Summer slipped into fall, and fall into winter. As the weather cooled and the holidays approached, I could feel something happening between April and me as well. Relationships either grow or die, but they never stay the same. We’d come to a place of decision. I had already made mine. I wanted to take this to the next step. I didn’t care about what I didn’t know, or at least I didn’t think I did. I couldn’t imagine anything that would change the way I felt about her. What I knew for certain is that I couldn’t imagine a world without her. Whatever she was hiding, we were going to make this work.
The day before Thanksgiving, Timothy reminded everyone about the upcoming Leo Burnett Holiday Formal in mid-December—one of the highlights of the company’s year. Timothy summed up the event with two words. “Legendary. Epic.”
Thanksgiving came and though I was homesick, I was not without company. I helped April cook Thanksgiving dinner, which we shared with Ruth and her boyfriend, Bob, who, compared to Ruth, looked surprisingly normal.
The dinner was good, but April was acting quiet again and there was sadness in her eyes. Her sadness made me afraid. It hadn’t really been that long since Ashley had thrown me aside. I had been wrong before. Who was to say I wasn’t wrong now? Had April stopped loving me? Or had the specter of her past returned to claim her?
After dinner I told April about the Leo Burnett Christmas party. She was even more excited than I thought she’d be. “I’ve never been to anything like that before,” she said. “Ruth has some beautiful dresses I could borrow.” She kissed me. “They’re a little, uh, showy, at least for me, but I don’t think you’ll mind.”
I smiled. “I doubt it.”
Weeks passed and December brought an earnest chill. The cold even seemed to creep into our relationship. Relationships, by nature, require trust, and trust cannot grow in the fog of secrecy. Whether it was paranoia or the nature of our circumstance, April seemed different to me. I was afraid I was losing her. And fear is the most untrustworthy of counselors.
Fear demanded that I know where we were going, and I couldn’t know that, I couldn’t trust that, without knowing where she’d been. She needed to come clean about her past. No more secrets. She needed to tell me everything.
On December 7, a week before the Leo Burnett party, I decided to make her tell me.
CHAPTER
Eighteen
Is it wisdom to search out what will hurt us most? Is painful truth better than ignorant bliss?
Joseph Jacobson’s Diary
It was a Friday night when I decided to force April’s hand. Even though we were at our favorite sushi restaurant, I had hardly eaten. Neither of us had. It was my fault. I was quiet and upset, and April was reflecting my emotions.
Finally she asked, “Are you okay?”
“No.”
She gazed at me expectantly. “Did I do something wrong?”
I took my napkin off my lap and set it on the table. “We need to talk.”
Her eyes began to well up with tears. “Are you breaking up with me?”
“No,” I said. I looked down for a moment, then said, “I can’t do this anymore, April. I need to know who I’m in love with.”
She looked at me fearfully. “I’m not sure how to tell you.”
“Just tell me the truth, and we’ll deal with it.”
She sat there quietly for a moment. Then she said, “You know I love you, right?”
I exhaled slowly. “That’s what they always say before they leave you.”
She reached over for my hand. “I’m not leaving you. But you might leave me.”
“I would never leave you.”
“You don’t know that.”
She looked fearfully in my eyes, then said, “Okay.” She took a deep breath. “I’m married.”
“What?”
“I’m not with him anymore, but I’m still married.”
“You’re separated?”
“Yes . . .”
“But you’re getting divorced?”
Her brow fell. “It’s not that simple.” She looked up at me. “I’m not saying divorce is simple. But . . .” She sighed. “I’m afraid to tell you.”
“Why?”
“Because I’m afraid I’ll freak you out.”
“What could you possibly have done that would freak me out?”
She was quiet for nearly a minute, then she said, “Remember, you made me do this.”
The way she said that frightened me. “I know.”
She swallowed. “Remember when you told me you come from a large family?”
“Yes.”
“So do I. There are thirty-six of us.”