I Love My Side of the Story

by Sabrina Lacey

  “Great. Have fun.”

  “Love you!”

  “Love you too.” I hang up and put my phone on the bar, look at it.

  “You’re going to set that thing on fire, son,” the bartender says, his brogue thick again.

  I shoot him a look to shut the fuck up.

  “Yep,” he adds, with a weary headshake, “That’s why I never settled down. Women. Bad for your health.”

  I down the rest of my beer, stand up, pull out some cash, and say, “That’s a load of shit.”

  I don’t look at his reaction as I walk out.

  An Hour Later

  When I walk in the door, silence echoes back to me and I wish she were home. I shouldn’t have gone out to meet him. Now I know something I shouldn’t, and I’m alone. I look around the place, and head to the couch. Surfing the Internet soothes me, locking me into a world outside myself. There is so much going on out there, it makes my problems seem small. As I click around, asking myself if I should tell Amber about David’s cheating, I end up on a website where an ad on the right side of the page reads: How To Help Your Partner Hear You. I hover the cursor over it and stare at it for a long time. But I don’t click. Instead I close the computer, put it on the couch and sit in the dark, realizing I must not have turned on the lights when I came home. I look at the clock. It’s 12:48 p.m.

  At some point I fall asleep on the couch, not aware of it until after 2:00 a.m. when I hear her key in the lock. I dash for the bedroom as my intoxicated girlfriend fumbles at opening the front door. I tear off my clothes, jump in bed, turn over to face the wall, and pretend I’m asleep. I listen to her make it inside, drop her keys on the floor, pick them up, and put them in the bowl. She tiptoes into the bedroom and I feel her eyes on my back. Big sigh from her. When she walks into the bathroom to do whatever she’s going to do in there – brush her teeth, plan my demise, whatever – I pull the covers up higher. For the first time in my life, I can’t sleep right away.

  She takes forever to climb into bed, her soft body naked and warm. She hesitates to touch me. I hold my breath for what she’s going to do. Then I feel her hand on my side, her body snuggle up to mine, spooning me, and her arm wrapping around my chest. Feel her breath on my shoulder. I adjust myself, get closer, and grab her hand and hold it against me. “I love you, Amber,” I whisper.

  She gives a little gasp. Her body relaxes and she whispers back, “I love you too.” She kisses my shoulder. I pull her hand up and kiss it, put it back on my chest… and fall fast asleep.

  A Tuesday Night – Early Summer

  The Night David Dumped Jessica

  It’s a usual night of squabbling and when we finally get past it, all I want to do is sit here at home and connect with her again. I tell her we always hang out with our friends, let’s do something on our own; suggest, “You want to watch a movie tonight?”

  She gets excited, “Go out and watch one?”

  She looks so cute, I don’t want to let her down, but I’m exhausted by own inability to get through to her. I’m surprised to see her look pleased when I say I want to stay home, and when I go in to kiss her, she blocks me because she’s had pesto. I love her breath, no matter what it smells like. Struggling against my annoyance, I turn and say, “Okay. I’ll be in the living room.”

  “Great,” she says at my back.

  What should we watch? Sitting on the couch, I contemplate the possibilities, flipping through the channels. Silver Linings Playbook? She’d probably kill me if I asked her to watch that again. Zero Dark Thirty or Argo…yes.

  Wait. Is that a knock? Who’s coming over at this hour? When I open the door, I see Jess standing there – tear-stained cheeks and puffy blank eyes – like someone took her soul. Instantly I know, she’s found out. I call for Amber. Amber rushes over and takes her into the hug my guilt wouldn’t let me give. I take Amber’s toothbrush from her, bow out to the bedroom and leave them alone.

  Inside I sit on the bed and beat myself up. I should have told her. I should have told Amber. But I’ve seen it too many times where the cheater’s girlfriend blames the messenger and not the boyfriend. I decided in the end that it was between David and Jess – and hoped it was just a phase he was going through. Or like what happened with me and Shauna; he’d wake up and run home. But I’m still not sure if I made the right decision. Now I’ll never know.

  I stand up and go to the door, listen through it as Nicole arrives. Their three voices mingle; my hand cupped against the wood. Shit. This is awful. After awhile, they go quiet. I adjust my hand, cup it differently and listen harder. Still nothing. I slowly open the door, tentatively walk to the living room. When I round the wall to it, I see one of the most amazing sights I’ve ever seen. Jess is asleep, covered in a blanket. Nicole is sitting holding onto Jess’s legs, which lay across her lap. Amber, my strong Lioness, sits in a chair, watching vigil. I lean against the wall, take it all in. Amber’s sad eyes fall on me, silently asking if Jess can stay here. With just a look, I tell her, for as long as she needs.

  We all stay like this for an immeasurable amount of time. I feel calm and still inside of my heart, the humanity of this scene, beautiful to me.

  Over The Next Couple Months

  Things get better for a while. I eat my annoyance and surprise Amber by showing up for lunch with her crazy parents, even deal with her mom’s flirtations (designed to irritate her husband. Which works). I charmed them both in the end though, and didn’t punch Amber’s dad for saying that he finally got a boy, when he put his arm around me. I wanted to. Oh man, how I wanted to. But it wouldn’t help Amber. We both kept quiet and smiled, knowing it would be over fast enough.

  Sexually, I’ve been numb and disinterested, which is very new for me. So is being in a relationship this long, though, so maybe it’s nothing. One night we had hot sex in the middle of the night. I woke up groping her, my body acting, needing her. She responded, and it was fast and quick. Really passionate and awesome. Boom. Over. Us panting and falling back to sleep. Other than that, I’ve got a layer of resentment blocking my cock from erecting all its glory. And it sucks.

  I still haven’t told her about the second commercial. It was shot while she was at work, so she didn’t even know I did it. Every time I think I’m going to tell her, she beats me to it and says something like, “Any auditions today?” and “Did your agent call?” It’s like she doesn’t give me an opportunity to give her the news – she keeps asking for news, with tainted cheer.

  I’m really good at knowing what’s going on with other people but it sure is hard when it’s you. I didn’t even realize until Amber got pissed, that the reason I’d brought Sylvia home to rehearse was to make Amber jealous. She shut that down real fast, which felt good – I can’t lie. Made me feel like a man, to have two women weighing each other. Sylvia is nuts, and I’m not interested – but that was a fun night. I can be kind of an asshole sometimes. But can’t we all?

  I just want a sign Amber’s proud to be on my arm. I mean, what are we doing here, if she isn’t?

  The Night Apple Met Apple, The Hard Way

  AKA Friday Night

  I’m reading CNN.com, shaking my head at all that’s wrong in the world, and I hear the front door open. She’s grunting under the weight of the bags with a look that says she’s a martyr who’s gotta do all the heavy lifting – metaphorically and literally – in this relationship. I ask if her if she needs help, knowing for a fact there’s no way she’ll accept it. She gets off of this stuff.

  “I’ve got it,” she says. I focus hard at the computer screen. We go back and forth about something stupid, and then she feigns interest by asking, “You reading anything interesting?”

  “On the news?”

  “Yeah,” smiling so that I know she is mocking me.

  I’m so tired of this. I roll my eyes and turn to her, “Are you serious? It’s everything that’s going on in the world, Amber. Of course it’s interesting. What’s happening in Egypt is terrifying. Unemployment in Amer
ica is ridiculous. Our government is insane. It’s not exactly shopping, but it’s pretty interesting.”

  I see I hurt her with that, but I’m past regret; I’m too pissed.

  “Sorry for interrupting,” she says. She’s not sorry for interrupting. She’s sorry I didn’t like being interrupted. There’s a difference.

  “Honey.” Holy fuck. “Wanna do something tonight?”

  I mumble, “I’m beat, babe. I wanna watch television tonight.”

  “You sure, honey?” She said it again. Honey. Oh how I have come to hate that mother-fucking word.

  “Yep.”

  “That’s what I thought.”

  I hear this noise – the sound of something speeding toward me. I look up and BAM. An apple slams into my computer and knocks it off my lap. “WHAT THE FUCK!”

  She grabs onto the counter and screams, “THAT’S WHAT I THINK OF YOUR FUCKING LAPTOP, HONEY,” eclipsing my explosion, tenfold. Slack-jawed I stare at her. “I’m through! I’m done! DONE DONE DONE DONE DONE!!!!!” She picks up her bag and hightails it to the hallway; grabs her coat and her keys, and runs out the door.

  As it slams, I lamely call, “Amber?” …Silence.

  Flabbergasted, staring after her, I wonder, what’s happening? Is she coming back?

  With the fluidity of a robot, I look at my computer on the floor, pick it up, inspect it without emotion. Not broken. I look at the website I was on, read a couple more lines of news, but absorb none of it. I look out the window, see the brick wall of the building next to ours, and again in the window is the peeping red-haired kid. He ducks when I look at him. This kid must think we’re his own personal TV show. I set the computer on the coffee table, get up and shut the curtain.

  My eyes fall on the purple fairy that sits on our coffee table. I sit down and pick it up. We’d been in Central Park, getting to know each other better, when I bought this for her. A street artist’s table of goblins and handmade fairies caught Amber’s eye. She pointed, said they were cute. I thought they were kinda silly, but I think Amber likes extra feminine things to make up for lost childhood time. I watched her as she told the street artist, “You’re so talented! I love these,” as she picked up this one I’m holding now. She looked so cute, the expressions she made, as she scanned the details of the dress, the wings, the bare feet. “How much for the purple one?” I’d asked and Amber looked to me, surprised. I paid for it and the old lady said, “You two... I see good things.” I’d put my arm around Amber’s shoulder, feeling that the old lady was right.

  Setting the memory carefully back on the table, I stand up and pace the apartment, wondering how we lost that. What we’re doing here is not good. I’m not happy. She sure as shit isn’t happy. We can’t do this. She’s right.

  I scan our home, memories everywhere. Our housewarming party where we got that fake palm tree as a gift. The night we’d stayed up late, binge-watching episodes of Homeland. The day she baked pumpkin bread for Jessica and burned it, how we never told Jessica she even tried, because she was embarrassed she doesn’t cook well. The morning we made love after we moved in. The poster being hung on the wall while I slept.

  I pull out my phone and call her. Her voicemail comes on immediately; her phone is off. My throat starts to close. A cold hand grabs my lungs, forces them shut. I get up for a glass of water, holding onto the counter and drinking it. I run my hands through my hair and dial again. Hear only the voicemail message, “This is Amber Monroe, please leave a message.”

  I dial again and again, leaving messages asking her to call me. I send text messages, too. And then I call some more.

  Freaking out, I plant myself on a chair at the dining table and stare off into the emptiness in front of me. How will I find her? How did we get here? How do I get us out?

  Amber

  Friday Night

  Mark shakes my hand. I look down, bite my lip, look back to his eyes, lip still tugged by my teeth. I should let go, but I hold on a second longer than I should.

  “Um.”

  “Uh,” he agrees.

  A Thesaurus would be fantastic right about now. I pull my hand away. “Mark,” I say. It’s almost a question, but not quite.

  “Amber.” That was definitely a statement.

  “I don’t...” I shake my head. “I can’t. I have a boyfriend…”

  I feel his hand before I see it. He’s reached out and is touching me, his fingers pressing onto the top of my wrist on the counter. There’s an amused smile tugging at his mouth, but his eyes are kind. “Amber, I’m not hitting on you.”

  I blink. “You’re not?”

  “No. You’re obviously upset and you’ve got that look that says ‘boyfriend trouble’ all over it.” I stare at him. “What’s his name?” he asks. I shake my head, tears welling up. “It’s okay…What’s his name?”

  “Josh,” I choke and two tears stream down.

  He reaches for the stack of cocktail napkins to his left and hands one to me. I take the napkin and blow. Loudly. I reach down for my phone. I need my girlfriends. I can’t wait anymore. This has gotten ridiculous. After I power it on, during that moment of silence it takes to reach the satellite signal, I am sure he hasn’t called. Then I jump on my seat, and shoot a look to Mark as it blows up with beeps; text and voice messages with Josh’s name all over the place, and Nicole, too. No Jess. I don’t read any of them, don’t listen either. Instead I type a group text to only Jessica and Nicole: Need Help. As soon I hit send, Josh’s name jumps onto the screen with a new call. I shoot another look to Mark – and turn the phone back off to set it on the counter, dark again.

  “Did you text him?” he asks.

  I look at him like he’s crazy, take another napkin from him, and blow my nose again. “My girlfriends.”

  “Ah…So…?”

  “We had a fight.”

  “How do you feel about him?” he asks.

  I’m very surprised by his frankness. “Really?”

  He nods, his eyes dancing. “Really.”

  “I love him. I love him more than I’ve loved anyone.” The impact of this admission is hard to take.

  “Even more than your job?”

  I shoot a frown. “What does that mean?” I squirm under his look. “You don’t even know me. I have to go to the bathroom. Save my seat.” It was an order more than a request, I know, but he’s got some nerve.

  I grab my bag and push my way to the ladies room. “I really have to go,” I tell a couple women in line and for some reason they don’t argue. I expected more of a fight, but as soon as I get in and lock the door, I see why; I look like something out of horror film – ratty hair, running makeup, and tomato-red raccoon eyes. The bartender wasn’t thinking anything except what a mess. And Mark – of course wasn’t trying to pick up on this. I mean, God. Yuck.

  Humbled and feeling really dumb, I comb my hair and wash around my eyes with a disinfectant baby wipe that I always carry in my bag (for germs). I carefully apply lipstick and whiten my eyes with a couple cold drops of Visine that feel really soothing. Looking in the mirror, I recognize myself again. There. I look a little more presentable.

  When I get back to my seat, I smile, but he continues, rather than dropping it. “I’m just asking because a lot of women put work first these days.”

  “I’m sorry,” I say, sounding anything but. “You mean the way men have, for centuries?”

  “We had to do that. We had to provide for you, protect the castle and the land from other men. That had to come first.”

  I snort and shake away the idea with my hand. “Look. It’s been a long time since those days. We have every right to have a passion and a purpose. Something of our own, that isn’t dependent on another person for happiness.”

  “Thank you,” he says to the fresh beer the bartender sets down. To me, he says, “Yes, but we aren’t meant to be alone. And if you don’t put the relationship first during the big decision days, you don’t have anything else. In the end, both men and women have to ch
oose their partner over career.”

  “This is a very layered problem and you’re over-simplifying things.”

  “What levels am I right on?” he asks, his hand set on his knee.

  “Well, with me and Josh, for example. I was working on this project, a film, and I had to make the choice of whether or not to bring him in to read for it. He’s an actor, I’m in casting,” I add, filling him in. He nods, so I continue. “I chose not to bring him in, because I had to put the relationship first, but he thought I was putting the job first. And either way, it came out bad. So…I’m not sure if I made any sense, but there you have it.”

  “How was that ‘putting the relationship first’?” he asks.

  I look at my glass. My answer, as yet unspoken, feels flimsy. “It… I… I thought if he didn’t get the part, it would be really awful for us. Between us, I mean.”

  “And if he did?”

  I whisper the answer, “It would have been good.”

  “What?” he asks.

  I look up and say again, more loudly, “It would have been huge for him.”

  “So, you sold him short on two levels… all for your job.” When I angrily look forward and don’t say anything, he explains, “Amber. You didn’t give him the ability to show you what he could do, with failure or success. What happened with the part doesn’t matter. What you showed him is that you didn’t think he could handle it.”

  I stare. And it’s as if I’d always known and had never known. “Oh my God. You’re right.”

  “Why didn’t you?”

  I gulp. The truth crawls out and sneers at me. I say slowly, “I… wanted the film so badly. It was the biggest project I’d ever gotten.”

  He nods and his body shifts as he looks away. I stare at him, mortified.