by Heidi Lowe
She laughs. "You want me to take it back and get you something else?"
"No, it's fine. I'm not that hungry anyway."
Silence falls between us again. And, just like before, she interrupts it. "I'm actually surprised you agreed to come. I thought for sure you would have plans with...what's her name? Melissa?"
"Melanie." I eye her cautiously, not buying that nonchalant act one bit. Where is she going with this?
"Right, of course. Melanie. It's a Saturday; didn't the two of you have plans? You usually do on Saturdays."
"She's out of the country."
"Business or pleasure?"
"Business. She doesn't need to leave town to seek the latter..." As soon as the words escape my lips, their effect hits me. Nikki's eyes take on a cold harshness. It's fleeting, but I see it.
"What does she do?" She moves on, though her expression isn't soft and carefree anymore.
"She's a swimming coach." She doesn't look impressed, so I add quickly, "A couple of her students will be in the Tokyo Olympics in 2020." I immediately regret adding this part, and am embarrassed that I felt the need to. It's as if I'm embarrassed for Melanie. That can't be further from the truth.
"Does she know you can't swim?"
"Actually, she's teaching me."
It's a neutral, innocuous statement, but nevertheless, that coldness returns to Nikki's eyes. And when she addresses me again, it's reached her voice. "I tried for years to get you to come with me, to let me teach you..."
She almost sounds...hurt! But why would this bother her so much?
"She does this for a living, Nikki. And I'm hardly going to turn down a professional swimmer, am I?" My light, playful tone does nothing to assuage her bitterness.
She says nothing, just picks at her bagel, seemingly having lost her appetite now.
"If you don't like me talking about her, why did you bring her up?" I say before I can stop myself. We're back in treacherous territory. That amicable day out was a pipe dream. We're incapable of steering clear of these types of topics.
She doesn't look at me when she answers. "I'm a glutton for punishment."
I expected her to deny her feelings, at least try and pretend I'm barking up the wrong tree. But confessing that my talking about Melanie is punishment for her, that's as candid as it gets. Does she realize what she's just said?
"I won't mention her again," I say.
"You should. She's your girlfriend. And I have to accept that...no matter how much it kills me." She won't look at me. I wish she would. I want to see her pain, to truly see it eating away at her. I want to see it the way she saw it on me when she left me.
Sandra was right: She does get it. Now, when she's remarried and I'm seeing someone else, she finally realizes that she made a mistake.
Suddenly, every ounce of fury that I've ever had for her wells inside me, causing my body to tremble. I glower at her, my rage making me dizzy.
"Look at me," I demand through gritted teeth.
She looks up slowly.
"Don't you dare do this! Don't you dare!" I'm so close to tears, I have to will myself desperately to not let them fall.
She seems to understand exactly what I mean, because she looks down again.
"I won't. I won't," she says in a low voice.
I shake myself out of it, try to regain my composure, and wipe away the stray tear that fell on my cheek.
The damage has already been done, though. And I can't stay here, not now.
"I'm going to call a cab."
She nods solemnly as I get up to leave.
SEVENTEEN
A new text from Melanie comes through while I'm in the cab. I don't read it until I get home. It's some thinly-veiled innuendo about doing me in the kitchen, but I'm far too distracted to appreciate it, or to care.
I wander up to my room, and just sit there, as though in a trance, ruminating over what's just happened. My stomach tightens, my mouth becomes dry. Her words echo in my head; those she spoke, and those I didn't give her the chance to speak.
I hate her more than I ever did before. This is the worst thing she could ever do. I never wanted her to be happy with Angel, that was the scorned ex-wife in me. But this – this regret so soon after destroying my life? It's just sick.
"You stupid bitch!" I scream to no one, tears trickling down my face. "It hasn't even been a year. You throw my life and your daughter's life in turmoil, for what? A lousy eleven months?"
If I had stayed much longer in that cafe with her, I probably would have said these things to her face, and made a complete spectacle of myself. I would have lost control. Watching her wallowing in the misery she created, regret heavy in her eyes, would have made me lash out in public. Some local newspaper no doubt would run the story. The headline would read: Mama Kitchen Loses Her Noodles.
The thought makes me laugh, and I'm aware of how crazy I must look – bawling one minute, laughing the next.
I don't want to hear her say it, not directly. That would be too painful. This way I can pretend it's all in my head. If she never admits that she was wrong, I'll never have to confront the idea.
My go-to solution when I'm upset is to sleep it off and wake with a fresh, more optimistic outlook on life. I barely manage half an hour before thudding at the door drags me from my slumber.
Angel barges her way into the house when I open the door.
"What the hell do you want?"
The smugness she's worn in the past isn't present now. I can see that the makeup she applied was done carelessly, possibly in haste. She's still beautiful in spite of it, goddamn her. But there's a tiredness about her eyes, something I saw in Nikki's also.
"Something just occurred to me, and I wanted to come here and share it with you." She's sneering now, warping her face into something unpleasant. It really is possible for the ugly on the inside to manifest itself on the outside.
"I don't want to hear anything you have to–"
"Even before I showed up here, before Nikki knew she would see me again, she still wasn't happy with you."
Why is she saying this to me now? Doesn't she know that she's won? What use is there opening old wounds, reminding me that my marriage was a lie? My glare is venom-filled, icy-cold, but it only makes her cackle. I wish it didn't still hurt to be confronted with that truth, but it does.
"If it wasn't me, it would have been someone else. Anyone else, just so that she wouldn't have to spend a lifetime with someone as boring, as pathetic as you."
"Get out of my house," I yell.
She laughs again, looking more villainous, more like a caricature of herself. "I bet it eats you up inside knowing that every time she kissed you, every time she touched you, she was thinking about me. I know that would drive me mad." Her voice becomes low, almost sultry, as she steps closer to me. Those cruel blue eyes are laughing, taunting. "In fact, I would want nothing more to do with her."
She doesn't know it, but this line changes the course of our battle entirely. Something switches in me; a light bulb turns on. I can finally see her for what she really is. But most importantly, I can finally see why she came here.
My smile makes hers falter, and then disappear altogether.
"I know what this is about," I say, confidence oozing from me. "Why you're here. Your marriage is over. You know you've lost her, and you're here in a desperate attempt to ensure I don't give her a second chance."
From her glower and the way the blood rushes to her face, I know I've hit a nerve. Eleven months ago we stood in this exact same spot, exchanging similar words. Only, back then she was the victor. How the tables have turned.
"Bullshit! Our marriage is fine."
"Liar!" I laugh. "Unless fine has changed its meaning. Your marriage is a joke, built on nothing. A fling that never should have lasted past summer. What the hell did you expect?"
"You don't know a fucking thing about our marriage! Nothing," she spits.
"I know that Nikki regrets ever marrying you, ever leaving
me. And you know it, too. That's why you're here. Now who's the pathetic one?"
I catch her wrist before her slap connects with my face.
"Touch me, and I'll call the police," I say, before releasing her arm. "Then you can worry about your wife screwing around on you from inside a cell."
"She's not coming back to you," she says. She sounds so sure it's almost scary.
"You're right, but that's only because I don't want her to. And every time she looks at you, she's going to blame you for that. Let's see how long it takes for her to leave you, too."
She opens her mouth to spit more venom, but she knows she's been defeated. Nothing she says to me now will affect me, because I have the truth on my side.
She bangs out of my house without another word, and her car screeches away moments later.
My smile doesn't stick around, however. I wore it for her sake, but it fades as soon as she's gone. Truth is, I don't feel victorious. How can I be when I still lost my wife? Even if everything I said was true, she still left me; she still questioned her love for me.
One thing is certain now, however. Our marriage wasn't a lie. I clutch at my heart, thankful that I didn't give those six years to someone who didn't want to be there.
"Your wife stopped by earlier," I say later that afternoon when Nikki returns Emily.
Her face goes pale and white. "What?"
"Yeah. She tried to hit me." I hadn't planned on telling her about the fight, figuring she would get an earful when she got home. But I want her to hear it from me, before Angel has a chance to twist everything.
"What?" she says again, horrified. "What happened?"
"I stopped her. She left shortly after."
Her horror turns to anger. Her fist clenches. "I'll talk to her. She shouldn't have come here. I'm sorry."
"Don't you want to know what we spoke about?" I regard her carefully, trying to read her response.
"No," she says, turning to leave. "I already know."
I feel the overwhelming urge to stop her going back home, because they're going to fight, and it could very easily get physical. I want to tell her that her wife is unstable, and that she should be careful, but she's gone before I can bring myself to. I spend the rest of the night worrying about it.
When Sandra stops by the following day to grill me about the family trip, she confirms that she spoke to Nikki and she's fine.
"You're worried about her?" she asks. Her tone and look are suggestive.
I roll my eyes at her, exasperated. "It's not what you think. Definitely not."
"I don't think anything," she says, playing innocent, a face like butter wouldn't melt.
"Yes you do. I know you."
"All I'm gonna say is, it was nice yesterday, seeing the two of you together again. It felt like old times. It brought tears to my eyes."
"You really need to get out more." I get up from the table, wander away from her to busy myself doing something meaningless just so I can avoid this conversation. This afternoon, when she arrived, I almost didn't let her in, knowing why she was here.
"Do you ever think about it?"
"No!" I snap, now furious with her for persisting.
"You don't even know what I was going to say."
"Yes, I do. Do I think about taking her back, forgetting everything that's happened, and living happily ever fucking after? Right? The answer's still no. And damn you for asking."
It's as though someone turned on the faucet and now the tears won't stop. I had them under control, but I've lost it all over again.
"Hey, I'm sorry." She hurries over to me, puts an arm around my shoulder. I want to shrug it off, but I feel too weak. Melanie isn't here to hold me, so Sandra will have to do.
"I was at her wedding," I say, sniffling. I tear off a couple of sheets of kitchen roll to wipe my eyes and face. "I didn't tell you, but I went there. I had to see it with my own eyes. To see her really go through with it."
"Oh my God, Faye, why didn't you say anything?"
"Because," I cry. "Jilted ex-wife shows up at ex-wife's wedding. How pathetic does that sound?"
"I wouldn't have judged you," she says, sounding offended.
"She married her, Sandra. I felt like I was being stabbed over and over again in my heart. Can you ever begin to imagine what it feels like to watch the love of your life marry another woman, in the same venue you exchanged your vows in, where she promised to love you forever?"
She doesn't respond, only holds me tighter, sensing that that's all I need right now. She presses her head to mine and allows me to cry in her arms.
I long for Melanie to return so I can forget this whole thing ever happened.
EIGHTEEN
Chocolate sauce drips from the strawberry and onto Melanie's bare thigh as she lounges on the bed, mouth open wide. I tease her with the fruit at first, and she growls and laughs, before moving closer and snatching a bite before I can withdraw it again. I chuckle, and she pulls me into a sweet, strawberry kiss. When it's over, I too have some of her strawberry in my mouth.
"There's chocolate sauce all over your sheets," she laughs, gesturing to the little brown specks and smudges that pattern the white fabric.
"Yeah, I probably should have changed them before we started."
"I'm loving this, by the way. Strawberries in bed, a sexy, naked woman in my arms. What a great welcome home gift," she says, letting out a contented sigh.
"I wanted to do something nice for you, to show you how much I missed you."
She pulls me close again, positions me so that I'm straddling her, and we kiss.
"Did you just say you missed me?"
"Maybe," I say.
"You know, I'm just not that convinced. I mean, we've been naked for over an hour and you still haven't put out."
I laugh as she trails kisses along my neck. This way of speaking, like a frat boy, is all an act. She'll apologize later once we're done, because she doesn't want me to think she's objectifying me. She's so sensitive and considerate. Sometimes I feel as though I'm trying to warp her into something she isn't, just to quench my own thirst for the wild.
Her kisses gradually make their way down my chest. She captures a nipple between her lips, and I throw my head back while she suckles and then moves on to the next one.
She practically throws me down on the bed after she's done with my nipples, and I let out a yelp of laughter, which she stifles by pressing her lips to mine.
"I missed you, too," she breathes, peering down lovingly at me. When she looks at me like that, the hairs on my body rise. What should make any woman weak at the knees, makes my blood run cold. All I can think about is Nikki on top of me, looking at me and telling me she loves me. It doesn't matter who's actually there, who's about to make me climax.
I want to close my eyes, erase that picture for good, and enjoy this wonderful, beautiful woman for who she is. But closing them would be rude.
I force a smile, and thankfully it's over. She progresses to the next part of her task, spreading my legs and devouring my sex like a starved animal. I writhe and moan, clutching at my pillow, digging my nails into it. I have to keep my voice down so as not to wake Emily.
Melanie is in her element when she's between my thighs. Lashing and lapping me up, her tongue performing acrobatics. It's as if her skill as a swimmer extends to it. I'm grateful for it. For her. She knows just how to prolong this beautiful torture in order to make the big finale toe-curling, to make it last longer.
I melt in her mouth eventually, and have to slap a hand over my mouth to muffle my cry.
"What's wrong?" she whispers, several minutes later. We're finishing off the bowl of strawberries, and I haven't spoken much since the sex ended.
"Nothing. Why do you ask?"
"You're unusually quiet."
"Am I?"
She laughs, kisses me on the cheek. "Yes, you are. What's on your mind?"
"Nothing, really. I'm just thinking about which detergent I'm going to use to get the cho
colate out of these sheets."
That causes her to laugh even harder. "That's what you're thinking about? You're an odd woman, has anyone ever told you that? Beautiful, sexy, but odd. In a good way, of course."
"How can anyone be odd in a good way?" I chuckle while she plants kisses on my neck. They tickle.
"You can. I love your little oddities."
Her use of that word – that horrible word that has lost all meaning since Nikki ruined it for me – unnerves me. Even though she's not using it in that way, I don't like her using it at all.
I sit up, put a little distance between us. It's this action that betrays my earlier assertion that I'm okay.
"Did something happen while I was away?" she inquires, looking puzzled, worried.
"Nothing of importance," I say without looking at her.
"So something did happen?" She sits up too. "Tell me."
"It's not important." I go to get up, but she grabs my arm.
"Faye, you're starting to worry me."
I had planned on telling her anyway, but now that she's here, it's a lot harder than I thought it would be. But why?
After a deep breath, her eyes piercing as she waits for me to speak, I say, "I found something out last week."
"What?"
I give a little laugh, a farce to appear apathetic. "So it turns out that my ex-wife regrets everything, and finally realizes what a fool she's been..."
It comes as no surprise to me that Melanie doesn't see the funny side. Her lips are pursed, her expression sombre.
"She told you that?"
"Not outright. I stopped her before she got that far. I didn't want to hear it."
She considers me skeptically, her brow furrowed. "Are you sure about that?"
"About what? That I don't want to hear her tell me she made a mistake? That she wants a second chance? Of course I'm sure."
I don't like how silent she's become. And I especially don't appreciate the look she's giving me. She's not convinced.
"Say something," I say, when I can't take it anymore.
"Do you still love her?"
"Something other than that!" I say, frustrated.