Marital Bitch(76)

When I leave the bathroom, I see Darla and Lindsay in the bedroom, sitting on the bed, waiting for me. Darla has my Uggs sitting out waiting for me. I give her the eye but she assures me that we're just going to her house. She explains that I need a change of scenery. I'd fight her, but she's right. Plus, I really can't stand being in this house without Brad anymore.

I wonder if he's ever coming home.

"Can I get a minute alone?" I ask gently. I assure them both that I won't be locking the door or jumping out of any windows or hiding under the bed or in the closet. When I finish the list of never-ending places to hide/flee, and they decide I'm being sincere, they leave me alone in the room. The moment they're gone I rid myself of my t-shirt and I raid Brad's drawers for something far more comfortable.

Brad's dresser is long and deep set. His top drawer houses his boxers, his socks, and some old t-shirts he mostly wears around the house because they're falling apart. Upon inspection, I find that they're sorted by team: a stack each for the Celtics and the Patriots, and the Bruins. There are two stacks for the Red Sox.

I dig through the piles looking for a particular shirt. It's an old navy blue with the Red Sox logo in the center. On the right shoulder there are remnants of faded black writing. Early on in the '07 season, I wrote "This is the year" on Brad's sleeve. He wore that t-shirt to every home game we went to together, despite the incessant whines of his then-girlfriend, Amy. We won the series that year.

Finally, I find what I'm looking for at the bottom of the stack. My hand scrapes against a piece of paper. I try to ignore it, but I can't. A piece of paper in the bottom of a clothing drawer reeks of a hiding spot.

Deciding that it would be rude to automatically pull the paper out, I push the clothes aside and stare at it. The paper is well worn and halfway sticking out of a white envelope. Its condition is indicative of it having been folded and re-folded a hundred times. Whatever is written on it must be something Brad wanted to read more than once.

Curiosity gets the better of me and I cave. I lift the envelope from the drawer and remove the paper, unfolding it. It's of your standard lined fare with no ornamentation to it. My gut drops when I realize what I'm holding.

This is a letter to Brad from Heather. Instantly, I worry that he's still in love with her. But before I let those thoughts run away with me, I read it. Morality be damned!

Bradley,

I wish you would talk to me. I wish you would let me explain in person. I don't want your forgiveness, but I know that Colleen does. She needs it.

All I could make out from your screaming the last time we saw each other was that you can't believe what Colleen did. I was there, too, Bradley. But as usual, that's a minor detail. It's always about Colleen.

You love her and I understand that. She's in love with you, too. It's plain as day. I don't know how you can go on pretending it's not there.

That's why I can't feel too bad about what happened. You're mad about Colleen getting with your girlfriend. I should be mad about you loving her when you said you loved me. Or maybe I should just be mad at myself for believing you every time you told me you were just friends. Like I said, it's always about Colleen. I should have known better. It was obvious. I just can't believe you weren't even a little upset at seeing me with someone else; instead, you were livid with Colleen. It was like I wasn't even there.

I just wanted you to know that it's not totally her fault. I wanted her and I went after her. Maybe I wanted her because you wanted her. I'm not sure. It doesn't matter anymore.

Don't be mad at her for too long. She never would have done that sober. Sorry I hurt you,

Heather

Breathing becomes difficult and I feel my knees give way. I let myself cry for what feels like forever. But I rebound slowly and with a new purpose. I need to rectify what's happened between me and Brad. I need to show him that I can be good for him. I need to get him back. I go to walk out the door but then I remember something. I need a shirt. I neatly tuck the note back in the envelope as it was and place it at the bottom of the drawer and I pull out the shirt I'd gone looking for and throw it on. Regardless of how confused, and sure, and sad, and happy I am inside all at the same time, I soldier on because I can't hide away, avoiding my problems for ever.





CHAPTER THIRTY ONE

(Colleen)





It’s always about Colleen.





DARLA AND LINDSAY don't ask what my problem is. They just let me sniffle and stay in my daze on the way across the street. They don't comment on the t-shirt change or my red eyes, either. Lindsay seems mildly worried, but Darla seems to understand. Or she thinks she understands. Either way, she's being pretty awesome right now.

It's always about Colleen.

Heather's words play through my head again and again. Part of me wants to believe her; but the other part of me is scared to. What if she was wrong? But then, if she was wrong, why did he read that note so many times? Is it possible? Could he have been in love with me back then?