F*ck Marriage

by Fisher, Tarryn

  Later, we do something I have not done in a very long time: we lie together, our bodies curled around each other.

  “The last time I was cuddled like this it was by my parents’ bulldog,” I say.

  Satcher laughs into my hair, tightening his grip around my waist. “What’s his name?”

  “Gerard.”

  “Lucky Gerard,” he says.

  Chapter Twenty

  When I wake up, I’m sore. I bury my face in one of Satcher’s pillows. How long has it been since I’ve done that, and with such enthusiasm? I can’t imagine Keith Gus touching me the way Satcher did. He was more of a wham-bam-thank-you-ma’am kind of guy. On more than one occasion I had to walk him through getting me off. And Woods, well, he always made sure to take care of me before we had sex, that way he could focus on himself the remainder of the time.

  Satcher has a latte waiting for me on the kitchen counter when I wander out of the bedroom. I peer into the mug blinking in surprise; it’s the perfect milk to espresso ratio. The espresso machine is humming as he makes one for himself, flicking switches and using the frother like a professional barista.

  “Are you good at everything?”

  He looks up from what he’s doing. There’s stubble on his jaw. I get a flash of him with his eyes half closed as he pounded into me, and my stomach does an unwelcome flip.

  “You tell me,” he says, raising an eyebrow.

  I hide my blush behind the rim of my own mug.

  “Your phone’s ringing.”

  I glance over to the counter where my phone is flashing. Woods.

  “It’s Woods,” I announce like he can’t already see that for himself.

  “Why’s that bastard calling my girlfriend?” Satcher leans back against the counter holding his tiny cup of espresso.

  I laugh as my eyes rove over his body shamelessly. It takes a lot of work to look like that. How many hours does he spend in the gym?

  “Why aren’t you picking up?” He rinses the cup, lays it on the drying rack.

  “Because he needs to learn his place.” I smirk. “I’m with you now.”

  He shakes his head, amused. “Girl games.”

  That’s fair. Women like to throw random tests out there just to see what will happen. I don’t tell Satcher that the real reason I didn’t pick up is because I don’t want the intrusion. I like the way it feels to be here with him, just the two of us. Last night wasn’t fucking. I’ve fucked enough men to know the difference. Maybe he fucks every girl like that. Maybe that’s why women’s eyes grow large when he walks into a room.

  “You up for a run and some breakfast?” He sets my empty mug in the sink.

  “Sure,” I say. “I’d just have to stop at home for my tennis shoes.”

  He nods and goes to get changed. I walk around while he’s in the bedroom, studying his furniture, the artwork on the walls, and the tiny pieces of him that are strewn around. He’s tidy but not too tidy. I like the balance. There are books everywhere and I wonder how he finds time to read.

  “You judging my book collection?” He comes up behind me and leans down to lightly kiss me on the back of my neck.

  “Trashy thrillers,” I say, shaking my head. “How do you find the time?”

  “I can’t sleep,” he says. “But if I read a few chapters before bed…”

  “Your mind never shuts down,” I say.

  “No, it doesn’t. Except last night. I slept well.”

  I grin. I don’t tell him that I had the best night’s sleep of the last few years. No nightmares, no tossing and turning, no lying awake and staring at the ceiling with the dread of tomorrow heavy in my chest. Curled against his hard, warm body, I’d felt safe. It was like sleeping underneath a tin roof while it rained outside, a fire burning in the hearth. I turn around and his arms automatically circle me. Satcher’s body feels different than Woods’. He’s taller for one thing, harder. His hands move like a masseuse’s; every time he touches me he does so with just the right pressure of fingertips and palms, that I feel drowsy. He leans down to kiss me and we end up making love one more time.

  We go for our run, and on the way back, Satcher takes me to a little cafe for breakfast. We sit outside, the heat already pounding down on our heads, and order omelets. Satcher orders every vegetable imaginable in his, and when I make a face he teases me about the pound of cheddar I added to mine. We fall into a comfortable silence watching the city folk navigate the sidewalk. There’s an ache between my legs that ever reminds me of the things he did to me.

  It’s sweet, the casual way we eat breakfast, the walk back to his place, during which he grabs my hand. Woods tries to call a few more times and I send him to voicemail, though he never leaves a message. It doesn’t matter. Nothing matters today. For the first time in a very long time I remember what it’s like to feel simple things and enjoy them immensely.

  We stay at Satcher’s place a lot. It’s closer to the office. I like the way it always smells like cigars and coffee. When I ask him about the cigar smell he takes me to a drawer in the kitchen. It’s one of those big drawers, twice as wide as a regular one. Inside is his own personal cigar shop. Hundreds of them—lined up and labeled.

  “When do you smoke them?” I ask, rubbing my fingers over the labels.

  “On cigar night,” he answers.

  “And that’s when?”

  “Mondays and Fridays.”

  “Why those two days?”

  “Because I need something to get through the worst day of the week and to celebrate the best day of the week.”

  “Oh!” I say, genuinely amused. “I guess I have something like that too.” I lift a cigar to my nose and inhale the chocolatey smell.

  “What is it?”

  I smile at Satcher, shrugging my shoulders. “I guess you’ll have to hang out with me on one of those days to see.”

  He looks at me, amusement dancing in his eyes. It’s nice to be looked at like that. Like I’m something to be intrigued by.

  On one of the nights I sleep over, I wake to find Satcher in the kitchen sitting at the island and staring into an empty coffee mug.

  “What’s going on with you?” I ask, sliding into the seat next to him.

  His smile is dim and I watch his face in concern.

  “Insomnia.” He shrugs. “It’s always been with me.”

  I’m still half asleep and I process his words quietly for a moment.

  “Do you want me to leave or is company okay?” I rub my arms, suddenly realizing how cold it is in here.

  Satcher stands up and walks to the thermostat, raising the temperature a few degrees.

  “Your company is always okay.”

  I walk over to where he stands and take his face between my hands. There are dark circles under his eyes. Why have I never noticed?

  “Has it been worse than normal lately?”

  “No, actually, it’s been better.”

  When I look at him quizzically, he smiles. “Sex ... sex puts me to sleep.”

  “Oh my God!” I say. “You’re a manwhore for a reason!”

  The rumble of his laugh comes from deep within his chest. He pulls me against him in a tight hug and I reciprocate, my own laughter pressed up against his skin.

  “Come on,” I say, taking his hand and leading him toward the bedroom. “I’ll help you sleep.”

  My intent was to lay him on his back and prove my riding skills, but as soon as we reach the bed I see that he has other plans. He pushes me down and climbs on top of me instead, spreading my legs and resting between them. I can feel his hardness pressed against the crack of my pussy and I writhe, impatient. He kisses me, taking his time. When I’m frantic, he lifts himself off of me and pulls me on top of him. Finally! But before I can lower myself onto his very hard dick, he moves me upward until I’m straddling his face.

  “No,” I say, blushing. “I’ve never—”

  His mouth reaches me before my words reach him.

  “Oh my fuck,” I say, tensin
g. I stare down at him in shock and awe.

  “What were you saying?” he asks, his tongue stilling.

  I lace my hands in his hair. “Nothing. Please resume…”

  He laughs that deep throaty laugh before his tongue flicks and rolls slow, slow circles toward my very loud end.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  When I open the door, the first thing I notice are the shoes: tennis, immaculate white. Not mine. Leaving the door wide open, I take a few cautious steps inside. What type of thief takes their shoes off before robbing you? I round the corner and step into the living room, and that’s when I see a suitcase. It’s a practical hard shell, slick black like seal skin. I glance furtively around the apartment, my heart galloping. I hear her voice before I see her.

  “Billie! Oh my God, Billie.” She comes from the bedroom launching herself at me, wrapping her arms around my neck in a hug so tight it’s choking.

  “Jules? What are you doing here?”

  When she pulls away her eyes are glossy. “I hated it there.”

  “But ... your job!”

  “I know,” she says. “But I missed New York, and I’d been seeing someone when I just up and left, and I kept wondering if I’d just walked away from the best thing that ever happened to me.”

  I stare at her not knowing what to say. I’m still processing the fact that Jules is back, while also trying to understand what this means for me.

  “You never told me that. About a guy...”

  Just like with everyone else, my friendship with Jules had taken a backseat during my divorce. But something as big as meeting the man of your dreams and then breaking up seemed worthy of an email at least.

  “You’ve been ... busy,” she says, and I immediately feel guilty. Busy with my own self-pity. Sooooo busy. I bite my lip.

  “Tell me,” I say.

  Jules’ cheeks flush when she talks about him.

  “Er ... well, we were seeing each other on the down-low. We hadn’t made it official yet, but we’d said I love yous and then I got the job offer...”

  “Okay, okay,” I say, pushing her toward the living room. “Tell me everything.”

  We settle on the couch after Jules insists on making us drinks.

  “I can’t tell you my whole sob story without alcohol.” She sighs, plopping down next to me.

  She tells me about the guy she’s known forever through friends. They started seeing each other a year ago and things got pretty serious. Then she was offered the job and chose to leave even when he asked her to stay.

  “I feel so bad,” she says. “I hope he can forgive me. I came back for him, right? That means something.”

  I nod. Jules has never really been into the dating scene, always more career-focused than the rest of us. The fact that she actually came back—choosing a man over her career—is big. Huge.

  “You’re in love!” I say in surprise. For the first time since I’ve known her she looks vulnerable.

  “Yeah. It’s all new for me. Scary…”

  “Ugh, Julia. Don’t worry about it. He’s going to be so excited you’re home.”

  “Don’t call me Julia.” She laughs. “It’s weird.”

  She is sexy, aloof, successful, and kind. Any man would jump through hoops to have her.

  “What if he’s already dating someone else? Or if he can’t forgive me for leaving?” Her face is genuinely worried.

  I reach across the couch and touch her hand.

  “He won’t care why you left, just that you’re back.” I mean to be comforting, but she bursts into tears.

  “I’m sorry,” she says, when I’ve gotten up to get her a tissue. “I’m just so emotional. And just so you know, you’re welcome to stay here. I was thinking if everything goes right, I’ll move in with him.”

  I smile. “Thank you.”

  Her face suddenly lights up. “Oh my God, you look great.”

  I look down at my much thinner figure feeling embarrassed. It’s one thing to be thinner, it is another for people to be constantly pointing it out.

  “Yeah, your wardrobe makes me feel like a different person. It was the confidence boost I needed coming back to the city.”

  “Well, don’t stop now. I’ve always wanted a sister.” She throws her arms around my neck and I hug her tight. It will be nice to have her back. Currently, she is my one and only friend. I’m about to ask her if she’s hungry when the buzzer sounds.

  “You expecting someone?” she asks, looking at me.

  Shoot. In all the excitement, I forgot that Satcher is coming by to pick me up for lunch. Jules is already at the intercom. She buzzes him up without knowing who it is. I look down at my workout clothes wondering if I look as bad as I feel. I’d meant to take a shower, wash my hair…

  The door opens and Satcher walks in, his head down as he slips off his shoes. When he looks up, Jules and I are standing side by side.

  We speak at once. The same time I say, “Hi,” Jules says, “How did you know I was back?” And then she rushes into his arms, jumping at the last moment, and wrapping her legs around his waist.

  The look on Satcher’s face is one of shock as he stares at me over Jules’ shoulder. I can only imagine what my face must look like.

  My mouth suddenly goes dry as the full realization hits me, and it feels like I took a sledgehammer to the stomach. Jules untangles herself from Satcher, landing on her feet but not stepping away from his side. She puts an arm possessively around his waist and turns to beam at me.

  “This is him, Billie. I’ve been seeing Satcher.”

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  I reach for words, but they’re slippery, swimming below my ability to articulate them. Satcher is at a loss too; he reaches up to run a hand along the stubble on his chin. Jules is speaking to him, babbling happily, but he’s looking at me and I can’t read what’s in his eyes.

  I feel like I’m underwater, everything moving slowly. Even the pains in my heart feel like they’re being dragged along the bottom of the ocean floor. It’s all making sense, of course. He always seemed so comfortable in Jules’ apartment. It had crossed my mind that he always knew where things were, but I’d attributed it to him making lucky guesses. How stupid I’ve been. Why hadn’t he told me he’d been seeing her?

  “I’m so hungry,” I hear her say to him. “Want to get lunch so we can talk?” Her eyes are lit up; they’re the eyes of a woman filled with hope for the future.

  I don’t wait to hear what he says.

  “Well, I’ll just leave you two to it,” I say. “I need a shower.” I dart from the room before either of them can respond.

  I let the hot water pound down on my back until it turns cold, only then do I step out of the shower. Wrapping a towel around myself, I press my ear to the door to hear if they’re still in the apartment. All is quiet. I get dressed in a hurry, grabbing my things from the various places they’ve been left. I don’t want to be here when they get back. I won’t be able to keep my expression neutral. Jules will see it all over my face. I think about texting Satcher, but I don’t know what to say. He looked just as blindsided as I was, expecting to come to lunch with me and running into his former girlfriend instead. As far as I knew, Jules and Satcher had only hung out a few times in our group get-togethers. Both workaholics, it was difficult to get them both in the same room at the same time. Years ago I remember thinking they’d make a great couple, but back then Satcher was fucking his way through the Upper East Side while Jules was married to her job. I wonder how they reconnected. If it had something to do with Woods? But, no, Jules hated Woods; after he cheated on me she said she never wanted to see him again.

  I take a long walk in Central Park and when it’s safely been a few hours, I head back to the apartment. Jules is home when I get back. I breathe a sigh of relief when I see she’s alone. She’s sitting on one of the barstools in pajamas, her hair up in a messy bun. Her laptop sits open in front of her, but the screen has long gone into sleep mode.

  “Hey,
” she says.

  “Hi.”

  I try to read her mood. She’s relaxed. Neutral. But it could be jet lag. If I ask her how it went without telling her about Satcher and me, I’ve deceived her. I don’t want to do that. I walk toward the bedroom and then remember I don’t know where I’ll be sleeping.

  “I cleared out the office,” Jules says. “I’m going to take that until everything is worked out.”

  Worked out?

  “No way,” I say. “You should have your room. It’s your apartment.”

  “Absolutely not. I’m the intruder. We had a deal. Besides, once I start working again I’m hardly home. I don’t need the space.”

  I nod, but I’m embarrassed. It doesn’t feel right. Jules turns back to her computer, staring at the dark screen. I should just go to bed, stay out of it, but she looks so forlorn.

  I squeeze my eyes shut. “Everything okay?”

  I hear her sniff; thankfully, it’s not a teary sniff but more of a resolved one.

  “Yeah. We’re gonna figure it out. He’s been seeing someone. It just makes me feel sick to know that. Some other woman touching him. What if he loves her?”

  I can feel my face going pink. I walk to the fridge, grab two bottles of Perrier, and set one in front of her.

  “Actually, can we have something harder? Something that will make this sick feeling in my stomach go away?”

  “I think if you want the sick feeling to go away you probably shouldn’t drink.” I laugh. I take back the Perrier and pull out the bottle of Grey Goose instead.

  “He said he needs time to think,” she says. “What do you think that means?” Her face is twisted with worry.

  I want to hug her, but that will make me feel like a worse person.

  “Probably that he needs to think,” I say.

  She makes a face at me and I shrug.