Chapter 7

Andrew

 

I was right about Logan. He was such a great guy.

That was such a kind gesture to squeeze my hand the way he did... in most likely one of the lowest moments of my career. The gesture, while small, momentarily lifted my spirits to an unimaginable place.

I felt more in that simple touch than I ever have during these past few years of being married to Maria. It was a soothing, love filled energy that radiated out of his hand and was something I so desperately needed in that moment… and Logan instinctually knew it. I just hope I hadn’t turned him off completely though, with that sudden dash out of the park.

But right now, I’m much too distraught to return back to the office. I can already imagine the stares I will receive while doing my walk of shame past the other employees on the way to my office.

I picture Wyatt gossiping about my misfortune to everyone in the office and them ferociously sucking up the news. He’s so jealous of anyone he perceives as smarter than him, that he revels whenever that person falters.

I don’t feel like going home, but I have no other place to go. I don’t exactly feel like being around a lot of people. I wish I could just be by myself. Good luck with that in Manhattan.

Reluctantly, I give the cab driver my home address. I’ll go home, change and then go running, I decide. I don’t know if it will help after today’s catastrophe, but I’ll never know until I try. And hopefully I’ll run into Logan while I’m at the park.

I enter my apartment, still in a hazy daydream state of mind. It’s difficult to collect my thoughts and try and make any sense of what happened today… it’s been difficult to make any sense of my life, period. I set my briefcase down in the foyer like I always do and begin to remove my sport jacket, then hear a loud crashing sound.

Looking down, I see that I’ve knocked over an expensive vase and instead of having any noticeable reaction, I merely stare at the broken glass with little concern or regret. With no impulse to get a broom and clean it up, I merely fixate on it and think to myself, “Well, that’s interesting.”

Because a broken vase is the least of my concerns.

I don’t care how much it cost or if it was a priceless heirloom; to me it’s nothing more than shattered glass.

Just then, I hear footsteps and an abrupt, “What the fuck are you doing?”

I look up and see Maria standing at the entrance of the living room. She has a drink in one hand and she’s dressed in her panties with a large shirt covering her upper body.

She has a look of horror on her face as she shrieks. “God damn you, that vase cost a lot of money, you know!”

She crosses her arms and begins tapping her foot while looking at me in disbelief. “Well, are you going to just stand there or are you going to clean it up?”

“Don’t worry, I’m fine,” I tell her, as if she was actually concerned that I might have been hurt by the shattering glass.

I take my jacket and hang it in the hall closet before walking past Maria to have a seat in the living room. I just sit and stare straight ahead before looking out the window and begin wondering how quickly I could end this relationship by jumping off our balcony.

Yes, that would probably end my life as well and I’d never actually do something so foolish, but I think I understand now when they say suicide is often an impulsive act. A part of my brain knows that yes, it does end suffering, but the logical side of me knows there aren’t any problems in the world that can’t be fixed.

It’s also been ingrained into my head from my religious upbringing that it’s inherently bad for one to take their own life. Even though I don’t feel like I’m religious now, it still sounds like a very bad idea. 

  “My God, I can’t believe how dumb and careless you are,” Maria says.

I hear her coming from the foyer. Then she begins to walk into the living room where I’m sitting, having my existential discussion in my mind about life and death.

“And I heard all about your little performance today from Wyatt. He called to see if I could talk some sense into you but I don’t think he knows how far beyond that you are. Still, fucking up at work? What has gotten into you anyway, Andrew?”

I’m not a mean husband, nor have I ever put a lot of demands on her, yet she continues to spew hatred my way any chance she can get.

Wait… why would Wyatt call Maria? I find it really odd that my wife and boss have this cozy little friendship behind my back. Yet at the same time, nothing about Wyatt surprises me anymore.

“Andrew, get this through your thick skull,” she says. “If you don’t get your act together, I’m going to leave you. And a divorce is going to take a big chunk of money out of your pocket.”

Like I care at this point.

We’ve had this argument so many times before that I’ve lost count and there’s no reason to defend myself at this point. What can I possibly say that hasn’t already been said? We’re like oil and water; we just don’t mix.

“Aren’t you going to say anything? Or are you just going to sit there like a doofus and ignore me?” she asks.

Yes, that’s exactly what I’m going to do. For now, anyway.

I get up and go to the extra bedroom that we use as a den. It’s where I keep my clothes, because there isn’t enough space in the huge walk in closet in our bedroom. That closet is packed with Maria’s clothing and shoes… stacks upon stacks of designer shoes and dresses, many still with the price tags on them.

Rather than go into our bedroom, I take my shoes off and lay on the couch. No sooner than I think I have some peace does my phone ring, so I take it out of my pocket and see that Wyatt is calling. For a brief moment I think about answering, but instead I send it to voicemail, put it back in my pocket and turn on the TV.

As I aimlessly flip through the channels, my phone goes off again. It’s Wyatt calling for a second time, so I do the same thing before noticing that he’s left a voicemail.

I decide to listen.

“It’s Wyatt. Andrew, where are you and why aren’t you picking up the phone? You need to get your ass back to the office. There’s work that needs to be done on this case and I don’t want to be left holding the bag. You’d better shape up, and fast!”

My, what a difference a week or two makes. At the celebratory dinner, I was his golden boy, the best of the best. The star attorney of New York who has now been reduced to nothing more than a wretched lowlife playing hooky from work.

My phone goes off again. This time it’s my mother. I don’t want to answer it, but if I don’t, I know she’ll just keep calling and calling until I do.

I press the green button.

“Andrew, it’s your mother calling. What is this I’m hearing about you at your job? Maria called me and was worried sick about you.”

Maria worried about me? That would imply caring. So, that’s a joke.

“Are you not feeling well?”

“Nothing is wrong, everything is fine,” I begin.

I realize it would probably be a better idea to say I’m feeling sick than to tell her I’ve turned into a basket case. So, I lie. “I think I’m coming down with a touch of the flu. I’m at home resting up.”

She replies, “Don’t take too much time off of work. I know how Wyatt depends on you.”

 I could be lying dead here and all she thinks about is me getting back to work.

“And when are you and Maria coming for a visit? Your father and I never see you anymore. I hope everything is okay between the two of you.”

When I don’t say anything in response, she pauses. “Is it?”

“Everything is wonderful between Maria and me. Couldn’t be better!”

And that’s the way to deal with meddling parents. Just tell them what they want to hear and give it that extra little oomph to make it sound believable. I’ve found it works like a charm every time.

“Well okay then, now you come and visit. Okay? And give Maria my love.”

“Bye Mom.”

I hang up and try to decide what my next move is… should I call Wyatt back or just ignore him? Regardless of what I do, he’s going to think what he wants about me.

That’s when I decide that it’s time to go for a run. It’s the only thing I know that can get me out of this misery.

Just then Maria appears at the door.

“I’m going to my mother’s,” She says sternly. “And I don’t know when I’m coming back.” She pauses. “Oh, did you leave me enough money in the account?”

That’s always the bottom line and the last sentence before she leaves… whether or not she has enough money, which she always does. It just depends on how she wants to define “enough.”

I feel like asking her when exactly she became so coldhearted, but I know that wouldn’t end well. Besides, she’ll be gone for a few days and I’ll be away from her… for a little while at least. That feels like a big relief and I don’t want to ruin it by fighting.

I simply reply, “You know the answer to that question already. Of course there’s money in the account.”

She begins to walk away.

I add, “That is, if you haven’t spent it all.”

I just couldn’t resist adding that last bit although it probably wasn’t the smartest move on my part. Now she’ll be busy trying to come up with a good retort, but I don’t care because I’ve already heard it all before.

I hear her stop and turn around, walking back to the doorway.

“Go fuck yourself,” she says.

Then she throws her bag over her shoulder and leaves. Ouch! Is that all she could come up with? To go fuck myself?

Finally, I get to breathe a sigh of relief.

I change out of the rest of my work clothes into my running gear, put on my shoes and head out the door so I can enjoy my one solace.