Crushed

  “I wasn’t a very good husband to you.” He rubs his hands together.

  I keep a scowl on my face so he knows he’s going to need to say something more than that. I did not come here for this, but since I’m here, I might as well let the man say what he wants to say.

  He refills our wine glasses. “Over the years, we started living separate lives. You were focused on work and Amelia. In hindsight, I see how wrapped up I was in my practice. I blamed you. I thought you were the one who changed. I saw myself as the one who had provided you a good life with the family you always wanted. I became angry that it somehow wasn’t enough.”

  His words are unexpected. We haven’t had an open and honest conversation about our relationship in a very long time. It’s easier to be honest when you don’t have anything to lose.

  I give a small smile, remembering the beginning of our marriage. “I was so happy when we first got married and had Amelia. We were both busy with school and work and trying to figure out how to take care of this little human they let us take home, even though we had no idea what we were doing. It was crazy and chaotic, but I was happy.”

  “I was happy too.” He gives me a sad smile.

  “Then you finished school. You began working long hours to build your practice. I missed you, and things were different, but I couldn’t complain about it. You were doing something important. I decided to fade into the background for a while until you got established in your new career. Unfortunately, what I saw as a temporary arrangement became our new normal.”

  “I didn’t know you felt that way. I wish you would have said something. I thought you were disinterested in my career and later, in me.” There is a long pause while he drains his glass again. “Eventually, I sought out people who were interested in me and what I was doing. First colleagues, and then later, well, you know.”

  “Maybe if I would’ve said something, you wouldn’t have…” I wipe a few tears away.

  “I should have said something. I didn’t realize how bad we were at communicating until after you left and I was forced to examine what happened.” He wipes moisture from the corner of his eye. “Jess, I know it’s not a good reason, but I wanted to feel like I was making someone happy again. I made a big mistake, and I’m truly sorry.”

  My breath catches, and for a moment I can’t breathe.

  “That’s the first time you’ve said you were sorry about it.” My words come out in a whisper. I didn’t realize until this moment how badly I needed to hear those words from him.

  “I’ve said sorry.”

  “No you haven’t.” I stare down at the table.

  “Then I’m sorry for that too.” He has the most anguished expression I have ever seen him wear. My chest squeezes and the pain prompts me to look away.

  There are no more words after the avalanche of regrets that has buried us. Our stillness contrasts with the bustle of the restaurant. A table of teenagers laughs. A waiter hurries to drop off plates of pasta before they get cold. A mother attempts to bribe her toddler to eat “one more bite” of his now soggy dinner so he can have ice cream for dessert. Our grief doesn’t belong in this space.

  “Jess, I want to try to make it right.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “I want Amelia to grow up with both her parents.”

  He knows how I feel about my father not being around. I’m irritated he’s attempting to use it to his advantage.

  “She does have both her parents. I haven’t killed you yet.” I attempt to lighten the mood with a little divorce humor.

  “I mean in the same house.”

  I roll my eyes at him.

  “What?” Grant looks confused.

  “You never laugh at anything I say,” I complain.

  “I don’t find you joking about killing me particularly funny,” he states plainly. “Don’t you want Amelia to grow up with the family you didn’t have?”

  “Low blow, Grant.”

  “I didn’t mean it to be. I just assumed you would want that for Amelia. Especially considering how much being from a broken home has affected you.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Never mind. We don’t need to get into that tonight.”

  “Actually, I think we do now.” It’s suddenly too warm, so I take off my black cardigan.

  Grant pinches his lips together. “I didn’t come here tonight to put you on the defensive.”

  “I’m not defensive.” I spit the words at him and toss my sweater next to me. “I cannot wait to hear your explanation of my daddy issues.”

  “Your dad leaving affected you more than you like to admit, that’s all.”

  “I disagree. My father gets no credit for how I turned out, good or bad.” I stare at him, unblinking.

  “I will undoubtedly regret this, but name one man in your life you trust.” Grant leans forward on his folded arms.

  “I have plenty of men in my life I trust.”

  Grant stares me down. “Name one.”

  “I trusted you.” I stare back, chin lifted.

  “Not completely.” He leans back, shaking his head.

  “Yes, I did.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me about your secret savings account?”

  During the course of our divorce, Grant found out about a savings account I set up when we were first married. I would stash away small amounts of money periodically along with any unexpected bonuses I received at the winery.

  “I told you already. I set up that account and planned on surprising you with it when we retired.”

  “Bullshit. It was your backup plan. Your escape strategy, in case I let you down.”

  “And you did.” My voice rises, and I remind myself we’re in a public place.

  “That’s not the point.”

  “It’s not?”

  “Truth is, you always have it in the back of your mind that people, primarily men, are going to let you down. You assume if you’re prepared for it, you’ll be able to stop it—or at least it won’t hurt as bad.”

  “I trust Mr. Bianchi.” I reach for my glass of water.

  “Yes, but you trust him because you trust Mrs. Bianchi. I honestly don’t think you would have taken the job had he been the one running the winery.”

  “So because I found a great job, and I happen to be working for a strong woman, it must mean I have issues working for men? That’s ridiculous.” I drink ice water, trying to cool myself down. “I’m friends with Ryan.”

  “Ryan is one you should be suspicious of. That guy has ulterior motives, but that’s not the point. It’s not that you don’t get along with men, it’s that you don’t trust them.”

  “Let’s say it’s all true. What’s wrong with being prepared?”

  He finally laughs, except I haven’t said anything funny. “Nothing. Being worried all the time that every man is going to leave you doesn’t leave a lot of room for a happy relationship. Aren’t you exhausted?”

  “I am exhausted. I’m tired of being here.”

  “We were married for eight years, and you never got to a place where you really opened up to me.”

  “Yes, I did. I shared all my work successes with you. I loved sharing in all of Amelia’s accomplishments with you.”

  “Exactly. You shared the good things. Never anything bad or scary or painful.”

  “Well shit, I’m sorry for not adding more drama to your life.” A sardonic laugh escapes me.

  “It’s not drama. It’s letting other people support you. I suppose that’s it, isn’t it? You assume if things get too difficult, any man is going to bail.”

  “Like you?” I lower my head so he can’t see the fresh tears accumulating in my eyes. I hear a deep inhalation from across the table, followed by a controlled release of breath.

  “Sometimes men leav
e, but sometimes they realize they made the biggest mistake of their life.” He reaches across the table and grabs my clenched hands. “I can’t take back what I did, but I am very sorry.”

  I don’t want to look at him, so I allow the tears to fall on my blouse.

  “Don’t cry.” He softens his tone. “I didn’t realize what our problems were at the time, so I dealt with them in the worst way possible. Without meaning to, I confirmed your worst fears.” He squeezes my hands, and I look up. “I want a chance to make it right. I want to earn your trust back. I know I can do better, and we can be the happy family you always wanted. The family you and Amelia deserve.”

  I let him hold my hands as more tears spill down my cheeks. I haven’t seen this sincere, affectionate side of Grant in a very long time. I thought this side of him was gone, that it died as he aged. This is the Grant I fell in love with.

  Chapter 19

  My head is pounding. I squint against the sunlight streaming through my bedroom window—the window I forgot to close last night. That explains why my room is like an icebox and I’ve created a cocoon out of my blankets.

  Knock! Knock! Knock!

  I’m startled by the intense beating my front door is taking. It’s a physical manifestation of my troubled head. I should not have drunk more wine when I got home last night. I should not have taken the ibuprofen containing a sleep aid either. The sloppy combination has left me feeling like a zombie.

  Knock! Knock! Knock!

  “Hold on!” I yell, though I have no idea if the person attempting to break down my door can hear me.

  I clumsily unwind myself from my blankets and throw on my robe. I take a quick glance at myself in the bathroom mirror. My appearance reflects the sick sensation swirling in my stomach.

  Knock! Knock! Knock!

  “I’m coming,” I announce, carefully making my way down the stairs. I don’t remember them being so steep. I reach the door as the assailant pummels it again.

  “Seriously, what…?” I freeze.

  Luke is standing on the doorstep with hands clenched into fists and narrowed eyes. I passed out without calling him last night, and by the looks of things, he doesn’t appreciate my cowardice.

  “I would like to say I’m surprised by your lack of enthusiasm to see me.” He squeezes his eyes shut. “Be honest. Are you alone?”

  “I told you Amelia was spending the weekend—oh, you’re not asking about Amelia, are you?”

  “No.”

  “I don’t like what you’re insinuating.” I place my hands on my hips.

  “And I don’t like that my girlfriend had dinner with her ex-husband, didn’t bother to call me afterward, and now won’t let me in her house for some unknown reason.” His eyes are an icy shade of blue.

  “I’m sorry, come in. I’m hung over, so I’m not quite up to speed with your anger yet.” I step aside.

  “Must have been a super fun night,” he mutters as he passes me.

  “I should have called you. It was a very overwhelming night, and I came home, by myself, and drank too much.” I follow him to the family room.

  “You telling me the night was overwhelming doesn’t sit much better than saying it was fun.”

  “Do you want honesty or should I only say what you want to hear?” I blurt. I take a deep breath. “That wasn’t fair.”

  Luke sits on the sofa, and I choose the chair across from him.

  I take a deep breath, begging for it to go directly to my brain and stop the throbbing. “Dinner with Grant wasn’t what I expected.”

  “How so?”

  “We haven’t talked much about our divorce. I didn’t plan on that being the goal last night, but it was the outcome. Things got…emotional. Grant told me things he hadn’t before. He apologized.”

  “He never said he was sorry until last night? The guy cheats and doesn’t even offer an apology? He sounds amazing,” Luke mocks.

  “Yeah, well, he didn’t. I never gave him much opportunity to. I was so hurt, I just left. Thinking back, he may have tried, but I changed the subject every time.” My intention is not to defend Grant, but I know that’s what it sounds like.

  Luke pinches the bridge of his nose and closes his eyes. “So he finally apologized. Did it make you feel better?”

  “Yes…no…I don’t know.”

  I tell him most of my conversation with Grant, leaving out the part about him wanting a second chance. When I’m done we sit in silence, letting our minds work without daring to say our thoughts out loud.

  At last he says, “I suppose you would call me a hypocrite if I said he shouldn’t be searching for validation elsewhere. However, I will point out that I was eighteen years old when I was seeking that attention. He’s a grown man. A man with a family, who should have his shit together by now.”

  “Yes, he should.” I wasn’t comparing the two events and am surprised Luke is.

  “You could say I was looking for attention all these years. What I did as a single man is in no way comparable to his behavior.”

  “You’re right, it’s not.”

  “Sounds like he’s justifying his behavior because you didn’t feed his fragile ego.” Luke crosses his muscular arms.

  “I don’t think he was trying to justify it. He was only trying to explain his side.” As soon as I say the words, I regret them.

  His face tightens. “Why are you defending him?”

  “I’m not. I’m simply trying to absorb everything.”

  “So after all his cheating confessions, you decided to come home, get drunk, and not call me?”

  “I planned to call you after I settled down. There was more that happened at dinner.”

  “That was my guess.” His words are clipped and angry.

  My heart races. “There is no easy way to say this, so I’m just going to blurt it out. He wants a second chance.”

  Luke doesn’t appear surprised. “That much I could have guessed by the way he hugged you goodbye at the groundbreaking. When he invited you to dinner, I figured he was going to enter his plea. What I can’t wrap my head around is why you didn’t call me. The only explanation I can come up with is you’re considering going back to him.” Luke closes his eyes. “Please tell me I’m wrong.”

  “It’s really complicated.”

  “Is it?” He leans forward and makes sure I’m focusing on him before he continues. “I love you, and I know you love me too.”

  I’m startled by his admission. He hasn’t said those words directly to me in over ten years.

  “I have to consider—”

  “You can’t be serious.” He drops his head into his hands.

  “Luke…he’s Amelia’s father.”

  “Yes, and the way a divorce works is he would still be her father, whether you’re with him or not.”

  “Of course.” I clasp my hands together in an effort to still them. “I grew up in a divorced family, and it was awful.”

  “You grew up with a father who was selfish and absent. I’m not a huge fan of Grant’s, but as far as I can tell, he’s a good dad. He’ll be that whether you’re married to him or not. He has proven himself not to be a good husband.”

  I shake my head in defiance. “You don’t understand. This isn’t about me. I need to consider what’s best for Amelia.”

  “That’s ridiculous. Of course it has to do with you. You can’t live your life for someone else, not even Amelia.”

  “It’s not that simple. Being a parent sometimes means making hard decisions. You don’t have kids, so maybe you don’t understand.”

  “You’re right, I don’t understand. I don’t know how staying in an unhappy marriage is beneficial for you or your daughter.”

  “This is why I didn’t call you. I can’t think clearly around you sometimes.” I gaze at the pattern on the area rug. If I look at him, I�
�ll cry, and tears won’t help me right now.

  “Don’t do this. I didn’t say it years ago at that party when I should have, but I’m going to say it now. Look at me.”

  I gaze into Luke’s damp eyes. They are filled with pain but also hope. He walks over to me and kneels down so we’re face to face.

  He holds my hands in his and rubs his thumbs back and forth. “Choose me. I promise to love you more than he ever could. I promise I will make sure you are happy and fulfilled. I promise to work every day to give you the life you deserve. Choose me, Jessica.”

  Tears stream down my face, and I can’t find my voice. He would try, and he would succeed in many ways. My daughter would love him too. Unfortunately, a broken home will have consequences for Amelia, contrary to Luke’s opinion. He would do almost anything to make me happy, including sacrificing his own happiness and plans. I can’t have him change his life goals and dreams for me. He’ll resent me for it someday.

  My thoughts paralyze me and my inability to answer breaks him. He lowers his head. He rises but doesn’t look at me. He starts to walk away. I miss him already, and he’s still in the same room.

  “Luke,” I whimper. I don’t want him to go, but at this point it’s not fair to ask him to stay.

  He stops but doesn’t turn around.

  “I hope he knows how lucky he is.”

  He continues his long walk out of my house. I hear every footstep, like a countdown. The sound of the door shutting behind him is like a gun going off. A gun pointed directly at me. My insides clench, and my lungs struggle to take in enough oxygen. The pressure builds inside me until it has to be released. Since I have no actual bullet hole for the pain to escape through, it escapes through my mouth. I try to catch my breath between the choking sobs.

  It’s Sunday afternoon, and I’m showering only because Amelia will be home in a couple of hours. I wore pajamas for two days, and I was starting to notice an unpleasant odor.

  I had a bowl of cereal Saturday night and a banana this morning. My stomach threatened both times to reject the food, but I was able to keep it down. After my shower, I throw a load of laundry in the machine so Amelia has enough clean clothes for the week. I have no interest in doing additional housework. I make a mental note to hire a housekeeper. I have a feeling I’m going to feel like this for a long time.