No Avoiding It Now
Kenna
When did the kitchen get so close to my bedroom? The noise from whatever Jake is doing downstairs is deafening. As I attempt to sit up, the piercing pain in my head quickly reminds me of drinking too much last night. Maybe Jake isn’t really being that loud.
I lie back in bed, forcing myself to replay my evening, because every inch of my body is screaming in agony. My out of shape status is showing. I feel like I pulled every muscle in existence. Muscles I didn’t realize I have are making their presence known.
Then it dawns on me. Shit! I got stupid, sloppy drunk last night and totally threw Jake under the bus to my girlfriends.
My mom has always told me, “Men have a fragile ego, honey. Think before you speak, even when they aren’t around.” In all the years with my dad, she never spoke ill of him, even when she was blazing hot mad.
This is my fault. I’m the one who went and changed all the rules. Jake has been clear and upfront from day one. I’m the sneaky sales person who baited and switched.
For years now, I laid it on thick with all the Jake, you’re with me; that’s all I need. All the bullshit lines I fed him, year after year, time and again … And now I’m crying out that it’s not enough. Way to go, Kenna Jean.
The more I think, the more I remember what I said and did last night. Oh no, I didn’t! Oh shit, I did!
In my drunken stupidity, I told Jake he didn’t love me enough. Oh my. Oh no. My intention was not for it to come out like that.
I can’t stop the tears that automatically begin falling. Knowing I hurt Jake’s feelings makes me physically ill.
I emerge from our bathroom after puking so much I am left with the dry heaves. I make it only two steps into our bedroom before Jake is wrapping his arms around me in a comforting embrace.
“Jake, I didn’t mean it last night,” I sob out. “I know you love me.”
“Shh … shh,” is all he says as he gently rubs my back while holding me close.
Finally, I calm down, and he pulls away. Then he walks by me and into the bathroom without a word.
The silence is killing me.
I sit on the bed, thinking, Is the crazy wall sex we had last night just supposed to be all the discussion we have about this? I mean, yes, that was some discussion, but it solves nothing. Is his silence because I hurt him that deeply?
As I brood over these thoughts, I become angry. And the more my emotions overtake me, the more my head screams in agony.
Hearing the shower turn on, I decide to go downstairs for some Motrin and caffeine.
***
Jake
Yes, I admit it. I’m a chicken shit. Walking into our room to find her so distraught, reality washed over me. For once, I wished Kenna was too distracted by her hangover to worry over our situation.
The water turns cold, alerting me to the fact that I stayed in the shower long enough. My plan to avoid the topic of last night is failing fast.
As I get out and stand here, drying off, I look at all of Kenna’s things on our bathroom countertop. I have never known what it’s like to be without her. Yes, during trainings and deployments, we were apart. However, home has always been with Kenna.
Descending the stairs, tension builds inside of me at a rapid pace. Kenna is on the couch, sitting in utter silence.
“TV too much noise for your head?” I ask.
“No, I’m just thinking,” she replies, avoiding eye contact.
My body stills. I’m unable to force myself to move. Silence engulfs the room as I stand at the bottom of the stairs. Kenna is still firmly planted on the couch, and I’m waiting for her to begin.
When a woman is thinking, it’s never a good thing. Now, do I take the bait and ask what she’s thinking? Deep in my heart, I already know what it is.
“Jake, what are we doing?”
“I don’t know. What do you want, Kenna?” I hang my head low, afraid of her next words.
In a whisper, she answers, “I want it all, Jake. I deserve it all.”
I sigh as I run my fingers through my hair. This is it. For nine years, I knew in the back of my mind that this day would come, that what we have wouldn’t always be enough for her, and now I have to face it.
“Kenna, you know I can’t.”
“You could. You choose not to. There is a difference. Don’t be that naive.” The frustration and hurt is evident on her face.
“The thought of marriage suffocates me. I’m sorry, but you knew this about me.”
She’s crying now. “Yes, but things change, people change, wants and needs change. Why won’t you marry me?”
“Really, Kenna, you of all people are going to ask me that? You fucking know why!” I yell.
“I’m not your mom or your aunt. We can make it. Why won’t you believe in us?” she snaps.
“You think I don’t believe in us? Seriously? We bought a damn house together. We share a bank account, and have for years.” I run my fingers roughly through my hair, feeling the adrenaline building up as the anger consumes me bit by bit. “Everything I have has your name on it. What the hell?”
“But you won’t give me your name?” This, she says in a sharp tone.
I’m boiling now as I shake my head.
Kenna’s temper now flaring, she stands up. “You’re an asshole! A complete asshole! I’ve loved you. I’ve waited for you, stood by you, and you won’t concede to my one wish. What have I ever asked of you?” she screams.
I’m done. Self-control has left the building.
“What have you asked of me? Kenna, we moved to Wilmington for you. Then, you wanted to move to Charlotte, though I hate being close to my past. To know my bitch mother is less than twenty miles away drives me insane. Yet, here we are!
“Out of high school, I wanted to go in the Army, active duty, not reservist, but you made it clear you never wanted to leave North Carolina. Instead of having that full-time career, I chose to fucking follow you to college, and now you stand here, all smug like you’re the only one to sacrifice for this relationship. You said you wouldn’t leave Carolina, and we haven’t left at the expense of my career. I said from day fucking one I wouldn’t get married; what’s the difference?” Without thinking, I slam my fist into the wall of sheetrock.
I have never been so angry with Kenna or with myself.
I blink, and Kenna is now in my face.
“Get. The. Fuck. Out. Now! You bastard,” she seethes through a clenched jaw
Bastard, huh? Yeah, I am a bastard. No surprise there.
I brush past her, grabbing my wallet, phone, and bike keys in the kitchen, making it to the garage without another word uttered between us. Once in the garage, I take a deep breath, half-expecting her to stop me. When she doesn’t, I put on my helmet, crank my Harley Davidson, and take off.