by B. L. Berry
Not everything. Logan would have shit a brick if he knew about Carrie.
“Yeah, I know. It’s just that things at home are really rough right now.”
“Rough? How so?”
“It feels like Simon is a million light years away from me these days. We fight more than we don’t. We recently started couples therapy and I’m constantly terrified of what he’s going to say in there. Or worse, hold something I say in there against me during a fight. And on top of it all, he’s been working really late recently and a few nights ago he didn’t come home.” I bite back the tears in my eyes.
Logan reaches his hand across the table and places it on top of mine, comforting me. “Push those thoughts out of your mind. All relationships ebb and flow in their own time. Just be open with him about what’s on your mind. You have too much at stake right now to not be honest. It’s no secret that I’m not his biggest fan, but I love you. You’re my sister and you love him. I just want you to be happy. So just talk to him, Sharna.”
If only talking were that easy with us. The last time we “talked” after a rather treacherous fight during our engagement, I had suggested we take a little time to ourselves. Do some soul searching and really make sure the other person was what we both truly wanted. While I’d spent my days missing Simon, he took that as the green light to get wasted and hook up with this woman, Carrie, who had been throwing herself at my fiancé for the better part of a year. So when Simon invited Hurricane Carrie into our lives, it nearly destroyed us. It most certainly destroyed me.
He claimed he was drinking his sorrows away and had no idea what he was doing. But how could you not know? How could he look at her and not think of me and the harrowing implications of what was about to happen?
One moment of weakness was all it took to crack the foundation of an entire marriage.
I truly believe he was — and still is — remorseful for his actions. We wouldn’t be married today if he hadn’t gone through that trying time of forgiveness. Simon had even suggested a prenup to help ease my worried mind before we tied the knot. Though, at the time, I thought it to be a bit excessive. It honestly didn’t matter much to me, so I signed one to ease his mind. We’ve always lived a comfortable life and can afford the things we need and the unnecessary things we simply want. In spite of all this, I know that something is off between us and I can’t shake the feeling that his eyes are wandering.
“Hey,” Logan says, snapping me from my train of thought. “With him working late and not coming home the other night, you don’t think he’s, you know, cheating on you or anything, do you?”
I swallow hard, not wanting to plant the seed of doubt named Carrie in his mind.
“I don’t know, Logan. I certainly hope he’s not.”
“Listen, if you ever have any shred of doubt and want me to get a tail on him, just say the words.” He leans in conspiratorially.
“Don’t be ridiculous. You’re just looking for another reason not to like my husband. And besides, that would be an abuse of power down at the station.”
Logan waves his hand in the air dismissing my last comment.
“I’m a cop. I know plenty of guys outside of the station who would be more than happy to help me out. All I’m saying is that it would just take one call. If he’s fucking around, at least you’ll know and can deal with it accordingly. And if he’s not, you’ll have a peace of mind. And he’ll be none the wiser about it all.”
I push around a crouton on my plate mindlessly, hating that I don’t feel like I can trust my husband completely.
“Just think about it, sis. You don’t have to make any decisions today, but know that I can make one call and have it all taken care of.”
“Thanks, Logan. I can’t in good faith ask you to do this. But …” I let the word linger between us.
“But you don’t have to say anything further, Sharna. I’ll take care of everything. You just focus on making strides with Simon.”
Twenty-Four
A Little Too
Over the past couple of weeks, things have been a little too perfect.
We’re getting along a little too well.
And he’s acting a little too in line.
Simon’s being a little too attentive and a little too hands-on all while being not hands-on enough.
I feel like we’re talking a little too much. As if he’s trying a little too hard and our relationship isn’t improving organically like I had hoped.
He’s a little too close. And yet a little too distant.
I know I shouldn’t question it. But I simply can’t help myself.
Years ago, he fooled me once. But now I fear the shame is on me.
As the dust between us has settled, the sinking suspicions come crashing into place.
Simon doesn’t know that I know about the slutty red lipstick on his collar a few months ago.
And I’m pretty sure he’s not traveling as much as he wants me to believe. My uncle’s firm, McKinney Financial Group, doesn’t have many clients outside of the Chicago metro area. And certainly I would have heard if they were branching out to serve other areas.
It’s all a little too suspicious.
I’m a little too wary.
And right now, in this moment, I’m just a little too scared to challenge the truth.
After all, things are a little too perfect.
And sometimes you just need to sit back and enjoy what’s in front of you.
Twenty-Five
Skeletons
Last week when I was in the waiting room passing time before my check up, I read a magazine article that said less than three percent of our lives become memorable moments. That means that there are roughly seventeen moments each year that we have an emotional connection strong enough to commit to our long term memory. The other ninety-seven percent? We simply forget those completely, surrendering them to the endless vaults of our mind. I suppose this is both a blessing and a curse. Wonderful moments you tell yourself to hold onto slip from your grasp and sometimes painful memories are seared for all of eternity. How I wish I could take all of the endless strain and frustrations between Simon and I through the years and lock it away in my subconscious, never to be purposefully thought of again.
But that’s not how it works.
My brain likes to hold onto those moments that hurt, often times replaying the nightmare over and over until anger takes over and I’m left with nothing but hate.
But that three percent? There are a few sweet little memories tucked inside. A few that I’ll never shake and give me hope.
And hope is exactly what we need right now.
I’ve thought a lot about what we covered in our last session. And what’s more, I’ve thought a lot about the subsequent conversations Simon and I had in the days after we left Dr. Bob’s office.
The talking feels good. Bit by bit he’s letting me inside his head and I’m working toward strengthening that trust.
In short, he says me feeling undesirable is entirely in my head. And as much as I hate to admit it, he’s right. I’ve also come to terms with his distance as of late. I never stopped to pay attention to how Simon has been working in overdrive to get all of his loose ends at work tied up before the baby comes. Plus, landing a few new key accounts certainly won’t hurt our nest egg.
Either way, the whole situation has helped me understand why people go insane over nothing. The mind is a horrifically dark and terrible place.
We’ve agreed it’s time we both make a concentrated effort to connect on a physical level again. It’s terrifying, but excites me all at the same time. It’s that last piece of the puzzle to get us in sync and connected again.
And last night we certainly made headway. Simon had suggested we re-enact one of our first dates. A sweet, tender memory committed to that little three percent.
Simon spread out a blanket on the floor and created a picnic for us in the living room. We ate Indian food straight out of the takeout containers and Simon indulged
in some cheap beer. And when he popped Top Gun in the Blu-ray player, I couldn’t help but double over in laughter as he recited the whole damn movie verbatim.
By the time we get to the iconic scene where Tom Cruise and Kelly McGillis are busy taking each other’s breath away in between the sheets, Simon turned to me like he always does and said, “Did you know they had to go back and film this scene because test audiences said the movie was missing a strong love connection?”
And, as always, I feigned ignorance. “You don’t say?”
“Yep. And furthermore, the scene was shot in all those dramatic shadows and blue undertones because Kelly McGillis had already dyed her hair for her next film.”
I smiled coyly at him and it was the precise moment that his lips came crashing onto mine. The pair of us stayed on the floor and made out like we were horny teenagers afraid of getting caught by our parents.
It was magical. He was magic.
He was my Simon again.
Totally three percent worthy.
And as a little ‘thank you’ for the strides we’ve been making, I’m hoping to give him a three percent kind of day. So much preparation has gone into making sure today is absolutely perfect. I woke up extra early this morning to surprise him. And after we’re done with breakfast, I’ve planned an unforgettable day date in the city complete with lunch at Carmine’s, his favorite Italian restaurant. Dr. Bob mentioned that the little things make all the difference. It shows how we pay attention to each other and care on that finite level and so today is all about the little things.
My mouth waters from the aroma of the pineapple French toast I have baking in the oven. It’s the same meal we shared the morning that Simon proposed. That was nine years ago to the day … July tenth. A day that I couldn’t forget, even if I tried.
The sun was on the verge of cresting over the picturesque horizon of the Pacific Ocean. The pair of us sat perched at the top of the volcano with the lingering perfume of the plumerias and pikakes from our fresh leis.
“I’ve always wanted to see the sunrise here,” I admit into the darkness.
“I know. And it’s why I wanted to share it with you.”
I cuddle up underneath Simon’s arm and take a polite sip from the paper coffee cup. There’s a slight chill in the air at this altitude and I’m grateful that Simon suggested we bring blankets with us.
“It should be any minute now,” I exclaim, my eyes focused on the increasingly orange and magenta clouds off in the distance. I don’t think I’ve ever been this excited or impressed by the beauty of nature.
Simon turns to me, places my hands in his and takes a slow breath. “Sharna …” He turns my body to face his and gives me a shy smile just as the sunlight spills onto the ocean in a magnificent rainbow of colors. “Ever since the day I met you, you have made my life better and brighter. You are radiant and beautiful. Stubborn and forgiving. And caring and mine.”
Oh my god … Is he doing what I think he’s doing?
“I am as sure about you as the sunrise every morning. We’ve been through so much together and I can’t imagine a sunrise in my life without you in it.”
Holy shit. He is! Keep it together, Sharna.
“Which is why I want to ask you something …”
Simon reaches into his pocket and pulls out the most brilliant diamond ring I have ever seen. It’s a breathtaking antique cut stone with countless radiant diamonds channeling the center gem, all set in a stunning rose gold.
My heart races and my knees go weak.
“Yes! One thousand times, yes!” I put my coffee aside and throw my arms around him, committing every piece of this moment to memory.
Simon laughs deeply in my ear. “I didn’t even ask you yet!”
I blush and sit back onto my knees, my face alit with joy and my heart lighter than it’s ever been before. Our storied past is behind us, exactly where it belongs. The only way to move forward is to let go.
“Oh, God! I’m so sorry!” I sit back on my knees and beam at this man. The man who has vowed to become my one and only. My husband. Through the thick and thin of life, we’ll be there together until our dying day.
Me! He picked me out of everyone in the entire world.
“Sharna Elliott, would you give me the greatest honor and become my wife?”
The glow of the morning light illuminates his face. He has a quiet confidence about him, so certain and sure of himself, of his pending question.
I take his face in my hands and look straight into his piercing ocean blue eyes. “Yes,” I whisper, and lean in, crashing my lips into his. There is a soft orange glow of the rising sun behind my eyelids, but it is the man holding me in his arms that warms me to my core.
This is just the beginning.
Our beginning.
I wonder if he even realizes today was the day he proposed?
We have always been the kind of couple that other couples talked about, and that proposal was one they raved about for quite some time. But after a while, their talking turned to hushed whispers and those murmurs turned to pitying glances and uncomfortable looks. Maybe they knew all along what we never did? We were so young and dumb and punch-drunk with love. Looking back I can’t help but wonder if he was truly ready to get married or if he proposed because he thought I was a safe bet, the logical thing to do. Or worse, what I expected him to do.
Either way, I’m in this for better or for worse.
I pop open the oven and see the top of the French toast bake turning to a crisp golden brown. It’s simply perfect.
“Sharna!” Simon barks from upstairs and the hairs on the back of my neck stand at attention.
“Just a minute, honey!” I call out in his general direction and quickly slip on an oven mitt to pull the food from the oven so it doesn’t burn. I rush to the bottom of the stairs so I can hear him better. “What’s wrong, Simon? Is everything okay?”
“Sharna!” he seethes. I look up at him from the bottom of the staircase. He’s towering over me, a scowl painted on his face and jaw clenched. “What the fuck is this?”
And it takes all the effort in the world to not throw up at the sight before me.
In his hands he’s holding my birth control pills.
The pills I haven’t been taking for months.
The pills I had buried deep in my side of the closet right next to the skeletons I’ve worked so hard to ignore for the better part of a decade.
The pills I knew I should have flushed or trashed or done a better job at hiding when I claimed that we fell in the two percent fail rate when it came to my birth control. When really, I just failed to take them … for five months straight before we got pregnant.
I dodge the flying pills as Simon chucks packet after packet at my face until all of the silver foil wrappers are lying at my feet.
“Are you fucking kidding me? How could you do this?” He starts moving down the stairs in a way so slow and so calculated, it scares me. His eyes are cold. His face is outraged. “You fucking got pregnant. On purpose.”
“No, I didn’t. Those were future pills.” My voice stutters, giving me away.
“Oh, shut up. I saw the prescription date on the packaging. Stop lying to me and to yourself for just once in your life.”
My body starts to shake and I’m doing everything I can to keep it together in front of him.
“Admit it. Admit that you deliberately got pregnant,” he goads from the first step. I can see the tendons in his arms stretch as he clenches his fists. Enraged and resentful don’t even begin to describe my husband in this moment.
My stomach curls into a tight knot and I forget how to speak. And even if I could, I would have no idea what to say. How do I begin to explain that I wanted a baby so badly, that a baby is what I needed for our future even though we agreed not to have children. Some women were just born to be a mother. And as much as I tried to convince myself I’m not one of those women, I am. He would never understand.
“Answer me!” His
voice cuts through the air and pierces me to the core.
But I don’t answer.
I can’t.
He descends the final stair and he’s standing toe-to-toe with me. I swallow hard, bracing myself for the impact of whatever comes next.
“Sharna, tell me what happened.” He speaks in a whisper, which is more terrifying than his outburst mere moments ago. I can tell he’s trying to reel in his rage and coax the truth out of me. But I know admitting the truth would break us even more.
“I …” the words get caught in my throat and I break down into a fit of sobs. “I don’t know. I just wanted to have a baby with you,” I lie.
The only thing I want in that moment is for him to wrap me up in his arms and tell me everything will be okay. That we’ll get through this. And he forgives me and understands why I did it, even though I know he can never know my true intentions.
But even so, I love this man. Why doesn’t he understand the moment you don’t want to forgive someone is the moment they need it the most?
But no.
Simon looks down on me and shakes his head in disgust. The look isn’t one of hate. It’s one of contempt. And I’m pretty sure that’s worse.
But that’s okay. Because in this moment, I hate myself enough for the both of us.
I sit down on the bottom step and cry into my hands as I listen to Simon’s footsteps going back and forth down the hallways. My body jerks at the sound of our front door slamming as he leaves me.
A sound I am certain will be committed to that fucking three percent of memories I will never, ever be able to shake.
It’s nearly ten thirty when I crawl into bed and Simon still hasn’t returned home. I was on the floor crying into my hands when I heard the front door slam so hard it bounced back open. He didn’t bother to come back and close it again.
I’m not sure where he ran off to, but when my phone calls started going straight to voicemail, I decided to lay low and give him some space.