“I don’t know what to say,” I finally say, not knowing how long I left the conversation silent.
“How about, ‘You’re welcome, Garrett. Thanks for bringing me coffee this morning. You’re the best volunteering buddy ever.’”
Yup. Buddy. That’s what I am. That’s what he is.
And that’s how I want it.
Maybe if I keep telling myself that, then I’ll start to believe it.
Chapter Seventeen
Garrett
I spent my entire morning picking up trash. My back is sore, there is dirt under my nails, and I reek something fierce.
Interestingly enough, I’ve never felt better in my life.
Paige was right. Though I was volunteering and helping with the food drive, I didn’t get that satisfaction of getting my hands dirty. You can’t get your hands dirtier than picking up trash and debris off the streets. Even in suburban Virginia Beach.
After we were done, I took Paige to the breakfast place we visited after the 5K. I like that it’s becoming our thing. Well, at least I hope it is. I hope that today wasn’t the last volunteer Saturday with Paige Blackstone.
We ordered what is now our usual—though Paige didn’t order extra for any patients this time—and we ate and talked for hours. The breakfast crowd turned to lunch, but we didn’t notice. We were too involved in our conversation to realize it.
I’ve never felt more comfortable talking to a person in my life, even if our conversation went back and forth between the heavy and the light. She told me that despite growing up in Alabama, she didn’t know a thing about football. I admitted that I took golf lessons during medical school, realizing that it was the best way to kiss up to attendings and donors.
That admission led me down the path of telling her about med school, and how I missed out on the project because I didn’t have the right last name. Next thing I know, I’m spilling my life story to this woman. And I let it flow. Medical school, marrying Michelle, cheating on Michelle, restarting my life and opening up my new practice in Virginia, meeting Annika and going down the same path again, well, except the cheating.
When I stopped for air, and I realized everything I just laid in her lap, I closed my eyes and hung my head in shame. I never said all of it, out loud, consecutively, to another person in my life. Not to Mark. Not to my mom. No one.
I only looked up when I felt her hand lightly squeezing mine, and even then, I was slow to open my eyes. This woman is the best person I have ever met. There is not one thing about her that is not inherently good. And the shit that I just piled on her shouldn’t be within a one-hundred-mile radius of her untarnished soul.
When I finally met her eyes, I thought I’d see disgust in them. Pity. Something that would mirror all the bad shit I have done in my forty-two years on this Earth. Which is a lot.
Instead, I was met with a smile. She told me how proud she was of me. How, yes, I made mistakes, but I’m trying to make them better. I’m trying to do something with my life that I can be proud of. A reformation she called it. And for that, she said what I was doing now was admirable.
I smile at the thought as I walk into my house. Just the thought of Paige’s praise and warm smile is probably how I didn’t realize that my soon-to-be ex-wife was finally home.
“Where in the fuck have you been?”
I look up to find Annika scowling at me from her seat in our front room.
“I could say the same about you.”
She huffs at my response, and I can feel her glare as I take off my shoes.
“I needed some space to clear my head after you suddenly asked me for… I can’t even say it out loud. I’m hoping the space I gave us allowed you to come to your senses.”
I blink a few times, making sure that I heard her correctly.
“You’re serious, aren’t you?”
“Of course I am.”
I let out an exasperated breath. My first instinct is to start screaming at her. To get it through her head that I am absolutely serious and we need to separate. Put us both out of our misery.
But during the breath I took, I caught a whiff of the smell of garbage from today, and if I’m finally going to convince her to start the separation, I’m not going to do it smelling like a dumpster. Plus, I feel like another round of screaming will only result in Annika walking out again. And that is the definition of insane behavior.
“Can we postpone this conversation for ten minutes while I grab a shower?”
She huffs before dismissing me with I believe a “whatever.”
During my ten-minute shower, I realize that I am glad I didn’t just react and immediately start yelling at Annika. This separation and divorce aren’t going to be easy. I just need to convince her, hopefully without screaming, that this is for the best for both of us. We need to live apart for six months before we can officially divorce, unless she will admit that she’s been cheating on me. Why else would she be gone for weeks at a time? This is the first time since moving to Virginia that I wish I was living back in New York. Divorces up there are much simpler.
When I come back downstairs, I half expect Annika to be gone again, so I’m slightly shocked that she’s sitting in the same spot. Which is probably why I blurt out the question that has been on the tip of my tongue for weeks.
“Why didn’t you come to visit me in the hospital?”
At first, I don’t think I actually said it out loud. She doesn’t move a muscle or react in any way. Then I see her blink slowly, and maybe, just maybe, I think I might get a real answer.
“Because I knew you didn’t want me there. And plus, you know I hate hospitals.”
“I almost died, Annika. Did you even care?”
“Of course, I cared. I’m not that much of a bitch.”
“I want to believe that, but you didn’t visit me once. Would you have cared if I died? It was Christmas and I was scared and alone…”
“You don’t think I didn’t know that? I had to attend the Mayor’s Christmas Eve Ball alone and tell everyone that my husband was under the weather. It was horrifying!”
My jaw is on the floor I’m sure. Did she really just say that? “Under the weather? I was on an operating table, Annika! I probably should have died!”
She brushes my comment aside, almost like she couldn’t be bothered with details. “Whatever. It’s in the past. That doesn’t mean we should get a divorce. Or a separation. Or whatever it is you asked for.”
“Yes, it’s in the past, but the hospital was the final straw. You didn’t call, text, contact my mom or Mark. I know we haven’t been in a good place for a while, but I didn’t think you were that heartless. It really made me realize how unhappy we are. And neither of us deserves to live a life like that. Are you happy, Annika? And not that bullshit answer you gave me a few months ago. Think about it. Deep down. Is this what you want for your life?”
At first, I think I got through to her. And then, if I didn’t realize before I was married to a robot without emotion, she says the unthinkable, “Of course it is.”
“Excuse me?”
“What’s not to be happy about? I’m married to a doctor. I’m a part of the upper-class. I have a black card. Well, I did until you cut it off, which we can address now. We used to have sex, which we can start doing again when you stop being an asshole. You have your things, and I have mine. I look good on your arm, and in return you get patients and donations, which gives me more money to spend. I thought that was what we wanted?”