One Week

by Roya Carmen

  What the fuck?!

  He’s the one who wanted all those things. He’s the one who insisted we purchase the multi-million dollar home — I wanted something a little bit more cozy and modest. He’s the one who insisted on a private education for the kids, and he’s the one who is car crazy. How dare he put this on me.

  I’m boiling inside. I’m so mad, I don’t even know how to respond. I storm off into the en-suite. I brush my teeth. I’ve already brushed them tonight, but I need to put something in my mouth or I might say something I’ll probably regret in the morning.

  When I come out, John has gathered his things. “I’m going to my den,” he deadpans. “Goodnight.”

  I cross my arms. “Goodnight.”

  I am so mad, I can’t even…

  I check my clock. It’s nine o’clock — three in the morning in Copenhagen. I know he’s sleeping, but I need him. I’ve never contacted him this late before. I usually try not to message him after eleven — the time change is actually kind of a pain in the rear.

  Hi Eli. I know you’re probably sleeping, but if for some reason, you’re not, I’d love to talk.

  I feel nauseous when I throw my phone back on the bed. What the hell am I doing? I’m acting insane. The poor man is trying to sleep for god’s sake.

  My phone pings. My heart leaps as I reach for it.

  It’s him.

  Chapter Thirteen

  I was sleeping, but I’m a light sleeper. What’s up?

  —

  I’m so sorry to wake you up… I just needed someone to talk to.

  —

  No worries, Gabriella. What’s up?

  —

  Ugh. Life… marriage. Can we video chat?

  I’m feeling bold. I’ve never video chatted with him with John in the house before. My husband could walk into our bedroom any minute, and catch me in the act. But I just don’t care.

  Sure, he replies quickly.

  A few seconds later, his sweet face pops up on my phone. A look of concern washes over his features. “What’s going on?!”

  His hair is all mussed up and he looks sleepy, and he’s shirtless. There’s a huge tattoo on his right pec, and it flows onto his shoulder. I can’t quite make it out, but hot damn, I’ve never seen anything so hot.

  I’m completely speechless for a second. My mouth is hanging open. I close it immediately and swallow hard. He studies me curiously, awaiting my response.

  “Uh… nice tattoo.”

  He smiles and looks down. “Oh… that, yeah. Thanks,” he says, suddenly realizing that he’s half naked in bed. I wonder if he’s fully naked. Yeah, my mind goes there. Totally does. I shake my head.

  “So what’s going on, Gabriella?” I love how he says my name.

  “I…” I’m suddenly very self-conscious. It seems so self-indulgent and self-centered to wake someone up in the middle of the night to bitch about your problems. “I’m sorry… I shouldn’t have woken you.”

  “It’s okay,” he says. “Just tell me what’s wrong.”

  “It’s just,” I start. “John and I had a fight,” I say. I feel guilty because for all the conversations Eli and I have shared, I’ve never once bitched about my husband, or spoken of him in a negative way. But tonight, I really want to rant.

  Eli nods patiently, curious.

  “It was about how he’s always gone, and I have to do everything around here.”

  He nods. “Yeah, I got that sense.”

  “I mean, that’s life, but I’ve had enough lately.”

  He stares at me for a beat. “Do you miss him when he’s gone?” he asks softly. “Are you lonely?”

  I nod. “Yes,” I confess. “It’s probably the reason I’m talking to you right now.”

  He grins, a playful smile, sexy as hell. “So you’re using me?”

  “Definitely,” I tease.

  His grin widens. “Use me all you want.”

  My smile fades. “Why are you talking to me? Are you lonely too?”

  He nods. “Yes,” he says quietly, and in that moment, he’s so damn beautiful. I can’t believe someone like him could ever be lonely.

  “I wish you were closer,” he says. “It would be nice to have coffee together.”

  I close my eyes. “Yes.”

  “Two senses,” he says. “That’s all I get with you.”

  I’m not quite sure what he’s getting at. “What do you mean?”

  “I get to see you, and I get to hear your voice,” he says, “but I don’t get to smell you, touch you... taste you.”

  Holy fuck.

  A heat spreads through my core and I feel dizzy, dizzy with desire. He’s turning me on. I can’t believe he just uttered those words. He’s never crossed the line before.

  Fuck, never.

  “I’m sorry,” he says. “I shouldn’t have said that. I know you’re married… I just,” he stammers. “I just like you,” he goes on, completely flustered. “I don’t know why I said that.”

  “It’s okay,” I tell him.

  A long silence fills the screen with tension. After a long beat, I say, so quietly I can barely hear myself, “I feel the same way. I wish I could touch you... taste you.”

  He closes his eyes, and I shut mine too. This feels so heavy, so amazing. I want to hold on to this feeling forever.

  But we’ve both just crossed the line, and I swore to myself that I’d never do that to John.

  “I should go,” I say. “It’s late, and I should let you get back to sleep.”

  “Yes,” he says. “Sweet dreams, Gabriella.”

  “Sweet dreams.”

  Damn.

  I turn off the lights and lie in bed. It’s still early, and I’m not ready to sleep yet, but I want to be alone with my thoughts. I try to think about the situation logically, objectively. I try not to think about Eli — it’s impossible to think straight when I’m picturing his beautiful face. I was obviously vulnerable. I was angry with John. It was a revenge chat. It was wrong. What I’m doing is wrong. I’m cheating on John. I’ve been telling myself it’s all innocent; sharing laughs, and chatting about art and music. But who am I kidding? It’s so much more than that. I know it, and he knows it.

  Just the thought of saying goodbye to him rips me apart, but I need to end this.

  For John, for my kids.

  I have no other choice.

  Dear Eli,

  First, I just want to tell you how much you mean to me. And that’s the problem… you mean more to me than you should. I keep telling myself that we’re just friends, but I think we both know we’re more than that. I’m not exactly sure what I am to you, but you are everything to me. I think about you all the time, every hour of every day. It’s a little ridiculous, to be honest. I am a happily married mother of two, and I should start acting like it.

  I’ve really enjoyed our conversations about art and life, but it’s time for me to end this. For a bachelor like you, this is just a fun distraction I’m sure. But for me, it’s so much more, and it really shouldn’t be. What I’m doing with you is not right. I love my husband and my children, so it’s because of them that I need to say goodbye.

  I’ll always remember you. : ) And I’ll smile every time I do.

  Your friend,

  Gabriella

  I’m sobbing like a child by the time I finish the message. This is so much harder than I’d anticipated. It’s crazy — I’m crying over a man I just met a few weeks ago, a man I’ve never even seen in the flesh.

  I spend over an hour, poring over the message, making sure it’s just perfect, and when I finally hit ‘Send’, I feel sick, but a weight instantly lifts off my shoulders. I needed to do this. My life has felt so heavy lately, so confusing. I want my old life back; my boring, predictable, ordinary life.

  I spend the next three hours frantically checking my Inbox. Finally, after what seems like an eternity, he responds.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Dear Gabriella,

  Your words hurt
, but I understand them. I always knew you were married with kids, yet I was inexplicably drawn to you. I know I shouldn’t have engaged, but I did. I realize that I have been out of line. I haven’t been fair with you. I do respect your marriage, Gabriella, and because of this, I won’t put up a fight for our friendship. I won’t hound you, or try to charm you. I will let you go. I’ll miss you like crazy, but I’ll do it for you. I’m not perfect, but I’m no homewrecker.

  Another thing I really want you to know is that you mean as much to me as I do to you. I wake up in the morning thinking about you, I anticipate your messages eagerly, and my spirits lift as soon as I see your name on my phone. You were NOT just a distraction for me.

  I will always remember you fondly, Gabriella.

  Eli

  P.S. Always keep smiling that beautiful smile of yours, and never stop painting.

  It hurts so much. I never imagined it could hurt that much. He was just someone I met on the Internet, someone I only knew briefly, yet, it feels like heartbreak, like the end of a long relationship. I know it’s ridiculous, yet I can’t help the emptiness I feel.

  A little part of me is missing; the part that would eagerly anticipate his messages, smile at his jokes, dream about him at night. But I know I did the right thing. For my family. Sometimes, I smile at the absurdity of it all.

  I shuffle through my days; Emma’s ballet classes, Theo’s piano lessons, errands, laundry, dinner, and school functions. I escape in the pages of books. I try to forget, but I never do. He still pops up in my head at the oddest times.

  I haven’t been painting. Every time I sit in front of a canvas, my mind goes blank. I’m working on three different paintings, but can’t bring myself to finish a single one of them.

  There are many days in a life, but not too many that we remember. The days that stick are often the really good ones, or the really bad ones. The day my perfect life completely falls apart, the day it shatters to bits, is a very bad one – it’s also Valentine’s Day.

  It all begins a few days before Valentine’s Day, with a pen caught between the cushions of my sofa. A pen. Of all things. A fucking pen. If it weren’t for that pen, my life might very well be completely different today.

  It’s just another ordinary day. I’m filling out a school form for a field trip for Emma. Every week, it seems like there’s a different form to fill out. I write her name at the top of the form, and the telephone rings. I pick it up to find out, to my dismay, that it’s just another telemarketer. I tell him politely that I’m not interested, and hang up.

  When I get back to the form, I’ve lost my pen. It’s one of Emma’s pens, the one with the cute unicorn bobble-head. It should be easy to find. I’m looking for it everywhere, and for the life of me, I can’t find it. I set out to find another pen. We have about a hundred pens in the house, but I can never find one when I need one.

  With a huff, I pad to John’s den, and can’t find a damn pen there either. I usually don’t nose around in his antique leather satchel, but I wonder if I might find one in there. He carries the thing everywhere he goes — it’s a good bet. I dig into it and shuffle through a mess of notebooks, loose sheets, flyers… and a greeting card.

  I’m drawn to the pretty card. It’s a Valentine’s Day card — it’s red and pink, with shiny gold letters. I can’t believe I forgot Valentine’s Day.

  What the heck is wrong with me?

  There are two cute pandas on the front, and in a red shiny font, it waxes poetic about true friendship and true love. It’s a little more playful than the cards he typically gives me. I always get him funny ones, and he usually gets me elaborate super expensive cards, with gold foil and ribbons and all kinds of embellishments, those sentimental cards with long paragraphs of prose. I guess that’s what you get when you marry a writer. I often read them very quickly to get to the good stuff — John’s words.

  In addition to the card, I spot a small bag from Tiffany’s. I don’t snoop any further.

  A wide smile stretches across my face, and I tuck the card back in his satchel, and dig around for pens. Bingo! There are two at the bottom.

  Finding that card makes me realize how crazy I’ve been acting. I can’t believe I’ve forgotten Valentine’s Day — I never forget special events. I’ve been too busy obsessing over some stranger who lives on the other side of the ocean to appreciate my beautiful husband and children. I’ve been foolish.

  I remind myself to pick up some cards and chocolates for the kids as well as some sexy boxers for John (that’s the tradition).

  I also decide to put a lot more effort into my marriage from here on. I sit on the sofa, new pen in hand, and it hits me — I know exactly where the unicorn pen is. I scramble to my feet and pull up one of the sofa cushions, and sure enough, it’s right there.

  I’m going all out today. I’ve cleaned the house from top to bottom. I bought chocolate and stuffed animals for the kids, and cinnamon hearts too. It’s not Valentine’s Day without cinnamon hearts. I like to spoil them. If you can’t spoil your kids, who can you spoil?

  I’ve picked out a really cute card for John — it’s covered with glittery hearts, and it goes on about how sweet, sexy and smart he is. I’ve also bought him colorful striped boxers.

  I’ve also bought myself some new lingerie; a little white lace set; frilly panties and a pretty brassiere. I have the perfect feather covered boudoir sandals to go with it. And then, I zoomed by the grocery store to buy all the staples for tonight’s dinner.

  I’m making Julia Child’s boeuf bourguignon, homemade bread, and a garden salad. I’ve bought a gorgeous raspberry cheesecake for dessert. I have the candle holders out, and I’ve even retrieved the red and white dinnerware from the armoire for the occasion — it’s reserved for Christmas and Valentine’s Day.

  Everything is perfect. I am on fire!

  Theo is all smiles when he strolls into the kitchen. “Are you making beef stew again,” he asks. “Ugh.”

  “It’s Daddy’s favorite,” I remind him. “Listen, I need you and your sister to be good at dinner tonight. No complaining, okay?”

  He shrugs. “Whatever.”

  I smile as I set the table — I’m in a great mood. All that Eli business is behind me. I shake my head at the thought of the silly me I’ve been.

  We have a wonderful dinner. Conversation flows easily, and the cheesecake is to die for. With a happy mind and a full belly, I snuggle up against John on the sofa as we get ready to open presents. The kids go first, and are excited to get chocolate and candy because they don’t get it often.

  “Can we eat it now?” Emma asks. “Pleeease.”

  “Well, you already had some cake, so just a piece or two, tops,” I tell them. “In the kitchen.” The last thing I need is chocolate stains on my pristine area rug.

  They both hop to their feet and dash to the kitchen. I reach for John’s card and gift.

  He opens my card first, and smiles as he reads it. I watch him intently; I study the crinkles at the edges of his eyes, the dimple on his left cheek. After all these years, he’s still beautiful.

  “Thank you,” he says, looking up at me. “This is a really nice card.” He gives me quick kiss before turning his attention to the small gift bag. “I wonder what this could be?” he jokes. “I have no clue.”

  I smile. Of course he knows. I get him the same thing every year.

  He untangles the boxers from the tissue paper, and a grin stretches across his face. “Sexy,” he says in a sing-song.

  I smile playfully. “Maybe you can wear those for me later.”

  He winks at me. “Definitely.”

  He stares at the card and the pink gift bag on my lap. “Open it,” he urges.

  I try to sit still, but I can’t wait to see what he got me. Diamond earrings? A tennis bracelet? A beautiful necklace? I already own a lot of jewelry, but John always says, “A princess can never have enough diamonds.”

  I slide my finger along the sticky fold of the envelope, and
eagerly tear the paper.

  Something’s not right.

  Reality doesn’t dawn on me in the quick flash of a single moment. It’s a slow confusing process. My thoughts slowly come together...

  At first all I’m thinking is, This isn’t the card I saw. How weird is that?!

  The card is stunning. Without a doubt. It’s an intricate affair with silk accents. A pretty ribbon lines the spine of the card, and elaborate designs are delicately cut into the lovely card paper. I read every single syllable, but I don’t register a single word. When I’m done, I shoot him a vacant look. “This is a beautiful card,” I say absentmindedly. “Thank you.”

  “Open the gift,” he urges.

  Where is the other card? I ask myself. Why did he give me this one? Did he change his mind? I don’t understand.

  I dig into the gift bag, and pull out a gorgeous cashmere sweater; soft blue, pretty pearl buttons. I know it must have cost a small fortune.

  “I have the gift receipt if it doesn’t quite fit right,” he tells me. “I wasn’t too sure on the size.”

  I’m speechless. Where is the Tiffany’s box?

  And then it hits me like a Mack truck. I’m completely blindsided because I never saw this coming.

  The playful card and the Tiffany’s box were for someone else.

  There’s someone else.

  Part Two

  Chapter Fifteen

  I CAN’T EVEN LOOK AT HIM — this man I’ve been with for the last fourteen years, this man who has been the center of my life, this man who is my everything. What am I to him? Am I just the mother of his children? Does he even love me?