Clean Breaks

by Ruby Lang

  But as the figure on his porch moved out of the shadow, he caught the glint of her hair and felt the disappointment so thick in his throat that it was difficult to reply to Ilse’s hello.

  She made a move as if to get up and—what, hug him? Kiss him on the cheek?—but before he could ponder the etiquette minefield of how to greet a recent ex-wife who was getting married in a matter of days, Mulder intercepted Ilse’s move, put her muddy paws on Ilse’s jeans, and sniffed her.

  Thank goodness for dogs.

  “You grew a beard,” she said. Then quickly, “I like this house. Nice neighborhood. Really walkable.”

  He nodded but didn’t try to help the conversation along.

  She cleared her throat. “Aren’t you going to ask me in?”

  He wasn’t. Instead, he led her around the back to the plastic patio chairs. He didn’t feel like being in the house with her. It was his. Maybe he was being childish, but he didn’t want her issues—and she definitely had come to him with something on her mind—crowding his space.

  He got her a glass of lemonade, pointed out blankets on the bench in case she got cold. And he informed her he was going in to clean up.

  She looked like she was going to say something more. But at his curt nod, she held her tongue.

  When he returned, Mulder was lying on her back, squirming ecstatically as Ilse patted her silky belly. Sucker, he thought half affectionately.

  “I never even knew you wanted a dog.”

  “We didn’t have time. I put it out of my mind.”

  He dropped down into a chair.

  “We’re like two old people,” she said, “sitting on a rocking chairs on a porch.”

  “Minus the rocking chairs. And porch. And the growing old together.”

  He didn’t have to turn to know that she’d blushed bright red. Instead, he stared out at his neighbor, Sandy, who was on a ladder clipping her hedge with a pair of old shears.

  He shook his head. “What brings you here, Ilse?”

  “I just wanted to talk. It’s weird not being able to talk to you. Is your, uh, girlfriend around?”

  “No.”

  “I’d like to meet her.”

  “That sounds like a disaster.”

  Sarah’s bluntness was definitely rubbing off on him.

  Ilse sighed. “Does it have to be like this?”

  He looked at her. “Ilse, you showed up unexpectedly at my house fishing for information and obviously wanting something—or to say something. I’m allowed to set my boundaries and decide when I talk to you and what I agree to. And, for that matter, don’t you have wedding things to do?”

  “You never used to be like this. So—direct.”

  “Yes, well, we used to be married and now we’re not and things change. Probably for the better.”

  She reeled a little after he said that, too. But he couldn’t be sorry. He just couldn’t muster up that feeling. He didn’t want her to be hurt—not really. A small part of him still felt a twinge of sympathy for her. But he did not want to prolong this, and he was done making himself something else to spare her feelings.

  “If things are better—well, you don’t seem very happy,” she said in a low, familiar tone.

  That was the voice she used when they argued. Not that they had raised their voices, because they were both such reasonable people. They were trying to do their very best, so anxious to be the nicest, best spouses to each other. So he used that tone, too. They fretted at each other. It was exhausting just thinking about it.

  He closed his eyes.

  “I still worry about you, Jake. I still feel guilty. You always said there was no such thing as a clean break. Well, it’s true, and maybe I don’t want one. I know you don’t want to come to the wedding, and I understand it was awkward of me to ask you. But I just want to know that you won’t be alone that day. Like, maybe you could go see your dad or something.”

  So that’s why she was here. He was a loose end that she thought was threatening to unravel.

  “I won’t be alone, Ilse. I’m going to a different wedding. With my girlfriend.”

  If she was still his girlfriend. God, he hoped she was, because—because the thought of her right now was pushing him. It was giving him strength.

  “Oh.”

  “Other people get married. Their lives move on even though you’ve never heard of them.”

  “Jake.”

  This came out sharply now. She was starting to get frustrated. Welcome to the goddamn club. He had been feeling punchy ever since his confrontation with Mrs. Soon. No, not true. If he had to admit it to himself, this had been a long time in coming. He had just never let it happen before.

  But Ilse took a deep breath and tried for a reasonable tone. “Your dad told me a little bit about your girlfriend—”

  “Sarah.”

  “Sarah. She’s Winston’s sister. You guys didn’t talk about her often. You knew her growing up.”

  “I can’t believe you’re still speaking with my dad.”

  “I like the rev. Sometimes we message each other on Facebook. Are you sure this is a good idea? You’re going to a wedding with someone so soon after the divorce?”

  “Ilse, you’re the one who is getting married this very Saturday.”

  “But I’ve known Brian for a while now.”

  “I’ve known Sarah longer than you’ve been acquainted with your groom. Sarah and I have seen the worst parts of each other. We haven’t always liked each other.”

  “And now you like her. Can she return your feelings?”

  There it was—the knife twist. He liked Sarah—no, it was more than that. But did she feel that way about him? She’d been pushing him away from the start. “I have a lot of feelings for Sarah. I always have.”

  Ilse was quiet. He sighed. “Ilse, I am tired of being careful around you. I shouldn’t have to be now. It didn’t end terribly for us—it was very civilized—but now there’s this huge . . . ocean of dark, unspoken stuff between us.”

  “No, that’s not true. It isn’t bad. We’re friends now. We’re fine.”

  “Then why are you here?”

  She got up. “It’s not bad feelings, per se. That’s natural in a marriage to have just a little resentment. A little. Right? After all, you were the one to turn your back on your beliefs. You weren’t the nice boy I married. After a couple of years at that job—”

  “Don’t you dare blame my job. And yes, maybe I stopped being nice, because nice was another word for glossing over the terrible.”

  “I’m not. I’m not. I guess I should have expected that things wouldn’t be exactly the same. And that I would want them to stay that way so much. And that I’d mind so much that my husband had lost his faith because of his work. And how did I know that he wouldn’t become disillusioned about me and everything I believe? And then you didn’t even fight for me.”

  She took a deep breath.

  “Is that what you wanted?” Jake said after a while.

  For the first time, Ilse smiled—albeit shakily. “No. But what did you want?”

  Jake didn’t answer. She pressed, “You’re clearly unhappy about something.”

  He almost laughed, and she heard it. Because dammit, she still knew him pretty well.

  “You got a dog and a girlfriend so quickly. Like you have something to prove.”

  This time, he did snort. “You had someone lined up before you had me pull the trigger on our marriage. We weren’t in love with each other anymore.”

  At the look on her face, he softened his tone. “Look, it was a hard time for both of us, but it’s over and we both survived. Just leave my dog and especially leave my girlfriend out of this.”

  She shook her head. “I’m sorry. Of course I want you to move on with your life. And of course I keep inviting you because I feel guilty and I want to do something. But I’m here because of both of us. It is possible to be a little selfish and care about another person at the same time.”

  “Ilse, I
wouldn’t say I’m happy at precisely this moment. But I feel alive again. Sarah has given me great moments in the last few months. And I wouldn’t be happy now with how I used to be—I don’t want to go back to what I was. I have moved on.”

  “With Sarah.”

  “With Sarah.”

  She took a deep breath. She nodded. “Does she know how much you love her?”

  Ilse did know him pretty well.

  “You and Sarah probably agree on one thing—you both think it’s too soon. That I don’t know my feelings. That is such a fucking insult.”

  “Jake did you just say—?”

  “Yes, I said fucking, already.”

  Of all the things that were going to push Ilse over the edge: his directness, his refusal to absolve her, his admitting he was in love with someone else—this was the thing that did it.

  She gave a little sob at his downward spiral into sin.

  “I work with a bunch of potty-mouth kids. I always swore. Just not at home with you.”

  She wiped her eyes and tried to smile bravely. Or maybe she had been laughing, not crying. “Yes, well, I guess I’ll add that to the list of things we didn’t share with each other.”

  “Good luck on Saturday, Ilse,” he said.

  • • •

  Sarah’s parents insisted they all wake up early to pick up Winston from the airport. But when they arrived, there was no sign of her brother.

  Her father whipped out a pair of Transitions bifocals and began texting. Her mother did the same.

  “Are you both messaging Winston?”

  “Yes,” they said at the same time.

  Not for the first time, she felt sorry for her asshole brother. But there was nothing to be done about it. She moved off and scanned the arrival times.

  Funny, the only flight from Los Angeles had come in an hour ago.

  Maybe Winston had built in some extra time before pickup so that he could prepare himself for a parental onslaught. Time enough to soak in copious amounts of alcohol and then spray himself down with Febreze.

  Sure enough, ten minutes later, Winston loped up with his luggage. He was wearing a pair of sunglasses that he took off to peck Fai on the cheek. He shook his father’s hand. When he got to Sarah, he put his sunglasses back on. “Sis.”

  “Winston.”

  They were not a hugging family, and she and Winston had not been close since, well, maybe in elementary school—if ever. Still, they hadn’t seen each other in nearly four years. So she made awkward small talk. “How was your flight?”

  “Pretty good.”

  “Cool.”

  Well. That duty dispensed with, she led them all back to her car and dropped everyone off at the hotel where her mother and father would doubtless attempt to iron and hang up all of Winston’s golf shirts.

  Sarah felt herself relax after she dropped them off. The atmosphere in the car had been . . . anticipatory. And not really in a good way. Her mother had said little after her speech at the yoga retreat. Fai had fallen asleep during her massage, and a handsome masseuse named Rick had eventually hauled her out to Sarah’s car, but not before they took a group picture with Rick and his dainty, drooling load, flanked by Petra and Helen and the rest of the ladies. Her mother was also quiet—or she was faking unconsciousness—in the car. She did not get up early.

  In any case, Sarah had to clear up her patient load before the weekend of revelry, so she spent the rest of the afternoon in the office talking to her patients and clearing up her paperwork. By the next day, she felt tired, but she’d promised to pick up a couple of things for the floral designer and deliver them to Ian and Petra’s house. And there was still going to be a pre-wedding gathering to attend tonight.

  She wanted to go home and take a nap, but if her parents and Winston were there, there was no way she’d get any rest.

  She thought about texting Jake again. That would be a cop-out. They had to talk. She hadn’t given much thought to how Winston would react until now, but she suspected that her brother would not have the cockles of his heart warmed by the fact that his childhood best friend was now dating his little sister. The one good thing about Winston’s taciturnity was that at least he hadn’t berated her in the car. Or maybe he didn’t care that she was with Jake. Winston and she weren’t children anymore. People changed—as Jake kept on telling her.

  She had lived for so many years thinking that she wouldn’t have to sit down with her parents or Winston and discuss anything of substance ever again, and it had been painful and blissful at the same time. Well, thanks to Jake, she had been wrong about that.

  She was tired, but she did not want to go home. She stretched out in her office and pulled her white coat over her. And it was there Helen found her hours later. “Have you been here this whole time?”

  “Oh my god, I have to pick some flower arrangements from Emily.”

  “Don’t worry, Ian called earlier to say she’d already taken them to the restaurant instead. But he couldn’t get a hold of you, so he sent me to find you.”

  Sarah scrubbed her hands with her face. “I have never been undependable in my life. I feel terrible. Is this what it feels like to be a mess?”

  “Thanks,” Helen said.

  “I didn’t mean you specifically.”

  “You fell asleep at your desk, and you have a crease on your cheek. That doesn’t mean you’re a mess.”

  “You met my drunk mom, right? And then there’s the fact that she now hates my boyfriend who I got mad at for trying to defend me. And the fact that my brother is here and he loathes me. He’ll probably try to turn Jake against me.”

  “That’s a new one on me.”

  “I don’t know if it’s that I was a brat or if it’s because Winston thinks he’s got a right to all the attention because he’s a boy and he’s older—probably a little of both—but we’ve always had a strained relationship. And now I’m going out with Jake.”

  “That sounds like Winston’s problem and not yours.”

  “Easily said, but his problem becomes mine as long as he’s here talking shit and being taken seriously by my parents and Jake. Let me tell you, it’s enough to make me wish that I were going back into OB so that I could have an excuse to disappear on someone else’s schedule.”

  Helen gave her a careful look. “Are you ready to resume your practice?”

  “Maybe. I don’t know.”

  They left for Helen’s apartment to get changed for the not-a-rehearsal dinner, and Sarah accompanied her friends to the bar. She did not get drunk or feel the urge to get up in front of everyone and wax eloquent. It was a small, well-behaved bunch. Petra’s sister, Ellie, and Ellie’s girlfriend Jenna sampled wines with the enthusiastic verve of people not far past their twenty-first birthdays. Petra’s mom, Lisa, was there with her new boyfriend, James Taylor. Helen cozied herself in a corner with Adam, laughing over something. Joanie was giggling with Petra’s sister and her girlfriend. And Petra and Ian were at the center of it all, looking happier and more relaxed than two people who were entering a legally binding lifetime commitment the next day had a right to look. Sarah wasn’t sure how she felt about Petra getting married, about her family, and most of all about Jake. But she felt his absence.

  The party broke up early. They still had a lot to do the next day. And Sarah returned to her quiet house and her quiet bed and stayed awake for most of the night because she’d slept too long in her office.

  At 1:00 a.m. she called Jake.

  He answered as if it hadn’t been nearly a week since they’d talked. “Did you have a good time at your rehearsal dinner?”

  “It was fine.”

  I wish you’d been there, she wanted to say.

  Instead, she said, “We’re still on for tomorrow?”

  “Are you sure you want me to come with you?”

  “Yes, I want you to come with me. I never said I didn’t.”

  “Sarah,” he sighed, and she did not cry at all the longing in his voice, although she wa
nted to.

  There was just too much to think about right now. Her best friend was getting married. She was going to have to make a decision about her work. Her parents were here and their need to talk hung heavily over her; her brother was here and he wanted the opposite. And she wanted to lean on Jake. She wanted to trust him because not having anyone else to trust wasn’t working anymore. “It’s late, and I don’t think we should get into it right now.”

  “Of course, you’re right.”

  “We’re both right.”

  But after he hung up, she couldn’t sleep.

  • • •

  The downpour started early in the morning. By noon, Sarah, Helen, and Helen’s boyfriend Adam had tracked down all the guests to make sure they knew that the wedding would be held at Ian’s restaurant instead of in the park. The rain and change of venue hadn’t been completely unexpected—this was Portland. And Ian and Petra seemed calm as they directed the proceedings.

  That was marriage, after all, wasn’t it? Going through the bumps and trying to smooth them with four hands instead of two? Sure the plan was that they’d be together and file their taxes jointly. It was practical, probably.

  Sarah had never given much thought about living with someone, having a wedding, or husbands, for that matter. She’d assumed she’d be alone. Not that she thought she was damaged goods or anything like that. It was more that she’d assumed that like with anything involving serious familial ties, she would never get to be herself. A husband would tell her what to be, what to do. And she’d be trapped by that idea.

  It was strange, because her father was hardly like that. Her parents respected each other. They let each other be their own person. She was surprised that that had never occurred to her before. Or maybe she never expected to find that for herself.

  Jake had gotten married. He had been a husband. Somehow, he didn’t make that word seem so bad either.

  But a lot of the men she knew wanted to be married. They were intent on securing their own spouses and getting children and cushioning themselves with people and family. And quite honestly, marriage was so great for men. They received all that affection and support, and they were admired for wanting commitment and love. If she confessed to the same needs, she would be met with a different reaction.