by Shey Stahl
On the bright side, she called me her husband for the first time in months. There’s that.
Not so bright side?
My smooth balls are blue.
HOURS LATER, I wake up to Madison snoring. Madison swears she doesn’t snore. She’d be wrong. I think she’s trying to annoy me with it. Ordinarily her snoring doesn’t bother me but tonight, I’m about ready to smother her because I’m sexually frustrated and have no tolerance for her snoring or her need to constantly be moving while sleeping.
And look at her all nice and cozy and sexually satisfied. Me on the other hand, she didn’t return the favor once we got upstairs. Mostly because she found out I was putting on a show for her ex, but that’s not the point here.
The point is I’m horny and can’t sleep and I know if I wake her up for sex she’ll straight up punch me in the face or the dick.
So there I lay, staring at the ceiling wide awake with Madison’s legs on mine. I’ve never understood the movies where couples sleep right on top of each other in loving embraces. It’s not accurate. Stop lying, Hollywood. I need my space, and I hate noises at night. And movement. Madison does both all night long and sleeps like a fucking chicken wing.
“Just stop moving around,” I tell her, kicking her leg off me.
“What?” She startles awake as if she’s doing nothing wrong. “What’s your problem?”
“You. You’re my problem with your overactive feet.”
“You’re impossible. You want me to sleep in the bed with you, but you can’t stop complaining.” She pulls the blankets toward her.
“I’m impossible?” I take a handful of blankets and rip them my way. “Why can’t you just lie here and sleep? You’re the impossible one and annoying.”
“I am not.”
My grandparents slept in separate rooms, and I always thought that was odd. Not so much anymore. I totally understand why people have separate bedrooms.
Ten minutes later, Madison is back to snoring.
I kick her in the shin, hoping she’ll wake up and stop those horrid noises coming from her mouth. I mean, who makes noises like that? She sounds like a pissed off Donald Duck. Was she suffocating? My God.
“What was that?” she yelps, grabbing her calf.
I smile. I can’t help myself. “Maybe you have a Charlie horse.”
Rolling over, she faces me. My attempts to get her to move away from me backfire because now she’s facing me and breathing, no, snoring on my neck. How can she sleep with those noises emanating from her?
Lying there awake, I stare at the ceiling trying to think of all the ways to make her stop snoring just so I can get some sleep. Nothing comes to mind, short of suffocation. That’s permanent. Tossing and turning, violently I might add, I think if I move as much as she does, maybe she’ll wake up.
All my rolling around gets me a trip to the floor when I roll right off the bed to the hardwood floor.
Too bad it didn’t knock me out.
That’s when I decide to throw a pillow at her. At that point, I wish it’d knock her out. “Shut up!” I yell.
“What?” she asks, rubbing her head. “What happened?”
By now I’m so annoyed I go to sleep on the couch in the living room.
As I lie here awake, a faint glow of lights from the courtyard streaming through the curtains, I think about why we’re here and what I’m trying to mend. I can’t pinpoint any day specifically when I started working so much and ignoring everything else. It was a gradual progression as the business grew.
When you get married, you never assume you’re going to drift apart. I didn’t. I swore it wouldn’t happen. So when did it happen? When did we become this couple making decisions together but two people living separate lives linked by the two children we’ve created?
We used to be one person, one heart, and one soul fighting together. Now we’re struggling to find our way, lost in clouds of smoke with no visibility.
I need to make her see she still loves me regardless of anything around us. She needs to know it’s not just our boys tying us together. When you get married, something brought you together. Something made you say I do. So just because you’re having problems, or the rope between the two of you is fraying, it doesn’t mean the love is gone. You just have to remember what it was that tied the two of you together in the first place.
But how will I do that?
Let’s hope this couple counsoler knows what the fuck they’re doing because I sure as shit don’t.
You’re probably wondering what happens when you’re at a resort that specializes in couple’s therapy, right?
Me too.
I don’t actually know yet, but the brochure indicates you have skill building sessions, which is a fancy name for supervised arguing if you ask me. It’s like we’re being sent to the principal’s office to discuss our problems.
Saturday morning after getting very little sleep, thanks to Madison and her snoring, I’m not exactly in the best of moods. Making our way through the hotel lobby in search of coffee, Madison stops at the customer service desk. “Do you care if I get a massage? My lower back is hurting today.”
It’s probably because you wouldn’t stop moving last night.
I shrug. “Sure. Go ahead. I think our session’s at noon.”
Madison smiles and schedules herself for a massage in a half hour. I’m thinking in that half hour, after I get coffee, a blow job would be nice and put me in a way better mood, but Madison doesn’t see it that way and drags me inside the restaurant to the left of the hotel lobby for food.
“I’m starving!” she announces, eyeing their buffet spread. I have to admit it looks good, but buffets have never been appealing to me. Mostly because anybody could have touched the food you’re about to eat, or worse, sneezed on it.
As we stand there, those same couples I saw in the bar, now silently eating breakfast with one another, I can’t wrap my mind around anything aside from why we’re here.
How’d it get this bad?
Maybe I’m just now coming to the realization that my marriage has the potential to be over, but it’s just like me to be obsessing over it. You probably know this by now.
Madison and I grab a table near the windows overlooking the vast burnt-orange canyons surrounding Sedona, Arizona. It’s beautiful here. Absolutely gorgeous and reminds me of the area around our new house in Cave Creek.
“I don’t know what to get,” Madison notes as we’re in the buffet line, trying to decide between oatmeal and a bagel.
Decisions aren’t her specialty.
“Get both and I’ll eat the bagel.” I chose the bagel because it’s in an enclosed bin, less likely to have been sneezed on, and the cream cheese is in a fridge to my right. “Then if you decide you want the bagel, you can have it.”
She nods, and reaches for the oatmeal.
We’re quiet as we eat, my gaze drifting around the restaurant, hers on her oatmeal. I’d give anything to know what she’s thinking right now. I think back to everything she’s said over the last month, and what led us here. Me working all the time, my lack of presence in a life we created together, the house I didn’t finish….
My eyes raise to hers, lost in her beauty as she moves her hair off her shoulders. “I’m going to finish the house when I get back,” I tell her, picking apart the bagel on my plate.
She doesn’t look up from oatmeal but her lashes flutter. “Why now?”
“Because it needs to be finished. And if you decide this”—I wave my hand around, barely able to say the word—“divorce is what you want, you can have it.”
She stiffens, her eyes raising to mine, then dropping just as suddenly. She takes another spoonful of her oatmeal and then raises her fork to her mouth. “You don’t have to finish for me.”
I blow out a breath. My voice is soft and strained, begging her to understand it was never my intention to forget about the house. “I know, but I saw your face when your mom asked about it. You’re mad I didn’
t finish it. Besides, I started it for you, I’ll finish it for you.”
Thoughtfully, she leans back in her chair. “I know you didn’t mean to put it aside.” Her voice is soft, and I know she believes me.
I don’t believe in regret. I think it’s a dumb word because if you live your life and do the things you want, you shouldn’t have regret, right?
I’m not sure, but I think this is what regret feels like. That aching pit in my stomach wishing I could go back and change the last year, stop this before it happened. Stop this look I’m receiving, the one where she’s staring at me like she knows I’m trying to fix this and it might not be worth saving to her.
And then she makes a face, swallowing hard. “I’ll be right back. I’m not feeling so good.”
She disappears and I don’t think anything of it. Believe me, this comes back to bite me in the ass too. Just wait.
Returning from the bathroom, she glances down at her phone. “You okay?”
She nods. “Yeah, I’m fine. I get shitty reception here. What time is the counseling session?”
“Noon.”
She looks at her phone. “I should be done just in time.”
“Okay.” I nod outside. “I’m going to go for a run.” Believe me, it’s needed. I’m so wound up over all of this, my muscles have literally been on lock down for a month.
Leaning in, Madison kisses me. On the lips. “Sounds good. See you in a couple hours.”
And then I watch her ass as she walks away. Madison has the best ass and I’m immediately thinking of my dick pressed between her ass cheeks.
Don’t look at me like that. Every man thinks that. If they tell you they don’t, divorce him. He’s lying.
I’m totally kidding. Don’t divorce him. It’s a disaster and he’s probably a good guy. Maybe. I don’t like anyone so you shouldn’t listen to me.
I GO FOR a run but let’s just fast forward to about noon. You remember what happens at noon, right?
Principal’s office. Controlled arguments.
Guess who’s sitting in the neutral-colored room with the cracked mosaic tiles, alone?
Me. By myself.
You know how I feel about tardiness and my wife’s being late is no exception. If she tells me she’s going to be somewhere at a certain time, I believe her. I’ve never had any reason to. Until now. Patience is a virtue but it’s certainly not mine.
“She knows about the appointment, right?” The lady across from me asks. She’s the therapist apparently. Doesn’t she look like Judge Judy?
I thought so too.
“Yeah, she had a massage this morning, but it was over an hour ago.” I clench my jaw shut, the muscles in my body annoyed and protesting from tensing for so long.
“Are you happy, Mr. Cooper?”
You can’t punch this chick. I actually tell myself that. “What are you talking about?”
“Are you happy?”
“No.” I snort. “I’m pissed off my wife isn’t here and she’s not answering her phone. Again.”
The lady taps her pen against a note pad on her lap. “What brought the two of you here?”
I look out the window. “She wants a divorce.”
“And you don’t?”
“No, I don’t. I love my wife.” I can’t sit here anymore and not know where Madison is.
I’m just about to leave when she glances down at her watch. “You’re going to have to re-schedule for tomorrow.”
Standing, I level Judge Judy a glare. “Fine.”
I look for my wife everywhere I can think to and find her at the last place I would have expected. The bar.
I’m pissed by the time I finally spot her, and that’s when I see Madison sitting at a table with guess who.
Thomas.
Her fucking ex. Remember? The guy she cheated on with me?
Oh, well maybe I didn’t tell you that. But she did. That night at the Halloween party she had been dating Thomas Dean. And let’s just be honest here, what kind of name is Thomas Dean?
Sounds like Harvard law students name. Ridley Cooper, that’s a fucking man’s name.
Do you see them sitting there? She’s leaned in, listening intently to his words and he’s acting like he’s what, pouring his heart out to her?
Let’s just focus on the fact they look pretty fucking cozy, don’t they? Aren’t they cute?
If you say yes right now, I’ll punch you.
Thomas Dean spots me first and gives me a head nod like we’re old friends. We would never be friends. Most of the time I’d never give much thought to an ex because let’s face it, he’s gone from the picture and in this instance, she left him for me. Win for me, right?
Now I’m not so sure because of the impending doom of the D word.
As soon as Madison spots me standing near the door, she literally jumps up from the table rattling the glasses of water. “I was just going to find you.”
Sure she was. Doesn’t look like it to me judging by the drink in front of her. And the two empty ones beside them. Madison doesn’t drink. Ever. Her dad was a raging piece-of-shit alcoholic who used to beat the crap out of her mom. And you met her mother. In fear she may have a drinking problem, she never touches alcohol.
Stepping forward, I make my way over to them. I want to say something funny and not let on how pissed I am, but I don’t. I’ve got nothing. My sense of humor and smart-ass remarks desert me like a cabby when you don’t have the fare. “Did you forget we have a counseling session? Looks like you did, huh?” I motion to the drinks on the table.
“Oh my God.” Her hand flies to her mouth. “I’m so sorry, Ridley. I ran into Thomas after my massage and we got to chatting, and I lost track of time. Will they let us reschedule?”
“No.” Do you sense the sarcasm in my tone?
So does Madison when her eyelashes flicker like she can’t believe I’m being this harsh with her in front of someone else. “So you’re drinking now?”
“It’s water. Thomas was having a beer.”
Of all the fucking times to see this Thomas dude, it’s now, and I want to knock his goddamn teeth in. Usually I’d say, this guy doesn’t matter. But he does. He fucking does and I know it.
I nod, shaking my head with a patronizing smirk plastered on my face. “Uh-huh.”
The waitress approaches me. “Can I get you something?”
“No, honey.” I wink at her, my eyes drifting back to Madison. That’s right, I called another woman honey. How does it feel? “I’m good.” And then I smile at Thomas. “Hope you had a nice time with my wife.”
Yeah, I throw in my wife because it’s a title I’m sure as shit confident he’ll never hold with her. But then again, am I?
Thomas clears his throat. “Ridley, honestly, it’s my fault. I was just telling—”
I shoot him a murderous glare and cut him off. “Was I talking to you?”
His jaw tightens, working back and forth as he keeps one hand on his beer. “I think you’re overreacting.”
I slam both my hands down on the table in front of them, leaning in. “Am I?” I look at Madison. “Am I?”
Madison’s head jerks back in disgust, completely appalled at my behavior. “Ridley, stop it. You don’t have to be such a jerk. I was just catching up with him.”
Standing up straight, my eyes drift to her wedding ring, and then to her eyes again. “So spending time with him is better than trying to make our marriage work? I waited thirty minutes before the counselor, who I might add is a bitch, told me we had to reschedule tomorrow.” The thought that I’m not good enough for her to remember why we’re here in the first place punches my heart, gives my blood a rush as it pumps through my veins.
Madison doesn’t say anything. She just stares at me with these wide glassy eyes that scream she’s sorry only I’m so pissed I don’t see the apology in them. I see her choosing him over me.
I’m pretty good at digging the knife in and twisting. Just watch. It gets worse.
I ho
ld her weary stare for a long beat. “What? Nothing to say now?” I nod once, and then shrug, but my shoulders feel so heavy it’s hard to do. My whole body is rigid and stuck in a moment I can’t escape, one where I’m not even sure about the words coming out of my mouth except that they are and I can’t stop them. “You know, never mind. I’m not even sure why I came looking for you because it’s clear you never had any intention of making this work.”
I can’t tell you why Thomas is my breaking point, he just is. Or maybe it’s the fact that I keep trying to fix this and she’s not doing a goddamn thing to help me out.
Turning around, I draw in a heavy breath and then begin walking back to the hotel. I’m not sticking around for this crap. Why am I the only one trying? If she’s not going to make an effort at all, why am I continuing to put myself through this bullshit?
Here’s another buffalo fun fact for you. When hunted by humans, cape buffalo have a reputation for circling back on the hunter and attacking them. They attack with their heads up and at the last minute, lower their head to deliver a bone-crunching crash.
Where’s a fucking buffalo when you need one.
“Goddamn it, Ridley, slow down!”
I don’t.
I can’t.
I won’t anymore.
The sky is restless above us, thick black clouds dragged down by heavy rain. I feel exactly like those clouds, sick of trying, wanting to let go. I stare at the sky hoping maybe by some chance a bolt of lightning will hit me in the fucking heart and put me out of my goddamn misery.
It’s then the sky opens and dumps two inches of rain in a matter of minutes as we’re crossing the courtyard to the hotel lobby. Maybe not two inches but with the amount of water coming down, I can barely make out the hotel doors.
“Ridley,” Madison yells from behind me, her footsteps splashing in the puddles against the stone courtyard. She reaches out to grab my arm to whirl me to face her, but I resist and keep walking. “Will you please stop?”
I turn around once we’re in the lobby, both of us soaking wet, water dripping from every part of our body. People around us gasp, some stare, but they haven’t seen anything yet.