I took a deep breath, swallowed back my tears and went back to the bedroom where Michael laid naked, passed out in his own vomit. Looking at him like this was a discussing sight, and I could no longer see the beautiful Michael I fell in love with. But I had said a vow, for better or for worst. I just didn't think it would start on my wedding night.
"Michael," I whispered. He moaned, and I lightly shook his shoulder. "Come on, Michael; let's get you into the shower. He didn't fight me as I helped him up and walked him to the bathroom. He was heavy, and I struggled to hold him up as I stepped us into the shower. He leaned on me, his head on my shoulder and I let the water run over us both. "Michael, can you lean against the wall? I'm going to wash you now." His eyes strained to open as he peered at me through bloodshot slits.
"Jill?" he mumbled, and I wasn't sure he knew where we were.
I leaned him against the shower wall and lathered his body with soap. Before I was done, he slid down and sat on the shower floor. "Come, Michael. Stand up. Let's rinse you." I couldn't get him back up and unhooked the portable shower head. I sat on my knees and washed my husband like a pet—lifting his arms and rubbing his hair. A few times he would try and speak, and I couldn't tell if he was grateful…or becoming more annoyed.
I pulled him from the shower and walked him to bed but needed to change the sheets. I leaned him against the wall, where he slid to the floor and sat while I put new sheets on the bed and threw the soiled ones into the wash.
Pulling him up, he fell to the bed and I covered him with a clean blanket. Would he remember this in the morning and be grateful?
I needed to be at school at 8:00 a.m. and Michael was still passed out in bed. I had already showered, blow-dried my hair and stood over my husband, contemplating how to wake him. I was still furious but desperate for his love. He was not only my husband now, but the father of my unborn baby. And despite what happened last night, I wanted us to work.
I bent down and kissed his cheek. "Good morning. I know you don't feel like it, but you need to eat to feel better." Remembering the times Scott came home a little hungover, he would beg me to fix him greasy food and pancakes. He said it helped with nausea. After I would make him pay me, or I will tell Mom and Dad. "Are you going to work today? I can't miss class again. I have a test."
His eyes cracked open, and he looked at me like a stranger. "Jill? You're here?" Did he remember and was surprised I stayed? Or did he forget we were husband and wife?
"Yes, Michael. I have your breakfast ready. Can you get up and eat before I leave for school?"
He rubbed his face and moaned. "Oh, God…I feel like shit." Was it from what he did to me? Or just the hangover? "But something smells good."
"Yes, it's your pancakes. Come and eat, so you'll feel better." There was a long pause as we stared into each other's eyes. Mine full of sadness, his bloodshot. Despite all he had said and done, I wanted to kiss him. I wanted him to know that I still loved him. And so, I gently kissed his lips. As I moved away, his look was sorrowful.
I left the bedroom and waited in the kitchen. I was gathering my books when he came walking out, wearing only a pair of shorts. I looked up from my bag and waited for him to speak first. I wanted to hear he was sorry. I wanted to hear he loved me.
I pointed to his plate, and he moved in slow motion and took his seat. After my bag was packed, I poured him a large glass of milk and set in front of him. He looked up, and I waited. But nothing ever came, and he began eating.
I went to the medicine cabinet and grabbed a packet of Alker-Seltzer and poured a glass of water and took them to him. Again, he just looked up at me, and I wanted us to talk. But I didn't know how. Dating was fun. Hanging out was fun. Why was this so hard? Because I had learned that, all this time, I was the only one falling in love while Michael was just having fun. But, it was me taking care of Michael…and it wasn't fun like it had been. Would it ever be again?
I started to walk out the door when he finally spoke. "Jill…I'm very sorry for last night. It will never happen again." I began to cry, and so much emotion came over me. I did the right thing last night. I stayed and helped him. I was a good wife, and I wanted him to know it. "Do you have a few minutes before you have to leave?"
I closed the door and went to sit next to him. I didn't care at that point if I did miss class. My husband needed us to talk. "I've been thinking about us," he said, and I waited. "It's not exactly what we wanted; I get that." I did want to be married to him, but I didn't want it to be like this. "After you graduated, I want you to enroll in college and get your nursing degree—like you said you wanted. I will stick by you and make sure you graduated. After that, we'll go our separate ways—divorce. And people will just think we couldn't make it work. I owe you that much."
My heart broke in two, and I felt the bile rising in my throat. My hands were shaking to the extreme, and I felt as if a large hole had opened. I was falling into it. What would life be like for us if he was only sticking around until I graduated college? What about our baby? Had he even thought about our baby?
"You'll have your degree, able to support yourself. And I will pay the required child support. It's not what I wanted. It will set my goals back, but I won't have people saying I never paid my child support. People get divorced every day, and no one looks down on that. Not paying child support is a different story. That is my arrangement for us."
Arrangement. Our baby and I were an arrangement. He couldn't even say his child; he said his child support. He had no attachment to me or our baby. We were a stick that side railed his goals and that was what his sorrowful look in his eyes was for. It wasn't for raping me. It was because his goals were set back. And I wasn't one of them. What about my goals? Maybe I should have told him how much I loved him before I finally said it. Perhaps I should have never told him I wanted to be a nurse. He couldn't love me…so he was going to help me become a nurse. Arrangement.
I was in shock. I couldn't say anything and got up to leave for school. I got to the door and stopped. I went back, kissed him on the cheek and said goodbye. "That's in case I never see you again." Something my mother always did when she left the house—just in case she was killed in a car wreck. But, I didn't think it would matter much to Michael. But I did it anyway.
The looks I received at school felt degrading and shameful. I went from goody-two-shoe-Jill to whore of the month. It didn't matter that Michael was my one and only and that I was married. I was no better than the girls who gave blowjobs on the fan bus. I could hear the whispers as I walked through the halls and even some of the teachers would roll their eyes in disgust. Others got to plan and enjoy their special day and be congratulated. While I walked around with a scarlet A sewn to my chest. In the past, I walked these halls with pride and my love for Michael elevated my day. I was confused as to how everyone was okay with sex, but find out you're pregnant, and it's a big taboo. Hello, people—that's where babies come from. And everyone only talked about the girl. No one ever talked about the guy who got the girl pregnant. His social status remained untainted.
Tammy stayed closed to me all day, deterring any remarks that were said and would speak up on my behalf. I wanted to tell her about last night, but sadly, I didn't want her to think ill of Michael. Given my earlier thought of the guy and his untainted status, I was just as much a hypocrite. Wanting to keep Michael's good image.
But what about me? Had what I done been so terrible? And now it was wrong to love Michael and want to have a life with him. I didn't trap him. I just stupidly got pregnant. And when I thought of it that way, I felt I would be a terrible mother. I became confused between love and sacrifice. Was I sacrificing myself to love Michael and our baby? Or was Michael sacrificing his goals for us? Were they the same? I began to look at my parents differently and if what we had… did they really want.
I did love Michael. I knew this because it hurt so much. And I was confused if it was the love that hurt, or the love he would never have for me. My eyes stung with tears, an
d as one ran down my cheek, I realized the answer. Both.
The principal gave the last announcement, ending the day. Now it was time to go home and be a wife. Before it was a school-girl fantasy and now it felt different. Part of me was happy. I was going home to Michael—my husband. But knowing he wasn't having the same thoughts weighed on my happiness. No more would he walk through the door with a smile and I would jump into his arms as he spun me around. Would I ever hear: I couldn't wait to get home?
I pulled out of the school parking lot, remembering the smile on my face when I was going to Michael's. Now it all felt different. It was home, and I was married to a man who didn't love me. I was going to have his baby. Oh, how the fantasy feels much different than the reality.
Once I was…home, I made a decision. I would fight for Michael…or us. If he were willing to put me through college, I would show him my undying love. I wouldn't use the excuse that we were an arrangement. We were real and could be real. I would be like it once was. There was no reason why he couldn't be happy and love me. And once our baby came, he would love our child too.
I would make chicken cacciatore for dinner and hoped it would spark the fun we had our first night together and we would make love and talk about names for our baby. I wouldn't mention what happened last night, so he would never have to feel bad. He would see me as his wife who loved him unconditionally. Maybe he had a note waiting for me at home, telling me how much he wanted to try, and we were more than an arrangement. With these thoughts, I hit the gas with anticipation and eager to get home and make my marriage work.
There was a note waiting for me, and I smiled, just knowing my wish had come true.
Jill,
Don't think you must be here when I get home. Our arrangement goes both ways. If you want to hang with your school friends, I won't object. I won't take away your freedom, so I don't expect you to take away mine. You're free to come and go. I don't know what time I'll be coming home, so don't wait up. Or, stay with your friend Tammy. And what happened last night will never happen again.
Love, Michael
I dropped to the floor and cried. Did he not know the severity of what happened last night? Did he think we just had sex, and he meant he never wants to have sex with me—ever?
At seventeen, I wasn't in a marriage. I was in…an arrangement. And no one ever prepares you for that.
Now
"Oh my, God. I can't believe she signed the contract. Even after he said, ‘I don't make love. I fuck. Hard.' Who says that? She thinks she loves him?" It's Tammy's third chemo treatment. I couldn't come last week since I was covering her spot at the hospital. And today, I worked half shift and ran here as soon as I could. It's good to be here with her, laughing and listening to “Fifty Shades of Grey.” I feel we are teens again, and it's sad that it's her cancer that has ported us back to this closeness. I will never take friendship for granted again.
I stop the audio and pull out the lotion I brought for her feet. "It's lotion time," I say and pull up the covers, removing her skid-free hospital socks.
"Remember, I'm ticklish." With this, I can't help but run my finger quickly up the bottom of her foot. She jerks it away. "Jill! You're awful. But I love you."
I smile in her eyes, weak and red looking. I begin rubbing and massaging the lotion on her feet. She closes her eyes and lies her head back. Ryan didn't come today, and I told him no worries, because I already have dinner ready to go for him and the girls.
"That feels so good, Jill." I'm happy to be giving her some pleasure. For the next few days, she'll feel like she has the worst flu ever. "Now, back to Fifty Shades of you and Michael," Tammy says, still relaxed back with closed eyes.
I continue with her feet, moving up her legs and think of Anastasia. People do wonder how you could love someone who can't love you back. I understand it all too well and listening to the audible brings back that desperate feeling of wanting that love. I haven't told her about my stupid moment—Michael and I's one nighter. And, I try to brush her question under the rug. "There's nothing to tell." I've kept my distance, dodging his happenstance appearances—grocery store, my morning walks on days off. And since the destruction on my car, there's been no flowers left on the windshield. They've been left on my front porch, along with notes always signed Love, Michael. "Give me your other foot," I tell her and pull off her sock.
"Jill, you're avoiding my question. Please tell. I might not have much time left."
I smack her foot. "Don't say that." She laughs, and I run my finger up her foot again. "I've been avoiding him. I have to, Tammy."
"Why do you have to?"
"My God, you were there. You know how he was."
"WAS."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"You don't think he's changed? I mean, we're listening to this book, and if I get the chance to finish it…I'm pretty sure this Christian guy is going to change."
"First, Michael and I aren't fictional characters written into a happily-ever-after. And what do you mean not get to finish? Stop talking like that," I say and lightly smack her foot.
"I'm realistic."
"No, you're not. Not about you and not about Michael. You're going to be just fine, and Michael will be onto…whatever Michael does." I finish with her feet and struggle getting her socks back on. "How's that feel? Better?"
"Yes, thank you."
I sit back down on the bed beside her and place the earbud back in. "Next chapter."
She pulls them out. "No. Next chapter of you and Michael."
She's serious, and it scares me somewhat. "Tammy, why are you persistent about this? Weren't you the one who told me to leave him several times?"
"Back then. This is now."
Back then she did tell me to leave him. But I wouldn't. Not because he forced me to stay. Because he wouldn't care if I went. "Remember when you had to get me back from Seattle in one piece? Do you want another repeat of that?"
"Just think about it. He's older now. He sees things differently."
"Differently how?"
She presses her lips, stalling on my question. "Kind of how I see things now," she says, and I know where she's going with this. "Things of the past; they don't matter anymore. One thing does. To let go of the hurt and live the rest of your lives together being happy. Even now with Ryan and me. Since the cancer, it's like we see each differently—precious and not here forever."
"Stop it. You'll always be here."
"Jill, we’re all dying. Some of us just have a fast pass getting there." How can she talk like that? Is she giving up? Here I go with the tears, and I'm here for emotional support. She's so much stronger than me.
"So, you think I should give Michael a chance? Is that what you're saying?"
"I think you should be open to what he wants to give you." The minute she says, what he wants to give me, something opens. And, I see it differently. Maybe it's not what he wants; it's what he wants to give me.
"Are you trying to get rid of me? Am I hanging around too much?" I tease, grabbing her hands and kissing the tops.
She looks at me hair, eyeing it quizzically. "Weren't you going to shave your head? Or is that off now, so you look good for Michael?"
"You're not going to stop, are you? You want it shaved? I'll shave it tonight."
"No," she laughs. I have enough ugliness to look at going through this. It brightens my day to see you and your gorgeous, blonde curls." Her eyes soften, and she studies me for the longest time. "Please, stay perfect. Stay beautiful, stay…Jill."
"Oh, honey. I will always be me, and you'll always be you. We'll always be us."
As I'm about to get into the rental car, my cell rings with a number I don't recognize. My gut tells me it's Michael as my finger hovers over the accept button. I think of Tammy and people changing. The feeling of wanting to be loved. What Michael wants to give me…and so, I tap accept.
"Hello."
"Is this Jill Danforth?" It's not Michael.
"Yes, this
is she."
"Hi, this is Robert from Stafford's Auto Repair. Your car is ready to be picked up."
"Oh. Um…what's the damages? I haven't yet received a check from my insurance."
"It's paid in full. You just need to come to pick it up. We're open until 6:00."
"Paid in full? How?"
I hear the shuffling of papers, and then he responds. "It's signed by a Michael Danforth."
Michael. "Well, thank you for calling. I'll be there in about twenty minutes."
"Yes, Mrs. Danforth."
"That's not Mrs.…" The call goes silent. Well, I wasn't planning on going anywhere after work. So, I'm breaking my scrub rule again. Oh, well. It's just a body shop. I start the rental and pull out of the hospital parking garage and head to Stafford's. I'll have to find out the cost, write a check and have Monica give it to her father.
Before heading to the body shop, I give Monica quick call to see if she'll pick me up at the Avis Car Rental and then drop me off at Stafford's.
I drop off the rental and Monica is outside waiting. "Hey, Mom," she says when I get into her car.
"Hi, Honey. Thanks for picking me up. You back to work now?"
"Yes," she says disappointedly. "Kind of hard to get back in the swing of things after Paris."
As much as I love my daughter, she has no idea how lucky she has it with Jordan. Just to have a honeymoon. "Yes, well…I'm sure the honeymoon is still continuing now that you're home. You look so happy, sweetheart."
"Yes, I am Mom. What about you and Dad?" I don't like what she may be insinuating.
"What about us? There isn't anything." She eyes me suspiciously before turning her look back onto the road. What has he been telling her? Hopefully not about our one stupid moment last week.
"I mean, are any old feelings rekindling?"
"Rekindling! There's a lot of feelings, but I wouldn't call it that." Michael never had feelings for us in the first place. "He's made various comments, apologizing for the past."
Love, Michael: A second chance romance Page 16