Love, Michael: A second chance romance

by Gina A. Jones

  "Did you know she left the wedding early because she was sick?"

  "Yes."

  "She told you?"

  "She told us."

  "Us?"

  "We were in your car…after…"

  "Yes, after I got drunk. And that's your fault. But go on."

  "I'll accept that," he says. "She said she'd call you. You tried to get out of the car, and when she noticed how fucked up you were, she bent down and hugged you through the window and told me to make sure you got home safely. I promised her I would."

  "Oh, God," I say and break from his side, standing up from the couch.

  "Have you eaten, Jill?"

  "No, Michael. Nor do I want to. So, take your cacciatore and go home. Wherever that is."

  "Jill, I don't think you need to be alone right now."

  "What the hell do you know about what I need? Or even care. It was never a problem in the past. I needed you years ago. And…I learned you were the one thing I definitely didn't need." I walk over to the kitchen counter and look out the window. The street light is on, and suddenly, I'm back there. "Do you know, I stood at this window until the sun came up that night you left? I didn't even realize; the sun was shining on my face. My eyes stayed glued to the street, waiting for the glow of your headlights. It was only when I heard the birds, did I see it was morning."

  I hear him get up from the couch and walk up close behind me. "I'm sorry, Jill." He touches my shoulders, but I shrug away. Through the reflection of the dark window, I see his hand still held above my shoulder. I turn around.

  "Well, sorry or not, you never came back. And I should probably thank you." His eyes look guarded. "Because finally, I realized that no matter how much I loved you, it wasn't what you wanted. And it took a long time to figure that out."

  "Jill…"

  "You know what else I figured out, Michael? How the whole time Monica and I were so in your way, making you feel miserable when it was exhausting being your wife. You never had to do anything to prove how much you loved me…or our daughter. Because you didn't. Yet I drained myself daily showing you love. No one ever gets tired of loving. They get tired of waiting, assuming, hearing lies, and saying sorry and hurting. How could I prioritize someone who didn't value me? In the end, Michael, I didn't know who I hated more…me or you."

  His eyes glass over with heavy tears. "I'm sorry." His words are faint. "All you ever did was love me, and all I ever did was hurt you." A big tear drops down his cheek and onto his white shirt. I watch the color darken from the wetness and know, that I am not crying.

  "And so, once I got over that, I then had to get over that you left us for something better. And I just couldn't figure out what that would be. And there I was, making you a priority in my thoughts. So, I'm going to ask you, Michael. Because I would really like to know. What was it that was better than our daughter and me?"

  "Not hurting you anymore."

  Then

  I wasn't scheduled to work at Delanie's after school and had given my two weeks' notice. Tonight, I was going to start my job for Michael. He said, whenever my schedule allowed, and I was busting at the seams to start. Concentration was at a loss, and all I could think about was him. He had given me a key to his apartment after dropping me off at home, and I wore it on a gold chain around my wrist. I wanted everyone to see and ask me about it. Feeling it and watching it dangle from my wrist instilled the reality that there was something special between us. It was a symbol that he had won the key to my heart. I wished I had something to give him. I wanted him to wear something that meant, me every time he felt it or saw it. Giving him my class ring felt too juvenile since he was ten years older. I thought about buying him a necklace with some sort of medallion and engraving, Love, Jill on the back. Tammy and I would go to the mall this weekend, and she'd help me pick it out.

  The PA came on to give the end of day announcements, and my legs were bouncing with eager anticipation. As soon as the principal dismissed the school, I was out the door and to my car. I was heading to Michael's. I called him the night before and told him I'd be there. He said that he worked until 5:00, which meant I had time to freshen my makeup or fix my hair.

  As I pulled out of the parking lot and onto the street, those romantic feelings of driving home to my husband once again entertained my young heart. Later, it would no longer be a dream, and the pain in my heart would prolong the journey.

  I pulled into his apartment complex and parked next to where his Corvette would be parked when he got home. I unlocked the door and walked into his apartment, and into the make-believe world I had created for myself. It had only been three days since he kissed me on that couch and my destination for his love began. I walked over and took a seat, remembering the moment. It was real. That kiss and the sound he made when he kissed me. I wanted this job to be more than just cleaning and running his errands. I wanted to cook for him; care for him. Be here to make his bad day go away—if he had bad days.

  My eyes spotted a note on the counter, and I went to read it.

  Dear Jill,

  Thanks again for taking the job. Feel free to the stereo or anything you can find in the fridge. On the dresser in my room, there's a box with some money. Use it to buy anything you need to clean with. The vacuum is in the small hall closet, along with other cleaning items. I will be working late tonight, so if I don't see you, have a great night. Hope to see you soon.

  Love, Michael

  My fingers caressed over the words: Love, Michael. I starred until my eyes burned. I wanted to make sure I didn't see things. It wasn't my creative imagination. He wrote: Love, Michael. I held the letter to my chest and smiled. I went to his room and stopped at his unmade bed. My hand smoothed down the sheet, and I wanted to feel and smell where his body slept. I lay down and squeezed into his pillow. I breathed in his scent—manly soap and cologne. I rolled my face in it like a dog rolling in something terrible. I wanted his scent all over me. I wanted it on me long after I went home. Everything I smelled refreshed my senses and I was back three days ago on that couch where he kissed me.

  The smile on my face was forever embedded, and I thought I would have to learn to turn it off. Eventually, I would have to learn how to even smile again.

  I got up and went to the little box on his dresser, where his note said the money was. I thought about how I wanted to have something nice for dinner waiting when he came home from work. I wanted a reason to stay longer and be here when he returned. So, after, I checked the closet for the cleaning supplies. He had everything I needed, and it looked like they had never been open. I wouldn't need to buy anything.

  I went to the kitchen and checked his refrigerator. Yes. The chicken cacciatore was gone, which meant he finished it and hopefully thought of me when eating. Like I thought of him when I felt and saw the key hanging from my wrist. Of course, I didn't need anything to think of him.

  I popped in a Faith Hill CD, and I got started with the cleaning—making his bed, scrubbing the bathroom, vacuuming the apartment. There was no need to polish the furniture, such as end tables, because he didn't have any.

  It was now 5:00 and I had at least an hour or so until he'd be home. I decided I would make him steak and potatoes for dinner, along with a salad. I could broil the steak in the oven and have it ready in no time. Of course, I didn't know how he ate his steak.

  His phone rang when I was about to grab the money from the box and head to the grocery down the street. An answering machine set next to the phone clicked on.

  "Hey, Jill. This is Michael. If you're still there, pick up."

  He wanted to talk to me. He was thinking of me. Looking in the mirror, I saw the bright smile on my face when I picked up the phone. "Hi, Michael."

  "Good, you're still there." My heart fluttered. He wanted me here.

  "Yes, I was about to go leave for the grocery store." Before I could ask him how he liked his steak, he interrupted me.

  "Great! That's what I was calling about. Your cacciatore was impre
ssive." I bit down on my lower lip, giddy with all sorts of feelings. "Take the money in the box and make another pan if you could." I was more than excited. He was having the same thoughts about me—having me here and dining together.

  "Sure, not a problem," I said, and glad I didn't' miss his call before I went to buy him a steak.

  "Great. April is coming over for dinner, and I would like to impress her."

  My heart sunk and as I watched my expression in the mirror of his dresser. I never saw anything sadder. He wanted to impress April. And he wanted me to make dinner…for him and April. Blowjob eyes. My mouth remained open, speechless. I knew if I spoke, it would come out all wrong and he would know how upset I was. And maybe I should have, because all I could say was, "Okay."

  "Great. You don't mind, do you? Might require you to stay a little longer."

  By now, the tears were so welled up in my eyes, I couldn't even see my reflection in the mirror. I felt my nose begin to run and I couldn't sniff, fear he would know I was crying. I inhaled a deep breath as quietly as I could and responded. "No, it's fine."

  "Thanks, Jill."

  "Ah hah," I said and hung up the phone. By now, snot was dripping down my face, along with big watery tears. What was I thinking? He had no romantic feelings for me. But what was that on the couch three nights ago?

  I went into the bathroom, dried my eyes and blew my nose. I flushed the paper down the toilet, not wanting him to find my snot-dried tissue and then snatched the money from the box with anger; it fell to the floor. I went to pick it up and found wallet-sized photos that were also inside the box that I didn't see before. All girls—high school photos. They were all very pretty—of course, and I turned them over to read what was written on the back.

  Michael, never forget Montauk…I won't. Jenny. I read another. Michael, I've been in love with your eyes since 1st grade, Love Rochelle. What the hell went on in Montauk? Where was Rochelle now? Michael, Thanks for taking my virginity, Pam. I threw the pictures back in the box, set it down with force on the dresser and left for the grocery store.

  As I shopped for their dinner, I passed by the medication aisle and stared at a bottle of ex-lax. I picked it up and wondered if it could be tasted in the cacciatore. How much would it take? I threw it in the cart and headed to the checkout. As I stood in line, I heard the person in front ask for the receipt, and then I knew Michael would see it…if he asked for the receipt. So, I took it out and laid in on the shelf that was next to me.

  I had another cry on the way back, and once I was at the apartment, I prepared the cacciatore with a deep heaviness in my heart. How just three days ago, I was on Michael cloud number nine. As I cooked, Michael played music and lit candles and poured the wine. And now, he was going to be doing it all with April. And I knew after, he would fuck her. Just like the girls in the box. Jenny, Rochelle, Pam and the rest of the girls' pictures that I didn't read.

  The oven dinged, and I pulled the pan out and onto the stove, wrapping it with foil. The front door opened and Michael walked through the door. "Wow, I could smell it as soon as I got out of my car. You're such a doll, Jill."

  I couldn't even look at him. I was furious, hurt, heartbroken all at once and he would be able to tell by the look on my face. "It just came out. Depending on what time…April gets here, it should be plenty warm," I said and went to gather my things.

  "The apartment looks really nice too." I didn't respond and headed for the door. I felt him watching me from behind.

  "I'll call you when I have a free day. I still have a week left at Delanie's," I said, opening the door.

  He knew now something was wrong and hesitated before responding. "Oh…kay. No problem. And…thanks for making dinner."

  "Yeah," I said and shut the door behind me. I got into my car, started it up and drove out of the complex. I was only a block down the road when I had to pull over. I couldn't see through the tears burning my eyes, and I laid my head on the steering wheel and cried.

  Now

  I walk in with two coffees as the nurse hooks Tammy up to the chemo pump. Her port had already been surgically implanted—another secret she kept from me. "Here you go, Ryan," I say, handing him one cup.

  "Thanks, Jill."

  Setting my coffee on a nearby table, I grab my bag of goodies and sit next to Tammy on the bed. "What is it? Christmas in that bag?" Tammy jokes, still taking all of this with a grain of salt.

  "I put together some items to help you get through this. And Ryan, I got a few things for you too," I say pulling out car magazines, Hot Rod and Car Craft. Ryan has restored a few cars, and I thought it might help him as well.

  "Thanks again, Jill. And…thank you for coming today," he says taking the magazine.

  "Ryan, I will be here each time," I tell him, pulling a sack of ginger candy from the bag and handing to Tammy. "This is to help with nausea. And here are some iTunes cards. Guess what we're going to do?"

  "Buy music?"

  "Close," I say and pull out two sets of earbuds. "We're finally going to listen to “Fifty Shades of Grey”—together."

  She laughs. "Oh my, God. You're serious."

  "You know I am. You know everyone in the book club wants to read it too. They just won't admit it. Well, we will listen in private."

  "Ryan, you want a set of earbuds?"

  "Ah, no thanks. Go right ahead. If I listen, it will be Fifty Shades of Puke."

  "Whatever," I say and reach back into the bag. "Here's a BPA-free water bottle to keep ice water in. They say your mouth can get dry during chemo. Also, I order some already prepared meals to be delivered for days I'm working. I was going to hire someone to come and clean, but I don't want you to be exposed to anyone who might be sick. So, I will do my best to help with girls out. And here is some moisturizer for your hands and feet. They dry out as well."

  "Wow, Jill. You're amazing. I love you," Tammy says, and I brush her hair back. I can't help but think when her hair will begin to fall out.

  Ryan sets in with his coffee and magazine, and I download “Fifty Shades of Grey” to my iPad. As the book is loading, I pair both wireless earbuds to the iPad. Tammy's chemo IV begins to drip, and I distract her by handing her the earbuds, telling her to put them on. "You ready? The book has downloaded."

  "Let's go for it." She smiles bravely at me, and I start the audible, snuggling up beside her. I take her hand when the audible begins. “This is Audible. “Fifty Shades of Grey”, by E.L. James. Read for you by Becca Battoe. Chapter one. I scowl at myself with frustration in the mirror. Damn my hair—it just won't behave, and damn Katherine Kavanagh for being ill and subjecting me to this ordeal. I should be studying for final exams, yet here I am trying to brush my hair into submission. I must not sleep with it wet. I must not sleep with it wet,” says the narrator and I burst with laughter.

  "Oh, my God. This is awful," I say as we both begin laughing.

  "Yes, but awful, good." Michael looks up from his magazine, and I see the sigh in his smile. He needs me here just as much as I need to be here. Ryan has always been a good husband to Tammy and has never let our close friendship be a problem in their marriage. Even when Tammy spent countless nights with me talking me off the emotional wall, I was about to jump off. At times, I felt death would be better—for me. How selfish of me to think that while she's here hanging onto hers.

  Though he's a good husband, Ryan is quieter and reserved with his feelings and Tammy has always accepted that. He's complacent with what they have, and over time I find that maybe, satisfied is better than passion. Passion has two meanings. One, once you have it, you can't live with anything else. And two, passion can kill. Life and death are the two things that drive it, so being stuck in between can feel safe. And safe is comforting. But not passion.

  Chapter one finishes and Tammy pauses the book. "How many hours is this?"

  "I think fourteen."

  "I think they might find a cure for cancer by then. I don't remember even talking or thinking like that in college,"
she says.

  "Me either." But I was married and raising Monica at the same time. Maybe I could have been an Anastasia Steel, and in some ways, I was. I tried desperately to get Michael to love me on some level. But to him, we were a situation as he called it. Not a real marriage and my ideal of marriage has been fractured ever since. It scares me that I may never find out and never reach a level of complacent.

  "I'm going to get more coffee. Can I get you, girls, something?" Michael asks.

  "I'm fine. But can you get Tammy a bottle of water? And here," I say handing him the water bottle I bought, "Find some ice too and then pour the water in here."

  "Sure," he says and kisses Tammy on the check before he leaves.

  She pulls the earbuds out. "Thanks for the audiobook, Jill. But now that Ryan is out, I want to talk about Fifty Shades of you and Michael."

  "What? Why? Didn't I rob you enough of your life back then? I'd rather not."

  "He came to see me yesterday."

  "He what? Why in the hell would he do that? He has to know how you feel."

  "He came to thank me and apologize. He brought a small vase of white daisies and told me how sorry he was about my cancer. He seemed deeply concerned and understanding. Wanted to know if there was anything he could do, or if I needed a good cancer doctor."

  "Wow. Are you sure it was Michael? Because I've had these illusions too," I say with a tease.

  "I know. It was weird. Yet…comforting. He thanked me for being there for you after he left…and before." Before is right. Life during Michael was hell. And if it wasn't for Tammy and all her love, I don't think I'd be sitting here in this bed with her. Michael time-stamped my life. Everything became pre-Michael, during Michael, and post-Michael. "So, I take it he has been back since the after-wedding-pancake-breakfast since he knew about the cancer?"