Wednesday, February 3, 2010
WE WERE ON COMMON ground. She talked, I listened. When I talked, she understood. We weren’t just zooming past everything that we could push off for later anymore. We were meeting things head on.
Days peeled away. Punxsutawney Phil saw his shadow and so it meant we’d have six more weeks of winter. It normally wouldn’t matter to me, but I had business on the East Coast that spring and wasn’t cool with the longer winter prediction.
She’d seen her therapist a few times. I was so damn relieved that there was no sign of a wind change. We talked on the phone every day. We started making plans for another trip, she wanted to go to Greece. I reveled in the fact we were making plans. Even though we only talked about taking a trip in a vague way, I’d already started looking at places we could visit and bookmarking hotels I thought were cool. For later.
She had her divorce papers back from the lawyer. When she opened up to me and told me she was nervous to call Grant about signing them, my mind didn’t go to that insecure place where it used to. Instead, I was happy she was talking to me and letting me share her load.
“I know you don’t want to hear this, but I feel really bad for hurting him,” she confessed. “In all of the time I’ve known him, I’ve never seen him act like he did in San Francisco. Or at the house when I was getting my things.”
I couldn’t blame the guy. We’d all made mistakes. Thankfully, including him.
To me, he was a shitty husband. Who neglects a wife like that? Maybe not her material needs, but everything else just sort of, slipped past him. How could he have been so blind? How could he marry someone and take such little interest in her?
I didn’t know everything about their relationship—so I wasn’t about to pretend I did—but from the outside, it seemed like he was a dud. Not that I‘d ever tell her what to do with her life if I were engaged or married to her, but didn’t he miss her when she was traveling? She traveled damn near constantly the year before their marriage. Didn’t she miss him? Didn’t he ever want to go along? The whole thing was so weird to me.
Maybe that was why I never felt truly awful for the guy. He didn’t know how good of a thing he had. He never appreciated her.
I will. I will show her what love is supposed to feel like, even if I’m winging it.
Blake was mine. Not in a possessive-caveman way—okay, sometimes she was. But she was more like an organ. Vital. I have a heart, but the fact that it is my heart is redundant. The same went for Blake. She was my Blake and she made all of the other parts of me healthier.
Ever since the night with the drunk bastard and the bartender, I kept thinking about Grant. He thought she was his. A thing. A milestone. A check off the life-plan list. A rung higher on a ladder that went where? Retirement? First hand I saw what their love looked like. It was fabricated like the generic photo you get when you purchase a frame. What a waste of passion and life.
Oh, how it must suck for him to be wrong like that.
Obviously he loved her, in his robotic, climate-controlled way.
Therefore, I’d decided I was going to be a man about it. Own up to my shit. I’d helped wreck his marriage. Copy and paste as it was, their union was a falsified duplicate of what they were taught marriage looked like. And as the number I’d found on their real estate website rang, I walked outside to do something that could either be classified as decent or really fucking dumb.
I was calling my Blake’s almost ex-husband. I was clearing the air, and possibly, if it felt right, apologizing.
“Bowman and Kelly Realty, Janet speaking,” answered an elderly lady.
“Hello, may I please speak with Grant Kelly.”
“Just a moment, please.”
I should have brought a beer outside with me. Day drinking wasn’t something I normally did, but I also didn’t normally call men and wax poetically about how I’d been fucking their wives for two years. Oh, and that I had no plans to stop. Oh, and I was madly in love with her and I’d fight him tooth and nail if it came down to it. Pacing in the morning sun on the back deck, I waited for her to connect the line. Each time the phone rang, I felt my resolve weaken.
What the hell was I going to say again?
“Grant Kelly,” he answered. His voice was level and professional, not that I’d expected anything less.
“Hi, this is Casey Moore.”
There was silence. I considered hanging up, but I pulled up my big-boy, big-man pants and took a deep breath. If Blake could face everyone, then so could I.
“Hello,” he said after clearing his throat. “What can I do for you?” He sounded dismissive and a little snide. Again, pretty much what I expected from him. Maybe he would hang up on me.
“I’m sure this call comes as a surprise, but I wanted to call and clear the air,” I explained. As I spoke, I straightened my posture and stood to my full height, looking out over my mother’s garden.
I tried to summon her strength and wondered what she would think. She’d probably say something about adding insult to injury, but I think she’d be a little proud, too. Carmen avoided my mother like the plague for years and I think that always bothered my mom.
“So you have a conscience now, or something?” His mundane question didn’t quite hide his contempt.
I paced.
“Listen, I’m sorry about how everything shook out a few weeks ago. I think I owe it to you to be a man about it and talk about it like adults.”
My feet repeatedly marched the same path, back and forth over the cobblestone patio.
“Men? Adults?” Finally, I was hearing emotion. “I’m not sure what you think we have to talk about.” There was another long pause. I switched up my routine and began going up and down the stone steps.
“Really? I think we have at least one common interest, Grant.”
Then he said, “You know, you’re right. Let’s talk about it. Actually, I have some things I’d like to know.”
I was a moron. First, I fucked up his marriage, then I called him at work to ease my own guilt. I was a douche. It was a bad idea. I should have talked to Blake about calling him first, but it was an impulsive thing. It had eaten at me for days.
“Okay, what do you want to know?” I’d let him get out what he needed.
“Is this the first woman you’ve seduced away from her family?”
Dick.
My hand tightened around my phone, but I reminded myself to stay calm. That was a fair question.
“I didn’t seduce her. And I’ve never been in a relationship with anyone like I am with her.”
“And what do you think you can offer her? From what I know, you’re a beer peddler who skips from town to town.” His monotone voice got louder over the line.
And just how in the hell did he know that?
“Listen, I didn’t call to fight with you. I know this isn’t normal, or probably even the right thing to do, but she deserves a man who’s willing to fight for her. To stand up for what she wants. As shitty as that is for you, she wants me.” As ugly as the conversation was, that felt good. I added, “I thought by calling, I could explain myself, maybe apologize. She never wanted to hurt you.”
“How long was it going on?” he fired back.
Here came the painful truth. “Since May of 2008.”
“She married me. She said yes to me. Why do you think she’d do all that if she really wanted to be with you?” The fool tried to rationalize love. Clearly, he didn’t know what he was talking about. And it was even clearer, he didn’t know Blake.
However, his questions had merit. I had to confess my shortcomings to a man who should own stock in his own shortcomings. “Because I didn’t offer her anything. Not that I can’t. I didn’t know what I was doing. We both tried to fight it. And we’ve told each other goodbye many times, but it never seems to stick.”
“Isn’t that sweet?” Artificial amusement gave his tone personality and made me want to punch him.
“You know, this isn’t easy for her, either. I know she cares about you. Okay? I know that you’re a good guy. But I’m a good guy, too.”
“Yeah, you’re the best.”
I pulled my phone away from my ear and silently screamed, while shaking the piss out of it for a second.
“Maybe this was a bad idea.”
“No. The bad idea was messing around with a married woman. Messing with her head. That was a bad idea.”
“I’m not messing with her head. And when I first started messing with her—as you like to call it—she wasn’t married.”
“She’s just confused. As soon as she realizes what she’s giving up, she’ll come around. You’ll see.”
Like hell I would.
My nostrils flared and I sat down, ready to enlighten him on what I thought of his fucking ass. He needed correcting.
“There’s not a goddamned thing you can give her that I can’t. Understand me? Maybe you should have paid more attention to her. Ever think of that? How does it feel, knowing all of this was going on right under your damn nose and you didn’t see any of it? You don’t even know her. Not the real her. Hell, her therapist said the same thing.” Why didn’t he realize?
Dead silence. I glanced at my phone to see if the call had dropped. And after what I’d just said, letting my temper get the better of me, I sort of wished it had. I called him to ease my guilt, and to possibly feel like I was doing my share of the clean-up. Blake was working her ass off. Fighting for both of us.
Then I heard him question, “The therapist?”
My mouth had no shut off at that point.
“Yeah, the therapist. She’s seeing a psychiatrist. I told you, it isn’t like she’s proud of herself.”
The laugh I heard over the line inflamed my already simmering blood. What was so fucking funny?
“I can’t believe she told you about that.” His tone was condescending and superior. “She’s gutsier than I thought.”
“What?” I shook my head. What did he say? Did he know she was seeing someone? Had he talked to her family?
I was lost.
“We’re seeing a couples counselor.”
Couples counselor. Couples counselor. Couples. Fucking. Counselor?
I didn’t believe him.
I couldn’t believe him. That wasn’t right. She would have told me. She wouldn’t have left that out.
“I’m sorry, Casey. I suppose I’m not the only one she hides things from, but we’re working on it. I have a client coming in. It’s been nice chatting with you.” And he hung up.
Suddenly, I didn’t feel like daytime drinking was all that bad.
In fact, I drank my lunch. My day off turned into my noon-time drunk and afternoon nap.
I had to talk to her, but I needed a little time. I needed to know the truth.
Here we go again.