by Kata Čuić
Well, how the fuck am I supposed to sleep when he says shit like that?
“Falls. I’m giving you five minutes, then I swear on my mama’s grave, I will break your phone,” Davis grits out.
“Fine.” I tuck it under my pillow, feeling like even the picture of Evie on my home screen is better than not having her in bed with me at all.
I’m exhausted, but restless. Training camp has been great, by all accounts. Evie kicking my ass into gear over the summer helped, but I’m still not back to the physical condition I was in during my college days.
Still, I have more motivation to be great on the field than I ever have before.
I can’t let my wife down.
She wants to see the best quarterback in the world, so I’ll do my damnedest to give her that.
I stare up at the ceiling, missing Evie’s cloud bed. “Hey, Davis?”
He sighs. Out of the corner of my eye, I see him spread eagle on the bed like he’s giving up any hope of sleep tonight, too. “What?”
“Do you know what the tattoo on my chest says?”
“Seriously? It’s your wife’s name, man. Why are you asking me stupid shit when we could be catching some z’s?”
Well, how the hell does he know what it says? Did I blab that, too, when I was a drunken idiot? “You can read Greek?”
“Naw. Khadijah is into culture and shit. She knows a couple different alphabets. I drew a pic of your tat and asked her to tell me what it said.”
That’s impressive…and also a little creepy.
“If I hounded my woman the way you keep tabs on yours, she would run for the hills. My woman needs her space. She’s gonna go out of her mind after I retire this year. I think she honestly likes it when I’m gone for a while.”
Oh, so now he wants to talk? What happened to going to sleep?
“Thank you for sharing, but why are you telling me any of this? What happened to your home, your wife, your rules?”
“You’re a quarterback, so you know how to read. You don’t seem to know when to push and when to pull, though. I guess that’s a defensive thing. You keep pulling at her the way you do and she’s going to chew off the leash. You’re back together. What are you so afraid of?”
Fear: we’re never going to get past keeping secrets.
I don’t want to hide anymore.
I want the whole world to know what matters to me.
I twist my wedding band around on my finger.
Maybe it’s time to start taking our deal public.
I tune out YiaYia’s rambling and flip through the channels until I land on ESPN.
It’s not that I don’t want to have a conversation with my aging grandmother. It’s just…she only speaks Greek anymore and far more fluently than I can understand.
Mama thinks she’s regressing back to exclusively using her native tongue because her mind simply can’t process translating between the two.
I think she’s stubborn as the day she was born, and hiding behind a language smoke screen to curse us all for treating her like the frail ninety-four year old she is.
Her body might be failing, but I have a sneaking suspicion her mind is still sharp as a tack.
Not to mention her tongue.
“Why are we watching this?”
Only from the sheer surprise of her English use do I rip my eyeballs from the TV screen.
“Your Papou is not here. We do not need to watch the sports shows.”
Sadness pecks at my heart, but it’s not as sharp as it was in the weeks following his death. Now, only a soft ache remains.
“Well, doesn’t it make you feel closer to Papou to watch the sports he loved so much?”
She misses her husband.
I miss mine, too.
Before she can answer, a familiar voice fills the living room.
I turn my attention to the screen, where a smiling Rob seems to be having the best interview of his pro career, so far.
“After such a high energy camp, do you feel the Rushers, and you, have shaken off the cloud of last year’s losing season?”
I’m not even there, and I want to punch that smug reporter.
Rob just continues to show off his dimple, and takes the underhanded jab in stride. “Every season is a fresh start. We’ll work out some kinks during our exhibition games, then go from there.”
I never thought I’d be so relieved to hear a canned response fall from his lips.
And oh my Lord, after a three week drought, those lips look so good.
I lick my own in longing, and inch closer to the edge of my seat, wondering how many other women across the country are having the same reaction.
“We already spoke about the team, your performance at camp, and now your predictions for the season. So, the only thing left to ask you about is the Body Edition you’re slated to appear in this fall.”
Dammit, I must’ve missed the first part of the interview.
“It’s an honor to be chosen to represent the league.” Rob’s smile never fades, but I detect a slight lift of tension in his shoulders.
I had to pull some serious begging to get Shawn to schedule that shoot while I’m out of town. No way do I want to watch other people fawn over my naked husband.
“How do you feel about the preliminary reports naming you the sexiest man in pro football? So far, this is one of the highest grossing years for subscriptions even though the magazine won’t be released for two more months. Women make up seventy-five percent of the new subscribers.”
Please don’t punch him. Please don’t punch him. Please don’t punch him.
Surprisingly, Rob throws his head back and laughs. “I can’t speak for those women, but my wife would be the first to tell you I’m more of a dork than the sexiest man in football.”
My mouth drops open.
Oh my God.
I’m going to kill him.
“That’s right.” The reporter nods sagely, like he’s in on some secret the public is waiting on with baited breath. “You’ve been wearing a wedding band throughout camp. Congratulations on getting married during the off season. Rushers and Falls fans alike are dying for details.”
“I’ve actually been married for almost two years now.” Suddenly the smile on Rob’s face looks more calculating than before.
“Were you not comfortable wearing your ring during your first year of play? Most married quarterbacks don’t wear theirs.”
And of course, that’s when the station cuts off the interview.
Oh, sure. Now the media doesn’t want to share the sordid details of his personal life.
What if he rats me out? It’s only a matter of time until it gets back to my family.
They’re going to kill me.
I think I’m hyperventilating.
“Oh, honey.” A hand on my shoulder startles me into the next millennia. “It must have been so awkward for you to stay with Rob and his wife for an entire month. I wish you would have come home, but I want you to know I understand your reasons. I’m so proud of you for putting your safety before your pride.”
I blink up at my mother, trying to divine what she believes my reasons might have been.
“California is certainly as far away as you can get.”
“Right.” I nod, trying to control my undoubtedly panicked expression. “Nothing could be further from New York.”
Mama sits beside me on the couch, then wraps her arm around my shoulders. “I must admit, I’m surprised. Rob was so wonderful to us during your Papou’s funeral, and Patty certainly never said anything to me about him getting married.”
YiaYia spits on the ground.
As hardcore Greeks do.
I’m not entirely certain, but I think she says something about a bastard, true love being dead, and moving on before the body is cold.
Obviously, I didn’t understand that right. No one died.
Yet.
As Mama and YiaYia go back in forth in Greek over my head, I force myself to relax.
Rob won’t come clean. He won’t give them my name.
Even with my personal security detail who has been explained to my family as a precaution taken by the DA after the incident in New York, Rob wouldn’t give Jackson that much ammunition.
He wouldn’t tell him exactly where to find me.
Would he?
“I know just what you need.”
I tune back into the conversation as Mama smiles at me a little too brightly.
“What’s that?”
“You need to get back on the horse and date again. You’re a beautiful, intelligent young woman. With your new body guard, you don’t even have to worry about the slime balls in the dating world! Now is the perfect time!”
She’s got one thing right.
It is the perfect time.
To talk to someone who can help me sort out this mess as an unbiased, third-party bystander.
And as luck would have it, it’s time for my appointment.
“And how did that make you feel?”
My eyes must be bugging out of my head as I check Cathy’s expression for seriousness.
She laughs at me. “I’m joshing you.”
“Oh, thank God. I was going to have to cut this session short for the first time ever.” I sink back into my cushy leather chair with relief.
No archetypal chaises in this office.
After three weeks of appointments on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays, it’s easy to see why Rob stuck with his therapist throughout our senior year of high school.
She’s funny, smart, and never acts like a typical shrink.
Like Rob explained, she lets me talk about whatever I want. She never forces the issue like the psychologists did when I was younger.
Since she already knows my background, and Rob’s, she seemed like the perfect stepping stone to dip my toes in the pool of professional counseling once again.
And I had to laugh at how pleased she seemed when I related to her Rob and I were using one of her therapy techniques at home, for ourselves.
“It was strange,” I admit, choosing to answer her joking question. “I’ve felt like his secret for so long. Hearing him admit publicly he’s married was both terrifying and redeeming.”
“Why terrifying?” She studies me with her thoughtful brown eyes.
“We’ve lied to everyone. Only Mike and Alex know we’re married, and it wasn’t exactly revealed under ideal circumstances.”
She nods, already familiar with the story of how that night went down.
“Our mothers will be crushed. My grandmother will likely have a coronary.”
“So, you’re planning to tell them, then? Will you do it yourself while you’re here, or will you wait for Rob to make this confession with you?”
I stand up and pace around the comfortable space, knowing she won’t stop my anxious behavior.
Everyone needs an outlet for their emotions. Movement happens to be yours, she said during my first session.
It makes sense. I never thought about it in those terms, but maybe that’s why I used to love running so much.
I picked it up shortly after my dad bailed to God only knows where. And of course, in the interests of my rehab, my mom and grandparents encouraged the new activity.
“I don’t see how we’re going to avoid telling them forever. How, exactly, would that play out? Even if we end up getting divorced, our families will find out sooner or later. Isn’t it better for them to hear about our marriage from us than from the media?”
Cathy blinks at me evenly. The only complaint I might register about our sessions is her uncanny ability to completely mask any emotion or reaction to whatever I say when she wants to. I wish I could take lessons from her on that, to be honest.
“You tell me. Is it better for them to hear it from you?”
I think back to the time I heard some devastating news, and if my reaction had anything to do with the bearer.
Would it have been easier for me to hear Rob slept with Julie from his own mouth? Or, did Alex telling me soften the blow?
“I guess it doesn’t matter how they find out. They’ll be hurt either way.”
“You seem to be focusing on their reaction more than on your action.” Cathy jots down some notes before meeting my gaze. “You never answered my question of whether you’ll deliver the news alone or wait for Rob, so you can do it together.”
I don’t know how to answer her question. It’s not up to me, alone. “I suppose that depends on how Rob feels about sitting down and confessing everything to them. If he doesn’t want to, I can’t exactly force that.”
“He gave an interview today, patently stating he’s been married for nearly two years. What makes you think he wouldn’t want to tell your families?”
I shrug. Since I didn’t get to watch the interview in its entirety, I still have no idea if he named me as his wife or not.
My phone isn’t vibrating with an onslaught of messages, though. That’s a pretty good indicator he didn’t.
“Again, you’re more concerned with Rob’s feelings on the matter than what you want to do. Tell me what you want, Evie.”
I don’t know what I want. I still can’t see how this will play out. What’s the point of telling anyone we’re married only to see our relationship crumble into dust in six short months? “I can’t tell you that. I can only tell you what I don’t want.”
“Okay. What don’t you want, then?”
I sink into the chair, the exhaustion of facing emotions I’ve tried to bury for so long overwhelming. “I don’t want to fail anyone again. All I do is hurt the people around me. No matter how our families find out, their disappointment will be our faults.”
“Why do you assume they’ll be disappointed? Why not proud, happy, hopeful?”
My expression must belie my disbelief. “Why would they be? We’ve basically screwed them out of a wedding and lied to them for nearly two years.”
“I’m not dismissing the fact your families are an important part of yours and Rob’s lives, but having a wedding is the choice of the bride and groom. Getting married at all is your choice. As is keeping that to yourselves or not.”
“Keeping it to ourselves was never my choice,” I mumble, my cheeks heating.
“It was, actually,” Cathy gently insists. “You didn’t have to go along with Rob’s plans. Or, you could have refused him altogether.”
“Why would I do that?” Is she out of her mind? That man is the full package and all I’ve ever wanted. Shitty scenario or not, there was no way I was going to say no to his proposal.
“You tell me, hmm? What would have made you say no?”
No matter how hard I rack my brain, I can’t think of a single thing. Even if Rob had told me he’d slept with Julie before he proposed, I still would have jumped at the chance to be the last woman he ever sleeps with. “Nothing. There’s nothing he could have said or done to make me say no.”
“That.” Cathy points at me with her pen, a strangely excited gleam in her eyes. “That is what you need to do and feel all the time, Eva. Even under less than ideal circumstances, in that moment when Rob asked you to be his wife, you knew exactly what you wanted and you loved yourself enough to take it. You weren’t concerned with failing or hurting anyone or how anyone else would respond.”
She acts like I just had a breakthrough, but I don’t feel that way at all. “That sounds…selfish.”
I don’t want to be a selfish person anymore. I’m trying to get better, not worse.
It was selfish of me to even say yes, considering all I put Rob through during college.
Which he still doesn’t know about.
That’s not even something I’ve discussed with my therapist yet.
Cathy sighs, the excitement bleeding out of her face. “Being selfish and self-love are not the same thing. Whether you realize it or not, you stopped loving yourself the moment your father walked out of your life. And in your intrinsic need to never fail at anything again
, you’ve failed yourself.”
Oh, no. Not the whole daddy issues thing. That’s such a cliché.
“I want you to do something for me before our next session.”
Well, this is new. Cathy never asks me anything like this.
“I’d like you to choose one thing you enjoy. One thing that makes you feel fulfilled, happy, and that doesn’t require anyone else’s input or feelings to be considered.”
“Such as?” The urge to roll my eyes is getting stronger by the second.
“I don’t know.” She rises from her perch in the other leather arm chair, setting her notebook and pen down on her large walnut desk. “That thing is different for everyone. For some women, it might be getting a mani-pedi or a new hair style. For some, it might be writing in a journal. For others, it might be pleasuring themselves with their favorite sex toy.”
I jerk my head back in shock. “You want me to masturbate with a vibrator?”
I don’t even own a vibrator.
She shakes her head as she gestures for me to follow her to the door. “The suggestions aren’t the point. Finding what makes you happy is what’s important. That’s where your real work lies. I would love to tell you that you need to stop claiming responsibility for others’ perceptions and feelings; that you need to stop predicting their reactions when there is no possible way you could know another person’s mind. But, it’s too soon for that. And you wouldn’t believe me, anyway. So, until next time, I don’t want you to think. I want you to act. And I want you to try to find a little happiness for yourself. And only for yourself.”
When she ushers me out of her office, I expect to find Byers, flipping through a magazine in the waiting room.
Instead, I find someone who instantly makes me happy.
Of course, my world being what it is, that knee-jerk reaction is replaced by a tsunami of other emotions.
I can breathe again.
What would my old therapist have to say about the relief coursing through my veins at just seeing my wife in the doorway?