F*ck Marriage

by Fisher, Tarryn

  “Nice day,” he mumbles.

  I lift my hand in a goodbye even though his back is to me.

  I glance at the return address. It’s an attorney’s office; I don’t recognize the name. My phone rings. It’s Woods. I’m late. I stick the envelope in my bag and run for the stairs so I won’t have to wait for the elevator.

  I’m rifling around in my bag looking for the tiny box I packed with my earrings when my fingers touch the envelope. I’d forgotten about it. I hesitate, eyeing the return address. I don’t really have time, but what if it’s something important?

  I rip it open, tenting the cardboard. Inside is a smaller brown envelope. There’s a bright pink sticky note stuck to the front of it, Satcher’s bold handwriting filling most of the tiny square. I blink hard, a sudden whirlwind in my chest. There is pain, and nostalgia, and regret ... so much regret. My eyes blur as I read. Even his handwriting is beautiful. How can handwriting make you miss someone this much?

  Billie,

  This was always yours. I was just taking care of it in your absence.

  My heart wants only good and beautiful things for you. Forgive me for not reading between the lines.

  Love,

  Satcher

  I take longer to open the next envelope, my hands shaking. Inside is a single sheet of paper signed by both Satcher and his attorney. It takes a moment to process what I’m seeing. There is a blank line where my signature goes. He signed his share of Rhubarb over to me. I lift a hand to cover my mouth, tears stinging my eyes. Had this always been his plan? I say his name out loud.

  “Satcher ... oh my God, Satcher.”

  There’s a knock.

  “Billie,” my mother calls through the door. “Are you ready?”

  I’m not.

  “Just another minute, Mom.” I have to work to keep my voice steady, but even if she heard me crying she wouldn’t have come in without an invitation. The reality of this doesn’t bother me anymore; trying to pretend the situation is different doesn’t change the situation, it just puts you in a slumber deep enough to never learn acceptance. My family is detached, and because of that, I attached myself to Woods so fiercely, hoping to find what I’d been missing my whole life. My heart is topsy-turvy as I walk to the window and stare down at the parking lot. I see Woods locking up his car. He bends his knees to check his reflection in the window. He looks so handsome in his suit. I’ve loved Woods for so long. I left my home and my family in search of adventure, New York being the epicenter of excitement and power in my mind. I’d found Woods along the way. He’d been so into me, in the way twenty-year-old men were into their twenty-year-old girlfriends. But like most women in their twenties, I’d changed ... evolved. Woods hadn’t liked the changes. In retrospect, he hadn’t been mature enough to deal with them, especially when I went from a sleepy, wholesome PNW girl to a career-obsessed New Yorker.

  I move away from the window and sit in the only chair in the room.

  Satcher always liked who I was—even when I was wearing the Martha Stewart dresses, even when I was a bitter bitch. How had I not seen what was right in front of me? It’s because I was obsessed with what was behind me, my future always clouded by my stiff-knuckled inability to let go.

  I walk to the door, resting my palm on the rich mahogany. “Mom?” I breathe.

  I hear the shuffling of feet, the swish of fabric as she comes to stand on the other side of the door. She’s been waiting this whole time, not saying anything, but there. I open the door. At first she looks surprised, but when she sees me in my dress, tears spring to her eyes. She lifts her hands and crisscrosses her palms over her heart. It’s something I’ve seen her do since I was a little girl, the emotion she cannot express verbally, suppressed into that one action. I grab her wrists and drag her into the room, kicking the door closed behind us.

  “Billie, what are you doing? I think they’re ready to—”

  “Shh, Mom,” I say firmly.

  She falls silent, and I begin pacing the small space between the window and the mirror, wringing my hands. I tell her everything I should have told her before: about Woods cheating, about Angus and the accident ... about Satcher, and Pearl, and Jules. When I’m done, she steers me to the chair I was sitting in earlier and sits me down.

  “I’m not good with words, Billie.”

  It’s the first time she’s ever said something so candid to me and I’m not sure what to say so I wait for her to go on.

  “But you’re my daughter and I want to be there for you. We don’t understand each other. We don’t. But I want to try.”

  I start to cry and she doesn’t know what to do, so then I start to laugh.

  She doesn’t laugh with me; instead, she pulls her lips into a tight line and pats me on the shoulder.

  “He didn’t want to leave you,” she says.

  “Woods?” I ask through my laughing tears.

  “No,” she says slowly. “Satcher. When you were in the hospital, he was by your side the whole time. He got really agitated with me when I told him I wasn’t staying.”

  For some reason I can’t meet her eyes. Talking about Satcher makes me feel ashamed.

  “Yeah,” I say softly, thinking of the deed to Rhubarb. “He’s always been really good to me.”

  “Well, there you have your answer, don’t you?”

  I look her in the eyes this time, trying to understand what she’s saying.

  “Mom…?”

  “I didn’t know,” she says, not meeting my eyes. “About what Woods did ... if I’d known…”

  I hold up my hand to stop her. “It’s not your fault. I didn’t tell you guys because I thought you’d side with him anyway ... tell me that it was my fault…”

  “Well,” she says slowly. “It wasn’t. And you deserve better than to always be wondering if he’s going to do it again.”

  The tears that I was holding back spill.

  “I think that you’re more in love with Satcher than you’re willing to admit. And I think that marrying someone you compare to someone else is a very, very big mistake.”

  I hadn’t ever thought about it like that, but how many times had I compared them over the years? Satcher spoke Spanish fluently, he started and sold companies, becoming a millionaire at the age of twenty-seven. Satcher worked with a charity that sent him to Africa two weeks out of every year. When you spoke, he really, really, listened; he wasn’t just waiting to speak. I’d been intimidated by him, I’d gone to him for business advice ... and more recently, personal advice. And when I asked him to do stupid, ridiculous things like pretend to be my boyfriend—he’d done it ... for me. He wasn’t confused by the way I changed over the years; he’d been supportive of every new personality and style I’d tried to fit myself into.

  When I look up, my mother is watching my face carefully.

  “I’ll send Woods in so you can talk to him,” she says.

  I nod. I watch her ramrod straight back disappear out the door before she closes it gently, the latch clicking like an angry tongue. Now is the time for me to think. I need to have something to say to Woods, who is unsuspecting, dressed in his suit and ready to get married to me ... again. This is so ridiculous, I think. This is exactly what I moved back here for. I got everything I wanted, and now…

  There’s a light knock on the door, Woods’ unsure voice asking if he can come in. I head for the floor-length mirror feeling like there are a hundred rocks clanking around in my gut.

  “Come in,” I call through clenched teeth.

  When I turn around he’s frozen to the spot, his smile sincere and sweet. My heart beats a little faster, and in the five seconds it takes for him to walk over to me I doubt everything: him, Satcher, myself…

  “Billie,” he says softly. “Wow. You’re even more beautiful than the first time we did this.”

  A strangled sound issues from my throat and I’m tempted to cover my face with my hands.

  “Oh no,” he says, seeing the look on my face.

&n
bsp; I sit. I sink into the chair, my legs trapped by my dress which is tight around my thighs. If I was compelled to run, runaway bride style, I’d fall flat on my face as soon as I stood up.

  “Woods…” I begin. “Why do you want to marry me ... again?” The hastily added again makes him smile.

  “Because we shouldn’t have gotten divorced in the first place.”

  That prickles. I push out my bottom lip, blinking at him hard. “You cheated on me,” I say.

  Woods looks momentarily flustered and then his face relaxes, but not without effort.

  “Yes. Let me rephrase. I should have been faithful to you and then we never would have needed to get divorced.”

  “You cheated on me because you were unhappy. You didn’t like the person I was.”

  “That’s true,” he says. “But I like the person you are now.”

  I blow air through my pursed lips. “That’s the thing, Woods, I don’t know if I’ll stay the same. I can’t promise that. I feel as if the person who can love me best is one who doesn’t mind when I try something new.”

  “I can be that,” he says quickly.

  I look at him doubtfully.

  “Woods, you’ve been chewing Juicy Fruit for the last twenty years. You don’t like your world shaken.”

  “What are you saying, Billie?”

  “I’m asking if you really think we should be doing this?”

  “Yes,” he says without pause. “Absolutely.”

  I look up at him curiously. “Why?”

  “Because we are each other’s first loves.”

  I mull over his words. Nice words. Reassuring words ... and yet they do nothing to reassure me. People work their way back from cheating, it is entirely plausible that we were supposed to be together. But we detoured, and now…

  “It doesn’t feel right, Woods.” It’s the most honest thing I can say. I expect him to protest, but he just looks at me, waiting. “I’m not soft, and worshipful, and sweet. And I’m afraid that’s what you need. That’s what you’ve always needed. I don’t have confidence in myself to be that for you.”

  “I’ll take you as you are, Billie. That’s what love is.”

  “At what price?” I ask him. “How soon will I make you miserable again? How soon until you—”

  “No. I’d never do that to you again.”

  I sniff because I don’t know what to say—what to believe. How long until he makes me miserable? When we were together I was always stuck between trying to make him happy and trying to make myself happy. Maybe it is selfish to think that way, but maybe the type of relationship exists where you could both be yourselves and make each other happy.

  “Woods,” I say calmly. “I can’t marry you.”

  He doesn’t look as surprised as I thought he would. It’s a relief to know that I haven’t caught him off guard and that he might have been feeling the same way.

  He walks over and kneels in front of me, taking my hands in his. “You’re it for me. I messed up and now this is where we are. I take responsibility for that. But I know you, Billie. You’re going to regret this the minute you walk out of here.”

  I pull my hands out of his grasp.

  “You don’t know me,” I say.

  I expect to see hurt, but Woods looks angry.

  “Come off of it, Billie. I know you better than anyone.”

  I think of our last months together. Everything that led up to his recent proposal. The effort was there, Woods had been eager to show me that he was a different person. But even as we did all of the things that would have saved our marriage in the first place, a heavy weight has hung over me. I tried to tell myself that I was hung up on past hurts; Woods had done nothing to make me doubt him ... this time. But that’s just it, isn’t it? One can’t be hung up on the past when trying to move forward.

  I look him in the eyes when I say my next words. “I’m even further from what I was when you cheated on me, Woods. I’m more of everything bad and less of everything good.” My throat is burning while my eyes brim with tears. I don’t want to cry. I want to evaporate: disappear.

  “It’ll take time … healing,” Woods assures me. “You just need to see that I’m here to stay. Things will be different.”

  “No.” I shake my head. “I think what’s different is me. I spent years wanting to rewind time and fix things between us. I was so fixated on that that I missed something important. That—I’m not that girl anymore. The one who wanted to be with you. I’ve wanted to be her again because I liked her better than who I am now.”

  He laughs. It’s a bitter sound in this peaceful place. I can’t blame him really. I got us into this mess by coming back to New York with him. By saying yes when he asked me to marry him for the second time. By ignoring the voice in my own mind that has never ever steered me wrong.

  “And who do you want to be with, Billie? Satcher? Does he fit who you are now?” There’s so much anger in his words I look away.

  “I’m so sorry, Woods,” I say, the tears moving sluggishly down my cheeks. I reach up to wipe them away.

  “You’re kidding me.” He takes a step away from me, looking out the window.

  I flinch at his tone. I think of Satcher then and I have to use all of my restraint not to break down and sob. I’m not okay without Satcher. The thought of never seeing him again, never being able to hear his voice, or see the dimples appear in his cheeks makes me want to double over in pain.

  “He doesn’t love you. Satcher only loves himself.”

  “You should go,” I say.

  I don’t have to ask him twice. Woods storms out of the room, slamming the door behind him.

  “You’re going to be okay,” I tell myself.

  I’m still sitting in the chair, trapped by my dress, when there’s a knock on the door. She doesn’t wait for me to invite her in this time; my mother walks directly over to where I’m sitting and helps me to my feet.

  “There’s a cab waiting downstairs for you,” she says. “You can leave out the back.”

  “What about everyone who came? I owe them—”

  “Nothing,” she interrupts. “You don’t owe anyone an explanation about your choices.”

  “Wow, Mom.”

  She looks flustered. “I care too much.” Her voice is barely above a whisper, but her words come out so forcefully I startle. “And just because I torture myself by caring too much doesn’t mean you should too.”

  I grab her then and hug her so tight it’s her turn to be startled. After a few seconds of shock, I feel her hands lift to my back in our first reciprocated hug in a decade.

  “I’m so sorry, Mom. I love you.”

  “I love you too. You better go.”

  I nod, letting her go and grabbing the last of my things.

  “I’ll call you,” I say. “To let you know where I am.”

  “Are you going to find Satcher?”

  My hands still on the zipper of my bag. “Yeah. I don’t know if he’ll…” I mean to say Forgive me, but I can’t get the words out.

  “He will,” she says. “He has it bad.”

  I smile.

  Chapter Forty

  The cab takes me home where I drop off my bag and grab my coat. I walk the twenty blocks to his building even though it’s snowing, and even though I’m still in my wedding dress. I need some time to formulate words … words to express how sorry I am. My hands are numb and my lungs ache from the cold air, but I feel alive, and that’s what counts. If he’s not there I don’t know what I’ll do. Huge mounds of dirty snow are banked against curbs. I walk up the path to his building, and the doorman greets me with a smile.

  “He in?” I ask.

  “No. He left for the airport.” He eyes my dress, which can’t be hidden even behind a heavy winter coat.

  “The airport? Where’s he going?”

  “Didn’t say.”

  “When did he leave?”

  “Early this morning. He asked me to get him a cab.”

  �
�Shit,” I say. “Shit. Shit. Shit.”

  I pull out my phone to call him, but it goes straight to voicemail. He’s probably already in the air.

  “Try his mom.”

  I’m still studying my phone trying to decide my next plan of action so I’m not sure if I’ve heard him right.

  “What?”

  “His mom. Moms always know where their kids are. Even if their kids are forty. Mine is a huge pain in the ass. She makes me text her every night when I get home so she knows I’m safe.”

  “Oh my God, are you forty? You look like you’re twenty.”

  “I am.” He grins. “But my older sister is thirty-seven and my mom makes her call too.”

  I laugh and then say, “I—I don’t really know her that well. It would be weird to call her.”

  He shrugs. “If you want to know where he is that’s the way to go…”

  I thank him and move away from the door. I bite my lip, staring down at the ground. The bottom of my dress is grey, the dirt ground into the silk like a tattoo. I suppose now is the time to stop being such a coward. I almost remarried my ex-husband because I was too much of a coward to move on with my life. I take a deep breath and hit dial.

  Jennifer Gable answers on the first ring, and her tone is cheerful but businesslike.

  “Gable residence.”

  There’s a long pause after I say my name.

  “How can I help you, Billie?” she asks.

  “I—I was supposed to get married today,” I tell her.

  To which she responds, “I know.”

  “Well, I didn’t. And I’m in love with your son. And he left for the airport this morning. And I was hoping you’d tell me where he went.”

  There’s another long pause and then she sighs.

  “He’s hurting a whole lot, Billie. As his mother, I want to tell you to stay away from him…”

  I hang my head in shame.

  “I understand,” I say. And then I add, “I also don’t blame you.”

  “Hold on a minute, Bille, my husband wants to talk to you.” I hear the phone exchange hands and then Mr. Gable’s gruff voice comes on the line.