by Kallysten
Joan and Brad exchanged a look, silently asking each other if they really wanted to do this. Across the circle, Jack and Lydia were doing the same. Everyone else was looking around, hemming and hawing, clearly unwilling to take the lead. After a few uncomfortable seconds, Alicia took a deep breath that drew all eyes to her.
“Well… Where are we doing it, then?”
She seemed to realize too late that, said in this low, shaky voice, her words were taking an entirely different connotation. She blushed and laughed, and a few of her friends joined her. The tension was broken.
Woods smiled. “A quiet place is best,” he said. “Noise can pull you out of the showing sometimes.”
They both turned to Daisy. She thought fast. The open floor plan of the kitchen, dining room, and living room gave little privacy, but she didn’t want to suggest a bedroom. “How about the balcony? It’s pretty quiet out there with the windows closed. And the air is still warm tonight.”
She led Alicia and Woods there, and gave Alicia an encouraging smile when she pulled the sliding door almost all the way closed behind them. She still didn’t think this was a good idea on principle, but Alicia had been the one who wanted this the most. She had had a string of disappointing relationships lately. And then there were the two puncture marks she hid beneath the ever-present bracelet on her left wrist, the scars fresh again almost every time Daisy caught a glimpse of them. Maybe a look at where she was headed would help her figure things out, or at least Daisy hoped it would.
She watched them stand by the railing and share a few words that she couldn’t hear. After a short moment, Alicia turned to Woods, and Daisy could guess the words on her lips before he leaned in and covered her mouth with his.
“I’m ready.”
* * * *
As soon as Daisy appeared on the threshold, Alicia’s tears returned, unwanted yet unstoppable. Through the blur, Alicia could see that her friend looked crestfallen, and she felt yet another pang of pain. This was really happening. As unexpected, as out of character as it was for Ben, it was really happening. Daisy opened her arms to her and enveloped her in a hug, patting her back and murmuring soothing words.
“I’m so sorry, sweetie. It’ll be OK. Calm down now.”
Alicia didn’t quite know how they ended up sitting on the sofa. She didn’t recall stepping away from the door or even closing it. She was glad she was seated, though. She wasn’t sure her knees could have supported her much longer.
She leaned toward the coffee table and tugged a couple of tissues from the box. She dabbed at her cheeks. Feeling very self-conscious, she took deep breaths to calm down and offered Daisy a tentative smile, wordlessly thanking her for being there. She didn’t know who else she could have called. She didn’t know who else would have dropped everything and come to her.
Daisy reached over and squeezed her shoulder once. Very quietly, she asked, “How did you find out?”
Swallowing back the fresh wave of tears that was threatening to submerge her, Alicia clung to her friend’s hand as though to a safe line.
“I was running errands downtown.” Her words were no louder than a whisper. She tried to raise her voice, but without much success. The tears were still too close, waiting for an opening. “They were in our favorite restaurant. Right by the window.”
Part of her wondered if it would have hurt as much had they been elsewhere. Every time she would think of her first date with Ben or the anniversaries they had celebrated in the candle-lit atmosphere of that restaurant, she would recall that image of him and that woman.
“Are you sure that’s what it was?” Daisy’s voice was gentle, as though regretting that she was even voicing the thought. “Maybe—”
Alicia’s hand clenched on the damp tissues. “I’m sure,” she cut in.
How could she have any doubt when their fingers had been linked on the table, when they had sat so close together, when—
She shut her eyes tight, willing the memory away along with the ache in her chest that had left her lightheaded and gasping for breath. She didn’t know how she had managed to come back home without wrecking the car.
“I’m so sorry,” Daisy said again. “What are you going to do?”
Alicia had been asking herself the same question for almost four hours now. She was no closer to finding an answer than when she had first caught sight of her husband of five years with another woman. “I don’t know.”
When she had arrived home, she had been too numb at first to do anything more than sit in the living room and stare at nothing in particular. Then the tears had come, followed by anger. She had packed a suitcase haphazardly with any clothes that she happened to grab. The suitcase still lay in the bedroom, open on the bed. Another round of tears had overtaken her in the middle of packing. She had only shaken herself out of it to call Daisy, needing someone to talk to, someone to share her pain.
“I think…” she took a deep but shaky breath. “I’ll leave. I don’t want to see him tonight.”
Without a word, Daisy took Alicia’s left hand between both her own, squeezing lightly even as she smiled. Alicia tried to smile back. She and Daisy had known each other since they were children, and every time life had tried to push them apart, sending them to different schools or towns, Daisy had kept their friendship going, contacting Alicia every so often when Alicia, too caught up in her own life, might have left it drift. She squeezed Daisy’s hand back. What Daisy had seen in her she would never know, but she was more grateful than ever to have her here.
“I’m so glad you’re my friend.”
“I am your friend.” Very gently, Daisy turned Alicia’s hand between hers, exposing the inside of her wrist. The charm bracelet slipped. “And as your friend, I have to say this. Maybe he’s seeing another woman, but he’s not the only one hiding something. Maybe you should talk to him. Really talk.”
Blinking furiously to push back yet another wave of tears, Alicia stared at Daisy before dropping her gaze to her shaky hand. She tried to pull free, but Daisy held on, keeping the two red, puckered marks on her wrist exposed. She swallowed hard and looked back at Daisy, her mouth already opening for denials, rebuttals, promises—lies. What came out was something entirely different.
“I’m scared,” she whispered, the words scratching her throat like steel wool.
Daisy finally released her hand. Without thinking, Alicia hid it and the scars between her knees.
“I know you are,” Daisy said, reaching to tuck a strand of hair behind Alicia’s ear. “But I also know you love him. Don’t you?”
Alicia’s heart felt like it was breaking all over again. “I always loved him,” she said. The words shook, as did her resolve to leave. “From the first time you introduced us.”
Even as she said it, she prepared for the questions she expected Daisy to ask. The scars on her wrist had nothing to do with love, or even attraction. They never had.
Daisy didn’t ask, though. All she said was, “Then talk to him. About everything.”
Talking to Ben was the last thing Alicia wanted to do. She felt betrayed, more so than she thought she could express in words. Beyond that, she also knew she wasn’t blameless, and telling him about it was terrifying. The alternative to talking to him, however, was to lose Ben. She couldn’t even imagine it. As difficult as things had been in the past few months, she didn’t want to lose him.
She gave a single, jerky nod. Daisy nodded back, smiling faintly. They hugged again.
“It’ll be all right,” Daisy said, moments later, as she was leaving. “I know you two will be fine.”
These parting words helped Alicia hang on to her calm as she prepared for Ben’s return. If anyone else had offered her these platitudes, she would have scoffed. But Daisy wasn’t anyone. She understood people, what made them tick, what broke them to pieces or brought them closer to someone. If she said things would work out, they would—or at least, Alicia held on to that thought with all her might as she waited for Ben’s return.
Acting on instinct rather than truly thinking about what she was doing, she started preparing dinner. She was slicing vegetables to stir-fry when she froze, her knife half an inch above the cutting board. She had just realized this was what she had cooked for him the first time she had invited him to have dinner at her apartment, her other offer hanging unvoiced yet all too clear like a silver thread between them. It had been the night they first shared I love you’s, the night they first made love.
She swallowed the lump in her throat and, with very deliberate motions, resumed her slicing. Would Ben remember? Would he realize something was happening before she found the courage to talk to him?
On that first night, they had started with a fresh salad and a glass of wine. He had stood at her shoulder while she stir-fried the vegetables and chicken. She touched the back of her neck, remembering the feel of his lips there, distracting her. The apple pie had been cold by the time they had fed it to each other in bed.
Before she even knew what she was doing, she was throwing the ingredients for the dough in a mixing bowl. Pie sounded good. She only had two apples, but they would be enough. The salad would only take moments to prepare; she would wait until it was almost time for Ben’s return.
“It’s going to be perfect.”
Her murmured words barely stirred the kitchen air. Fumbling a little, she undid the clasp of her bracelet so it wouldn’t trail in the dough while she mixed it. She held the bracelet in her hand for an instant. The silver felt almost warm. She ran her thumb over one of the enamel hearts, erasing a fingerprint. For years, she had worn a bracelet on her left wrist at all times, in part to hide the scars on the inside of her wrist, and in part because every fleeting touch against those scars sent a jolt through her, reminding her she was alive. At times, that reminder had been much needed. Then she had met Ben, and the touches had ceased to be important. The scars had healed, and when Ben had offered her this bracelet as a wedding gift, she had worn it as a reminder of his love. The scars had faded, slowly losing their sensitivity. Until…
Her hand shook a little as she set the bracelet on the countertop. The silver clanked on the quartz-flaked gray stone, almost like a small bell. Pushing away the memories that cluttered her mind, Alicia started kneading the dough. The smoothness of the flour on her fingers quickly gave way to the sticky feel of butter. She let her tactile memory guide her in kneading to the perfect consistency, then rolled the dough with a wooden pin. When she had lined her pie pan with the crust and filled it with diced apples, she molded the excess dough into a small heart that she laid in the center of the pie. She remembered having done the same, on that first dinner date with Ben, and he had fed her that crunchy, golden heart from his fingertips. Part of her couldn’t help hoping that, maybe, he would again.
As she placed the pie in the warm oven, then cleaned and set the table on the island, she wondered, for just an instant, if this was the way to go. Could she reset their relationship so easily? Years had passed since that date. Many things had changed, including her and Ben. They had grown closer, then grown apart. They had learned to love each other’s little quirks, then learned to live with them. She still loved him as much as she ever had and she hoped—oh, how she hoped!—that he did as well. Would it help anything to cling to the past?
She dismissed the thought with a shake of her head. This was the right thing to do if she hoped to fix things between her and Ben. She knew it with a certainty anchored so deep within her that she couldn’t question it. It was almost as though she had already been through this storm, had already walked this path, and knew it would lead her and Ben to safety.
While the pie cooked, she took a shower. It calmed her nerves and, when she stepped out of the tub to finish getting ready, she didn’t look anymore as though she had spent her afternoon crying. She dressed in the same wide skirt and cotton blouse she had worn that first night and stayed barefoot like she had then. The only difference was that her left wrist remained bare. She felt naked without the fine links of silver circling her wrist, and a few times she caught herself stroking her skin with her right hand. She wondered how long it would take Ben to notice.
At six, she put the finishing touches on her preparations. She transferred the pie to the warming drawer of the oven, then prepared the salad. She had just set it on the island, along with the jars of olive oil and vinegar, when a car stopped at the end of the driveway. Seconds later, the front door opened.
“I’m home,” Ben called out. He sounded tired.
Alicia clenched her hands, then opened them again. “Dinner is almost ready.”
As she threw the vegetables and diced meat in the heated stir-fry pan, she listened to his progress in the house, through the living room and into their bedroom. She was glad suddenly that she had thought of putting away her suitcase. That would have brought questions she wasn’t ready to answer yet. She absently stirred the food in the pan when it started sizzling, the aroma spreading through the kitchen. She needed just a little longer to prepare her words. She needed, also, to finally decide on whether she would confess or accuse first. Her pain demanded that she do the latter, but if she did, she knew she’d never get around to admitting her own betrayal of his trust.
When she heard Ben approach, she shut off the burner with a snap of her wrist and turned to him. He stopped just beyond the kitchen door, taking in the candle-lit dinner set on the island before turning his eyes to her. She wasn’t sure whether she imagined the glimmer of recognition that lit up his eyes for a second before he passed a hand through his hair, making it stick at odd angles.
“Did I forget something?” he asked, his words slow and cautious, as he took his seat on a high stool.
Alicia sat down across from him. “Did you?” She winced at the tone of her own voice. She hadn’t meant to be so brusque.
Her reaction made him pause with his glass of wine halfway to his lips. He put it down on the table again without drinking. “I mean… It’s not our anniversary. Is there a reason for all this?”
Again, a snappy answer tried to pass Alicia’s lips. This time, she managed to catch it before it spilled out. If antagonizing Ben were all she had wanted, she wouldn’t have prepared all this.
“No reason. I just thought it’d be nice.”
She served him salad before filling her plate. When she sprinkled oil and vinegar over it, she was almost proud that her hand only shook a little. They ate in silence. Every so often, Alicia would steal a glance at her husband. The faintest frown was pulling at his eyebrows. He knew something was up; she would have bet he did. Did he suspect she knew? Was his guilty conscience tugging at him? The thought vindicated her for a moment, before she remembered—she was not blameless.
Maybe because of her anxiety to be done with the entire ordeal, Alicia finished her salad very fast. Laying her fork down, she watched Ben’s plate, waiting for it to finally be empty. As he took his last forkful, she stood and picked the pan on the stove behind her, filling her own plate first this time, then Ben’s. Apart from his murmured comment that the stir-fry tasted good, they were silent again.
Alicia remembered their first dinner in her apartment and how much they had talked that evening. They had talked about their jobs, about their friends, about the last movie they had seen together, and the last movie they had seen apart. They had simply talked.
The silence, this night, felt like a living being standing in the room with them, ready to swallow and stifle any attempt at conversation. She wanted to say something, anything, but she wasn’t ready for the main course yet, and any other topic would have felt too trivial.
Again, she finished before Ben. She pushed her plate to the side and drew her untouched glass of wine closer to her. Her fingers played on the long stem and over the rim, but she didn’t take a drink. She wanted her mind clear when she told him, without alcohol tripping her tongue.
She waited until he put his fork down on his empty plate and forced the first words out, bypassing her fears and
hesitations. “I have to talk to you about something. It’s important.”
For the first time since starting the meal, he met her eyes, although only for a second before he looked at his glass and picked it up for a sip. He seemed uncomfortable. She wished she knew what was going on in his mind. Did he feel guilty? Afraid that she had suspicions? Or was she only projecting her own feelings on him?
Realizing that she was only delaying her admission a little longer, she put down her glass and rested her hands on either side of it. The stone was cool beneath her fingers. She took a deep breath, forced herself to look straight at Ben, and plunged in.
“I’ve been visiting a blood bar again.”
Whatever Ben had been expecting, this clearly was not it. His eyes, wide and round, snapped up to her face. His mouth opened and closed again without a sound. She waited for him to find his voice again. “You… what?”
Very slowly, she turned her left hand over, exposing the inside of her wrist and the marks there. She kept her eyes on Ben, and could not miss the way his gaze dropped to her hand on the countertop. His eyes narrowed. For just a second, she thought she could see the doctor in him, examining a wound, evaluating its severity. In the past weeks, she had often expected him to notice. She had been surprised he hadn’t. It had only added to her overall depression.
“I’ve been going for three months,” she said, and wondered if he would hear the pain in her words that he had never noticed.
His brow furrowed. “Three months…”
She could see the moment he made the connection. “When you took that new position, yes. You were so stressed, and so busy, we weren’t talking like we used to and…” At his deepening frown, she shook her head. She hadn’t meant to blame him for this. It was coming out all wrong. “No, I don’t mean… I know your job is demanding, and I’m proud of you. Of what you do. But I’ve been feeling like…” She clutched at elusive words. She had to explain, she had to make him understand, but she could barely explain it all to herself. “Like I didn’t know how to reach you anymore. I felt… I don’t know, a bit lost. Lonely.”