Marital Bitch(75)

The next day I tried to shower, but I saw his razor tucked away in its holder on the sink and I broke down crying. I sat on the floor and just stared at the shower, remembering the almost shower sex. Yesterday, I dropped a piece of sweet and sour chicken on my lap. I had every intention to change, but I had found Brad's not-so-hidden home video collection and I was too sad to move. I was on the third tape. It was of us on my second birthday. Even as a baby, he was beautiful, and even as a baby, I pushed him away. And I may have bit him a few times to boot. I cried even harder, then. He's always put up with me.

The only productive thing I’ve done since Brad left me was to work on a new case. In his haste he left a case file on the coffee table. I didn’t mean to look at it, but curiosity won out. The file came from the Boys & Girls club for one of their former little brothers who has since transitioned to being a big brother himself. Brad mentored him a few years ago. I remember how disappointed Brad was when he told me that the boy had gotten his girlfriend pregnant. They were both in high school. The file had notes with it, hand written by Brad. He’s been working on creating an internship for kids like this one down at the station. How did I not know he was working on this? How could I be so blind?

By day three, I was going insane and I needed something to do, so I threw myself into Brad’s project. The idea is ambitious, but it’s plausible with some hard work and a good attorney working on it. And for now, I have purpose in life. I have something that matters. This something reminds me why I got into law in the first place. I wanted to help people. But so far in my career all I’ve done is help myself.

I let Darla lead me upstairs to the bathroom. She starts running the water for the shower. I undress in front of her, not caring anymore. Normally, I would be embarrassed about my naked self, even without the added weight. It's just that without my career and without my Brad, I just don't care. Everything I have ever defined myself by is gone. I have always been Colleen the lawyer or Brad's best friend, the lawyer. Even before I graduated, I was Colleen, the lawyer. And now? Now I don't know who I am without it.

I step under the hot, inviting spray and the tears start flowing as my mind purges itself of everything that's fallen apart the past week.

How much have you been eating?

You're insane.

The man is folding my laundry.

Who does that?

Nobody.

Do you want out?

We don't get divorced, Colleen, or have you forgotten that we're Catholic?

Let me rephrase that, Colleen, I won't get a divorce. Marriage may not mean shit to you, but it means something to me. Even if we have to be separated for the rest of our fucking lives, we will die married to one another.

I don't need your permission, Bradley.

We're just friends, remember that, Bradley.

That was the biggest lie of them all. We're not just friends. We haven't been for a while. Maybe ever. He's always been my Brad—my pretty boy—in one way or another. I've always been his pretty girl and he's always been my best friend.

When he looks at me, I swear I can see love. Even when he's angry, I see love. But then, he's been looking at me the same way since as far back as I can remember. I could be imagining it—the love. But somewhere deep down I know that's just a safety cushion. I don't know if I want him to love me back. If he loves me back, I have a hell of a lot to lose.

Who marries their best friend just so he can see her smile?

Nobody.

But Brad did.

He did that for me.

I wash myself thoroughly, though I try to avoid the noticeable curves which have shown up the past two weeks. They're everywhere. My hips have meat on them and my thighs no longer fit in my regular pants. I'm reduced to exercise wear. My stomach is filling out, forming a pouch above my pelvis and below my naval. I noticed the beginnings of my first fat roll a few days ago. The one good thing that's come with the added weight are my new breasts. Even if they are sore, they've definitely gotten bigger. Along with the exercise wear, I'm also now reduced to sports bras. The fancy ones are too uncomfortable and they create an extra bulge of fat over the cup.

If I had the guts, I'd take a pregnancy test. It's just that, right now, I don't want to be let down again. And it's a double-edge sword anyway. If I am pregnant, and I've pushed Brad away permanently, then he's stuck with me. Having a baby wouldn't be such an awesome thing if the father-to-be can't stand the mother-to-be. Besides, I think I'd know if I was pregnant.

After my shower, feeling much better, I dress in the yoga pants, underwear, sports bra, and t-shirt Darla has laid out for me. The t-shirt is one of my old Red Sox shirts from seasons back. I doubt it's going to fit, but I squeeze into it anyway. The reasons why are things I don't let myself spend too long thinking about. It might lead me down a road I'm not yet ready to explore.