And almost did.
It was one of those snow days where you wanted to cuddle up on the couch and watch Christmas movies. I don’t know why I decided to brave the elements to take Joe and his assistant, Deb, hot chocolate, but I did. I guess part of me wanted to see where he worked, and part of me wanted to see Taylor face to face, and part of me wanted to be known. Because, so far, he had kept me quiet on social media, in fact oftentimes deactivating his accounts when he was seeing too many people at once. He couldn’t get caught and he certainly couldn’t unravel. He was barely holding it together as it stood and getting caught would have destroyed him. Not financially or his reputation or anything. He didn’t have any of that intact. But being found out would have destroyed the version of who HE thought he was, and he lived so deeply inside his lies that there was no way he could survive in the real world.
I bounced in with my hair done and high boots. He greeted me like he always did, with that infectious smile and the same statement.
“There she is.” He kissed me in plain view of everybody there, completely contradicting the need for privacy on Facebook. But, see! I was right. If he were dating Taylor, there’s no way he would kiss me in front of her, right? I was vindicated. I was the closest thing he had to a girlfriend and he proved it. I was the one. And all it took was a simple gesture.
He was busy running around. Being the boss. I sat across the desk from Deb, who had become a friend of mine over the few months prior. She was babbling on about something as I looked around for any sight of Taylor.
“Where is Taylor?” I interrupted Deb’s one-sided monologue.
“Oh, she’s not here.”
Suddenly, that kiss meant nothing.
“Day off?”
“Miscarriage, I think.” She blurted it out as plainly as that. “She’s trying to say it’s a ruptured cyst, but I don’t believe it. Her boyfriend, David, is with her.”
I swallowed hard. I decided to just ask since she was volunteering information anyway.
“He’s the father?”
Deb sat back in her plush chair. “Well, who knows. I think Joe thinks it’s his. He told me you know how conflicted he is between the two of you. He tells me everything. I thought you knew about the pregnancy.”
I looked towards the trash can, gauging how close it was in case I needed to throw up. Joe came back into the room. I shot him a look and promptly announced I had to go.
He walked me out. I waited to scream until I was out of the lot.
Within ten minutes, he sent a text.
“Everything okay?”
“No.”
“What’s up?”
“You should know. Deb told me everything.”
“Everything?”
“Yes. Everything.”
Number 3
I don’t even know where Number 3 came from. Or how they even met. All I know is they must’ve met in the fall. Because it was somewhere around Thanksgiving that he started hinting about her, even though he opted to have Thanksgiving at my house. And why Number 3?
Well, let’s recap.
We hadn’t talked much since the whole, “I may or may not have got a girl pregnant day,” and I had to have surgery that, somehow, he found out about. I think it was Deb. In fact, it was Deb. I had to cancel an appointment I had with her and, well, we all know she has a big mouth. A friend of mine took me, brought me home, and nestled me into bed. It didn’t take long before the first text arrived.
“Did you have surgery?”
I didn’t answer right away. I contemplated answering him at all.
“It was just a procedure. I’m fine and going to take a nap.”
“I’m coming over.”
“Please don’t. I’m tired.” I typed the words but, secretly, I was touched that he was going to drop everything to come take care of me. I still protested though. The surgery was on my neck and I quickly turned black and blue on the lower half of my face that was wrapped up in thick bandages. There was nothing beautiful about it and, besides, I wasn’t feeling up to entertaining or hearing about whatever drama was going on in his life at that moment. I hadn’t nodded off for long before I heard the commotion, rattling of some sort, from the kitchen. My daughter was in school, the dogs were with me in bed, so either there was a burglar or he went against my wishes, which wouldn’t have been the first time or the last. I was too tired to get up and look, and I could barely talk from the way I was wrapped up. So, I texted him to find out.
“What are you doing?”
“Drinking and eating pizza.”
“It’s two in the afternoon. Where?”
“In your kitchen.”
I tossed my phone onto the bed and mumbled “son of a bitch” under my breath, not really knowing how accurate that statement was at the time. When he was done feasting, he sauntered into my room with a popsicle in hand, laid down next to me, and for a brief moment, had a genuine look of concern in his eyes. He asked me if I was okay. I reminded him that I was tired and pulled the sheets up to cover my face.
I remember he laid with me for what felt like a long time. I remember he kept asking over and over what he could do. I remember him biting into his popsicle and the sound not bothering me. Maybe it was because I was medicated, or maybe, in that moment, I just really wanted him there and I really didn’t want to be alone. There were so many nights like that. Him lying on his side facing me as I laid on my side facing him. Staring at each other. Quietly, comfortably, sweetly staring at each other. In fact, we did that so easily that people often noticed how easy it was for us. How intense it was for us – to just lock eyes and read each other. But my favorite was when I would lie with my head on his chest and memorize him with my hand. How his ribs felt. The depth in between each one. And the scar that lay under them. He got it when he was born. I don’t remember why. But he almost died. And after he broke my heart in the worst possible way, I wondered why he didn’t.
But not that day. No, on that day, as irritated as I was that he was there, I was so happy he was there. That summed up our relationship. Confusion. Contradiction. All the time.
Much later, he would tell me that that’s when he realized he was in love with me. When I was at my most vulnerable and needed him the most – that’s when he knew he loved me.
But even all that love didn’t matter when, two weeks later, he came over, sat down, and poured two glasses of wine. He wanted me to know that I was a great person, but he didn’t want to have a relationship. He wanted to go out and explore things with somebody else. I was, once again, completely blindsided. Which one? I wondered. Emme? Taylor? After all, he met with her dad, if you can believe that. Her dad who was actually the same age as him and why? Yes, to try to get his permission to date his daughter. So, who knew what he meant when he wanted to explore things? Normally, I just shook my head and let him go but, this time, I pushed. And what I found out was he had met somebody else. Her name was Alice and her young son had passed away around the same time my husband did.
I couldn’t even bear to say her name. Because when he spoke about her, his eyes lit up. It was like his dead soul came alive. He told me later that she was the one. That he was “all in” with her and I should be “very concerned” about how he feels about her.