I didn't want a marriage of convenience, but from his words, it seemed like Derrek had thrown in the towel and wanted nothing to do with me. Well, aside from a companion to accompany him to work functions and parties. He wanted to hold up the appearance of our marriage, but drop the charade at the door.
I saw a tear drop into the dishwater. Not realizing I was crying, the tear caught me off guard. Once I saw the first one fall, however, the rest were not far behind.
This was not where I wanted to be, wasn't how I envisioned my life to be at twenty-nine. When I married Derrek, I was sure we'd be happy forever. Sure, I suspected we'd have difficult times, trying times, but I thought we'd work together to get past them. I never would have imagined that one day Derrek would tell me our marriage was over, that the real part – the loving part – had been lost.
Then there was the hickey he denied.
Of everything that happened, the hickey was the least of my worries. Well, it would have been if he'd owned up to it. We couldn't work past a problem if he didn't admit to it, and I would gladly, at this point, look past any transgressions on his part if he'd just agree to be my husband again.
I cried because he didn't want me and I cried because I still wanted him. I wanted my marriage. I wanted the future I'd signed up for so many years ago, and I didn't think it was fair that someone else could make those decisions for me. Didn't I get a say in how our future played out?
My hand slammed down on the counter, suds spraying out around my wet hand.
"Shit," I cried through a whisper. Perhaps I shouldn't have ambushed him with this dinner. Perhaps I should have approached him on a different night, some other time when the pressure wasn't so high. I should have let our anniversary pass by and tried to talk to him when he was more relaxed and not so obviously stressed. All those thoughts just made me cry harder. I never wanted to have to walk on eggshells around my husband. I also cried harder because I could remember a time when I didn't have to, when I could go to him with any problem I was having or any emotion I was feeling.
Once the dishes were clean and the dining room was put back in order, I ambled up the stairs and readied myself for bed, not expecting to see Derrek for the rest of the evening. And I was right. He never came home that night.
Chapter Three
I woke to the sound of my phone buzzing against the wood of my bedside table. I hadn't set an alarm and wasn't expecting to be woken up, so I startled a bit. The buzzing stopped, and before I could reach over to see what had caused it, I must have fallen asleep again because I was awoken by the buzzing a second time. This time, however, the damage was done and I was awake. A groan escaped me as I rolled over to see who was trying to contact me. I pressed the button on the phone to light up the screen and saw two text messages from Samantha.
**Hey, woman. How did the surprise anniversary dinner go?**
**You're either still asleep because you're exhausted from all the sex you and your husband had last night, or because you cried yourself to sleep. Either way, we need to talk. Text me back.**
I sighed at her intuitive mind. Couldn't I have just been asleep because I was sleeping? Maybe I went for a run last night and was exhausted from that. I wasn't really surprised that she'd clued in to what had really happened, but I was more upset that now I was probably going to have to talk to her about it. Talking about it to someone else made it real. I wasn't trying to delude myself into thinking I had a perfect marriage, but admitting to my best friend that last night had put some sort of nail in my marriage coffin would be the most real and heartbreaking conversation I might ever have. It occurred to me I would have this real and heartbreaking conversation with my best friend and not my husband, and that, perhaps, was the most depressing and telling thought of all.
I pressed the buttons on my phone to send a message back to her.
**Same time, same place?**
It only took a few seconds for her to respond.
**See you there.**
Years ago, Samantha and I had found a tiny little coffee shop equidistant between our houses, and we'd started meeting there for coffee weekly, or whenever one of us called upon the other. It was nice, all those years, to have something steady and reliable to hang on to – something to look forward to. Sometimes, we didn't have anything new or exciting to talk about and we just reminisced, laughing about things that happened in college or since. Other times, I held her hand as she told me about her break-ups, or we listened to each other's work problems, trying to ease the anxiety of navigating the working world as young and independent women.
I met Samantha when we'd been assigned as dorm roommates our freshman year of college. She and I couldn't have been any more different. She was outgoing, brave, and brought energy with her wherever she went. Her vitality was contagious, and as soon as we met, I felt the fever she carried with her for life. I had spent my entire life protected from the adventurous spirit she exuded, and when I got a taste of it, I grabbed ahold of her and never let her get away. She taught me how to let go, how to feel free even if I really wasn't. When I was with her, I could sometimes pretend I didn't have my father to answer to, or a life waiting for me that I wasn't sure I wanted to live.
When I was twenty-four, my father passed away suddenly, and even though I was internally conflicted over my feelings toward his death, she was there for me every step of the way. I didn't have to explain to her that I was devastated my father was dead, but relieved that I no longer had to worry about living up to his standards for me. His death saddened and freed me all in the same moment. She knew it, understood, and never judged me. Not once.
Samantha had spent many hours listening to me talk about my marriage. She knew everything about it – the good and the bad. She also had very strong feelings about it.
She hated Derrek.
It hadn't always been that way; he hadn't always been the spawn of Satan in her eyes. All through college, Derrek and Sam got along really well. We spent countless Saturday nights at his frat house and the two of them never had one argument. She was my maid of honor in our wedding. She was so happy for us – so supportive. However, when the marriage began to change, began to fall into the dark place it seemed to reside in now, she always questioned why I stayed with him.
I hated complaining to her about him or our relationship, because it did nothing but further tarnish him in her eyes, but I had no one else to turn to. In my family, we didn't talk about problems. It was understood that you were to always keep up appearances. If you had an issue, you resolved it quietly. You didn't bring attention to it. You swept it under the rug. I had been trained my whole life to stay silent, until Sam.
It was comforting to walk in to our usual coffee shop and see her sitting at a table waiting for me. I went straight for her. She stood when she saw me and opened her arms for me without question, knowing I'd be here with bad news instead of good.
"What happened, Lena?"
I let myself take the comfort from her, allowed her arms to pull out some of my anxiety. I sighed into her shoulder, trying to keep the tears at bay. I didn't want to cry anymore.
"I don't know, Sam." I pulled away and sat in the chair opposite her, giving a sad smile to the cup waiting for me. If Sam made it to the coffee shop first, she always bought my drink, and vice versa. "Thank you for the coffee." She smiled at me, but said nothing. "I made the dinner, put on the dress, and was all ready for him when he came home from work." I dove right into the story. I knew Sam wasn't going to stand for pleasantries and chit chat.
"Did he appreciate it?" she asked, not even blinking.
"No. Actually, he seemed put out by it. Like having dinner with me was an inconvenience to his evening schedule."
"That bastard."
"It gets worse."
"I'm not surprised." She raised her eyebrows, waiting for me to continue.
"When I mentioned I wanted to work on our marriage, that I wanted to get back to the happy couple we had been when we got married, he basically told me our marriage was over and that I should get used to the status quo. He said that our marriage fell apart a long time ago and that it was too late to fix it." Samantha said nothing, but I could tell she was holding her rage inside for my benefit. She knew what I had been hoping for, knew I wanted my husband back. So, out of love for me, she was reining in all the expletives I knew she wanted to unleash, because she knew it wouldn't help me, wouldn't make me feel any better. I loved her even more for it.
I looked down at my coffee cup, slowly twisting it around and around, watching it circle in my fingers, while I continued.