So, where’s the grain of good in this?” I asked.

  “Honey.” She leaned against her broom handle. Her mouth curled into a shallow grin. “Your grain weighs 200 pounds, and his name is Braxton. Enjoy the time you have with him while you’re able.”

  “I am,” I replied. “I just. I want to live a real life with him. Not one where we’re forced to be in the house together.”

  “If it were the way it used to be, he’d be coming and going at an alarming rate,” she argued. “His absence would have nothing to do with his love for you. It would be business as usual.” Her brows raised. “Is that what you want?”

  “I suppose not.”

  “We’re all frustrated, sweetheart.” She leaned the broom against the porch and gave me a hug. “It’s hard, I know. One day, this too, shall pass.”

  She leaned away and looked me in the eyes. “Any time you want to talk, I’m here. It doesn’t have to be at four o’clock.”

  “I like our little routine,” I replied.

  She smiled. “I do, too.”

  “Maybe I need to find something to do with my spare time. I’ve got a lot of it when Braxton and Hap are exercising. I run on Braxton’s treadmill for 30 minutes, but those two exercise for hours.”

  “There’s always things you could be doing,” she said. “I used to crochet.”

  Crocheting would be a natural sedative. In no time I’d be face-down on the couch with a needle in my hand, slobbering on my bicep.

  “I don’t think that’s for me,” I said.

  “Write a book. Maybe talking about your frustrations might do you some good.”

  I let out a sigh of frustration. “I can’t write a book.”

  She scowled playfully. “You could if you wanted to.”

  Since our Instagram story about the donations, I’d gained a few hundred thousand followers. Instagram wasn’t known for its inspirational posts, but maybe I could start writing something every day in a post. Something that would lift people’s spirits.

  “I might do some writing,” I said. “Not a book, but something.”

  “I think that’ll do you some good.”

  “I think it will, too,” I admitted. “I’m just ready for this to end.”

  “We’re all ready, sweetheart.”

  Not knowing what else to say, but unwilling to cut my visitation short, I looked around. Hap was at the end of the hill, decompressing from his 3-mile run with a brisk walk. I looked at Marge.

  “I know I love Braxton, and I’m sure he loves me, but I want to make sure everything’s happening for all the right reasons.”

  “I’m sure you’re just gun shy,” she said. “Every relationship you’ve had has ended because of infidelity. It makes sense you’d be apprehensive. If it helps, I’ve never known Braxton to be in a relationship other than his marriage, and that was a long, long time ago. The fact that he’s in one with you means something’s changed inside of him.”

  “Did you see the movie The Breakfast Club?” I asked.

  “Sweetheart, I don’t think so,” she replied. “It sure doesn’t sound familiar.”

  “There were five high school kids who were all given detention at the same time,” I explained. “There was a criminal, an athlete, a prom queen, a nerd, and a manically depressed girl. Needless to say, they weren’t remotely close to one another when they started their little venture. But in the end, they were all, like, best friends. They ended up liking each other because they were locked up together for 9 hours in the lunchroom. If they were left to their own devices, they would have never met, and they certainly wouldn’t have become friends.”

  “What brings a couple together is of little value,” she said without giving the matter much time for thought. “The common ground that’s shared between them becomes the glue that holds them together.”

  “That’s a concern.” I lowered my head. “We haven’t been able to explore each other’s likes and dislikes much because we’ve been confined to the house.”

  “Sweetheart, you’re worrying about what hasn’t happened instead of being grateful for what has.” She lifted my head with her weathered hand. “Keep your chin up.”

  I smiled. The world’s voice of reason came from the elderly. Their time on earth allowed them to give advice based on experience, not opinion. She was right. I needed to appreciate what I had instead of grieving over what I didn’t.

  “Thank you,” I said.

  She nodded toward my house. Her face wore a look of sheer satisfaction. “How long is he staying?”

  I glanced over my shoulder. Dressed in a pair of gray shorts, a white tee shirt, and running shoes, Hap was stretching his arms over his head.

  “Oh. I’m not sure.” I chuckled. “Until he pisses Braxton off, I’m sure. I like having him around. He reminds me of my dad.”

  She waved her hand toward Braxton’s house. “Why don’t you run along, sweetheart. I’m going to see if that poor soul needs a glass of tea. He looks dehydrated.”

  “I’ll see you tomorrow,” I said with a laugh. “I’m going to see if Braxton and I have any common ground.”

  “I’m going to do the same thing,” she said. “With him.”

  Braxton

  The drive along the Pacific Coast Highway was one of the most scenic drives in the United States. With time on our hands, we voted to drive north, turn around, and then drive all the way from San Francisco to San Diego, along the coast.

  With most of the state’s businesses
still shut down, traffic was nearly non-existent. The 12-hour drive was reduced to just over 7 hours. It allowed us to make the drive without worrying about taking the time to see a few of the sights.

  Starting from the Golden Gate Park, we began the journey. It was the first time Anna had seen the Golden Gate Bridge. She cried tears of joy upon seeing it, but it seemed lately that nearly everything made her cry.

  Monterey was our next stop, with Monterey Bay and Point Lobos State National Reserve being the major points of interest. I stared at the highway ahead in disbelief of the open road. It was something I’d never seen in Southern California.

  “Now that the state is declining on death count and infections, it won’t be long before this highway is packed again,” I said. “We better enjoy this while we can. One of these day’s it’s going to be bumper to bumper traffic again.”

  Anna peered beyond the rock cliffs, toward the vast sea of indigo blue. “Now I know why people move to California. This is completely different than Sherman Oaks.”

  “It sure as fuck is,” Hap agreed. “This is God’s country.”

  “It’s beautiful,” Anna said, wiping the corner of her eye with the knuckle of her index finger.

  “Are you okay?” I asked.

  “I’m fine,” she replied. “I’ve been cooped up too long.” She gestured toward the ocean. “This is breathtaking. I mean, really. What do you expect?”

  It had been a lifetime since I’d driven the length of the PCH. I’d nearly forgotten just how beautiful it was. The pandemic forced me to pause and take a look at many things, not all of which were beautiful to see. I was grateful I was able to view each and every one of them with open eyes.

  “Wait till you see Big Sur from the Bixby Bridge.” I gave her a kiss. “You’ll bawl like a baby.”

  The entire drive was scenic, but parts of it were far more beautiful than others. For 600 miles, the highway followed the coast, taking the most natural route along the edge of the countryside’s valleys, hills, cliffs, and mountains.

  When driving south, the left side of the vehicle gave views of rock ledges, homes that overlooked the sea, small fishing villages, and sprawling cities. On the right, the Pacific Ocean lashed against the California coast.