Insipid

by Christine Brae

  “Well, that’s because she hurt our dining room table instead,” I comment, and our tears turn to laughter. I want to leave him with that sweet, ringing sound.

  I straighten up my legs and stand up to leave. He hesitantly walks towards me and I hold my arms out to grant him permission to come closer. We hold each other tightly, my head on his chest and his big, strong arms wrapped around my waist. My protector, my savior.

  “Thank you for saving me, Josh, for taking me in twenty years ago,” I murmur into his chest. “Thank you for giving us a home and a happy life. You will always hold a special place in my heart.”

  “And you in mine, Jade. Always. Take care of yourself.”

  He doesn’t move. He doesn’t see me to the door. When I look back to catch a glimpse of him for one final time, I see him in the arms of the woman he deserves.

  “CHRIS! WHAT ARE we doing?” I squeak as he helps me up a few raised stoops after leading me by my shoulders down what I surmise is a cement path. I’m blindfolded and very dizzy at the moment—the car ride in darkness was brutal. “Honestly, I think I’m going to be sick!” I try my best not to retch.

  “Few more steps, Jae. We’re almost there.” He gently pushes me along and I hear the creaking of a door. “Okay! Here we are!” he says excitedly, removing my blindfold with a flourish.

  I’m standing in the middle of a huge foyer surrounded by floor to ceiling windows and offset by a large, winding staircase to the right. I look directly at him and scrunch my face as my mind rapidly tries to process what is happening. He fishes into his pocket and proceeds to get down on one knee.

  “Marry me, Jade Albin. I am so in love with you. Whenever I look into those eyes, all I can think about is the inspiration, the healing, and the peace that they bring into my life. My home is wherever those eyes are. Let’s build the life together that should have begun twenty years ago. Here, in our new home.”

  I bring my hand to my mouth and start to cry. I’m overwhelmed, but not with the kind of emotion that he would expect me to feel. Instead, I’m filled sadness at my inability to elicit the reaction that he wants. Maybe I’m just too shocked. I can never give him up. He’s my only link to her, I remind myself, as a visual of the Secret Agent notebook hits me smack in the middle of the brain.

  “Oh, baby! It’s incredible!” I squeal, holding my hand up and allowing him to slip the ring through my finger. Its brand new glimmer reflects tiny dots of light across the whitewashed walls. “Let’s go see the rest of the house!” I turn on my heels and run up the stairs, with him following right behind me. We go from room to room, checking out all four of them on the second level, each the same size as the other.

  “The master suite is on the third floor,” he announces proudly.

  “There’s a third floor?” I let him take my hand and pull me to the end of the hallway where another set of stairs awaits. The master bedroom is an entire floor with two brick fireplaces, a sitting room, and two walk-in closets.

  “Look up,” he suggests.

  “A skylight.” I smile at him as he pulls me into his arms. “So much larger than the one we had, though. And you can stand underneath it.”

  “How about we relive our old memories right now?”

  “What a great idea, Mr. Wilmot,” I whisper as I stand on my toes and wrap my arms around his neck. “Oh, Chris. I’ve been waiting all my life for this.” So why do I feel like I’m on the outside looking in?

  “But?” He doesn’t hide the concern on his face.

  “But nothing. I love you,” I declare out loud as I pull him down to the floor with me.

  “ARE YOU COLD?” he asks as I lie in his arms, looking up at the glass ceiling, our clothes strewn across the floor.

  The vast and endless sky invites me to soar up high, to leave the ground and break free. A skylight to showcase the boundless prospect of chances and possibilities.

  “No, I’m good.” I turn on my side to face him. “When did you close on this house?”

  “Yesterday. I paid cash for it.”

  I lovingly trace the tip of his nose with my finger. “Don’t you think this house is too big? What are we going to do with all those rooms?”

  “Well, I was thinking that you could set up an office next to the baby room.”

  Did I just hear that correctly? “Baby room?”

  “You want to have kids, don’t you? Maybe we adopt one or two?”

  “Chris. We’re in our forties. I don’t know that that’s a good idea for either one of us.”

  The look on his face is one of bewilderment. “I want what you had, Jae. I want us to experience raising a child together.” He sits up and moves away from me. “Please tell me that’s what you want too.”

  I place my hand on his arm to calm him down. “Oh, babe. I didn’t mean anything by it. I just want to make sure—”

  “I want what you took away from me—is that too much to ask?” The change in his tone is drastic. The temperature of the room turns cold. Icy. I could swear that there’s a change in the color of his eyes. They’re dark, vapid, and condescending. “Is it, Jade?”

  “No, Chris, it isn’t.” My first reaction would have been to stand up and walk away. This time I won’t do it. I’m going to see this through.

  “I’m sorry, baby. I didn’t mean that,” he says remorsefully.

  “Yes, you did. But I understand. It’s okay.” I lean over to give him a kiss on the cheek. “I think we’d better get going.”

  “Okay,” he acquiesces and we get dressed in silence, neither one of us knowing what to say after this. This is the protrusive shadow of the past that will never leave us. It will always be a part of our life together and he will never ever recover from his loss.

  We walk into the house thirty minutes later without having said a single word to each other. I do what I do best, stay busy to avoid thinking about the problems at hand. There are plates in the sink that need to be loaded into the dishwasher. I turn the faucet on and start to rinse them off. Chris comes up from behind and presses himself against me.

  “I’m sorry, baby,” he whispers as he kisses the back of my head. “I love you so much, Jade. You’re all I need. Forget what I said earlier at the house. My home is where you are. We can live a happy life, just you and me. I’m okay with that.”

  I lean into his chest and turn my head, allowing his lips full access to mine. “I’m here no matter what, Chris. We’ll get through this together.”

  “WELCOME!” MY MOTHER greets the guests as they pile into my parents’ home. It feels more like one of those awards ceremonies on TV rather than an outdoor barbecue, with cars pulling up the driveway to unload various groups of well-dressed attendees intent on showing off their latest fashionable wear. Despite the words Casual Attire in the invitations sent out by my mother, people are still dressed to the nines.

  “Mama, please don’t make me look like an idiot. I’m too old, for heaven’s sake, and this is my second marriage!” I argued frantically when she started with the planning.

  “Relax, Jade. It’s just a simple get together. I’ll even hold it outdoors. It’s just nice to have something to celebrate after the past year that we’ve had.”

  The kind look in my father’s eyes convinced me to give in. If my parents are so keen on advertising my eventual happiness to the world, so be it. My engagement to my childhood sweetheart—to them and to the rest of the city, it was an event worth celebrating, and now the house is filled with people, close friends as well as strangers.

  My mother uses all of the experience she has with her own charities to plan this celebration. The garden is tastefully transformed to host this party. Tiki torches line the brick-paved walkway leading to the pool, where she’s added brightly lit palm trees, a hardwood dance floor, a live band and a large open bar. The last I heard from my mother’s assistant, there are 150 guests in attendance. Leya and the principals of Warner Consulting fly in to San Francisco to show their support for my newfound life. Everyone is ge
nuinely happy that Chris and I have finally ended up together.

  “This is so déjà vu,” Chris says through his teeth as he holds my hand and leads me through the various groups communing in different parts of the house. He is no longer the insecure boy who attended a fundraiser at this same place twenty years ago. Gone is the nervous stance brought about by self doubt. In front of me is a smart and savvy businessman who has gained the respect of the city’s financial community. “Jae, you look even more fetching tonight than you did then,” he whispers in my ear.

  “You got this,” I say confidently as he takes hold of my hand. I lead him through the crowd to Leya and the rest of the team.

  “Jade!” she exclaims excitedly as she puts down her drink on the bar so she can give me a big hug.

  I return her embrace warmly. “Ley, this is Chris.”

  “Chris! So nice to finally meet you! Congratulations!”

  “Thank you, Leya. I’ve heard so much about you. Thank you for taking care of my girl while she was in Chicago. She often speaks so fondly of you and the time you spent working together.”

  We stand together for a few minutes while Chris and Leya continue chatting about Chicago, San Francisco, and the real estate market.

  “Hey, guys, no business tonight. We’re supposed to be celebrating!” I try to distract them, but they ignore me and continue their conversation.

  I excuse myself to go to the washroom. Unfortunately, the one by the pool is currently occupied. I huff impatiently as I make my way back to the house, hoping that my bladder doesn’t burst before I get there. The flurry in the house has thinned out, since most of the guests are outside lining up at the buffet table. I walk hurriedly down the hallway towards the guest bathroom on the ground floor, anxious to get back to Chris and Leya. The slight footsteps I hear behind me don’t alarm me one bit. I assume that the servers are hustling back and forth between the kitchen and the outside buffet table. I turn the door handle of the guest bathroom with a sigh of relief. Great. It’s unoccupied. As I hurriedly attempt to shut the door from the inside, two strong arms prevent me from doing so. I back away in surprise until we’re both standing face to face. He turns around briefly to lock the door behind him.

  “What are you doing here?” I gasp, intoxicated by the mere fact that I can almost touch his skin.

  He doesn’t say a word. Instead, he backs me up against the wall, takes my face in both hands, and kisses me. Tenderly at first, then turning brusque and angry; he takes out his fury on my lips. He breathes in my face, nestles his nose in my hair, and with barely a sound, he murmurs in my ear, “Why? Why did you get engaged?”

  This time I have no words for him. Just action. And passion. And lust. And love.

  We battle and fumble and tear at each other like our lives depend on it. He tugs at my hair and bites down on my lip. The sharp pain causes me to whip my head up sharply, but he sucks the blood off my mouth, tears open the front of my dress, and smears it across my breasts. I unzip his pants. He lifts me up and wraps my legs around him. In two seconds flat, he’s inside me, stretching me, hurting me, marking every part of me with his hands. I feel so much that I soak his shirt in a flood of tears. He moans, I whimper. The faster he moves, the more I hold on to him. I hold on to him for dear life because I don’t want to spend another day without him. For the first time, I can feel his emotions seeping through his touch. He is desperately trying to tell me something.

  Being here with him gives me hope. For the first time in a long, long time, tomorrow doesn’t seem so daunting.

  When it’s over, he pulls out abruptly and lowers me until my feet are back on the ground. I’m a sight to see—my dress is hiked up to my waist and its front is torn up, exposing my chest. More importantly, there is a searing sensation that has taken over my skin, my body, my insides and my heart. My heart is screaming out loud, “Don’t go!” But the one I belong to is out there celebrating my love, waiting for me.

  In a few seconds, the man who just penetrated my soul through his touch disappears like the fog. “Fix this mess up,” he demands softly. “You know where to find me.”

  And then he is gone.

  BY THE TIME I return to the party forty-five minutes later, Chris is making the social rounds with my father and Leya is sitting on a deck chair by the pool, chatting with one of his business associates. She scoots over sideways when she sees me approach them in an invitation for me to sit next to her. The couple excuses themselves and we’re left alone, sitting side by side, nursing our respective drinks.

  “Geez. I didn’t know that there were going to be costume changes. I would have brought a few different outfits for myself.”

  I miss this. Her sarcasm. Her truth.

  “I literally smashed into one of the servers carrying a tray of red wine on my way to the washroom. I had get out of those clothes and take a shower.” I’ve been getting really good at lying lately. To others and to myself. I no longer feel the pang of guilt that normally accompanies the falsehood of these cursory words.

  “I thought I saw Martinez lurking around the corner a while ago, but I figured it was just his doppelganger or something.”

  “Huh. I don’t think he was invited.” I sit on my hands to stop them from twitching.

  “Well, Taylor said he took a leave of absence from work. Where do you think he could be?” She’s playing with me now. There’s a charade in her words, a pointed look in her eyes. I shrug my shoulders and look away. “Are you okay, Jade? You look a little flushed and your lips are swollen.”

  “Me? I’m fine. I’m great. Citrus will do that to me sometimes. I had an orange earlier.” I nervously look away.

  “And how’s Olivia?” she asks. “I’m surprised she isn’t here tonight.” I’m sure it’s because she’s curious to know what my other best friend thinks about all this hoopla.

  “She’s been traveling all over for her showings. Her show opens in London tonight—that’s why she couldn’t make it. She called earlier and spoke to us on FaceTime,” I say in Olivia’s defense. My thoughts are all over the place. “Let’s talk about you, Ley. How have you been? Are you still seeing Brent?” I try to immerse myself in the moment and concentrate on this conversation. I can’t help but shift my legs together. I can still feel the rawness of having him inside of me. I want it again. I absentmindedly glance around the garden. Is he still here?

  “Yes! It’s getting more and more serious. He wants me to meet his parents next month,” she enthuses, her voice pulling me back into the present.

  “That’s awesome! I’m so happy for you. How are you feeling about it?”

  “I’m ready. I think it’s him, Jade.”

  I move closer to her and put my arms around her shoulder. “This is great news, Ley. I can’t wait to plan your wedding,” I enthuse. “Or my mother can do it.” I laugh at the afterthought.

  Her eyes fix themselves on mine. I’m certain that she can see right through me. “Are you happy, Jade? Is this what you want?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I don’t know. Somehow I don’t think your personalities complement each other. Chris is just so… well, so laid back.”

  “Well, maybe that’s what I need in my life. He can curb in my OCD.” I’m a bundle of emotion tonight. I need to keep this light and candid or else I’ll break.

  Apparently, she doesn’t think I’m funny. “Have you seen Martinez at all? Spoken to him?”

  “Not since the fiasco I told you about at the Ritz. He sent me a journal that he apparently used to write all his feelings about me.” I roll my eyes like I don’t care.

  “Hmm. And?”

  “It’s too late. I’m not going to give Chris up. Giving him up means giving her up, and I can’t do that. I will never do that.”

  IT’S NOT HIM I need to find. I see him everywhere.

  And I want to tell Chris. I really do. I want to tell him how sorry I am, how much I want to rid my head of all these lurid, maniacal thoughts. It’s just my mind
messing with me, planting different scenarios in my swirling subconscious. I’m not going to give in to him ever again. Chris is my future. Like a never ending mantra, I repeat it to myself over and over and over again.

  Chris. I love Chris. I’m making love to Chris. It’s Chris. It’s Chris.

  “Jae,” he grunts, thrusting hard and fast. “I love you.”

  I love you, Chris. I do. I want to shout it out loud, I want to show you just how much I truly do.

  But I can’t.

  It’s been two weeks since I saw him the party. I hide my sadness under the guise of the hectic life that we continue to lead. Chris and his business, my father and his. I’ve deleted all his messages. His calls come up under an unknown number again. I wonder whether he’s still in town. It’s funny how I don’t even know him well enough to predict what the outcome of this will be.

  Here’s what I do know: Chris is my future. It’s as clear as the day is long, as transparent as the open water when all you can see is the sun and the sky. Chris is my future.

  But he’s not my truth. My veracity rests solely in the hands of a man that I hardly know.

  Living a lie can kill you. It erases the very essence of who you are. Pretending to feel, masking your thoughts, faking your words day in and day out—these actions leave you with an excruciating pain in your chest, a heaviness in your heart, a loathing for the person that you are. It’s a slow and agonizing death. And I don’t know how long I can fight to stay alive.

  There are numerous attestations to the healing quality of time. I want Chris to be my reality. I want sunlit days without trepidation or concern. I want him to fulfill me. I want so much for us, and yet I feel like I have nothing. I drift away from myself in an out of body experience, watching this woman I can hardly recognize. Look at him, how loving he is towards her. How much he adores her. How can she be so harsh? Why can’t she love him back?