Chapter Three

Now

Taking a walk down memory lane is never an easy thing to do. I shake off the thoughts of when I’d met my husband. That had been a different time in my life. I’d needed him more than I’d realized. He’d been good for me.

But I think it’s possible to truly fall in love, to give a person a piece of yourself, to share a life with them . . . and then slowly watch it fade. It’s sad when that happens, but it does happen.

The guilt that consumes us in these moments is what makes us stay. We made a vow to that person. We created a life with them. We have history and mutual friends. We know the ins and outs of that person. But does that mean we stay even when we know neither of us is happy?

I think it’s unfair to both the person we have loved for so long and to ourselves. I can’t love Mason anymore. We don’t see each other. When I say that I mean we don’t see anything about each other. We live separate lives.

Mason is an incredible artist. The creations he makes are inspired. But even that is hard for me to see now. Where once there were vivid colors, now I’m seeing black and white. When did this happen?

I slowly step from the bus a block away from my house. The sun has long set. It’s late. I walk into the house and hear music playing in his studio. I set my purse down and stand in the kitchen, looking at the lawn through the large window above the sink.

I hate this neighborhood. I hate my life. I remember the day we moved into this house. Mason carried me over the threshold, both of us excited. We were beginning a new chapter in our lives. His large hands cradled me close, and I was so excited. I barely looked around as he made a beeline for the bedroom.

We made love three times. Yes, we’d had sex for years, but we were now married and there was a frenzy in our lovemaking that night. There was excitement for that entire first year.

We are warned the honeymoon phase won’t last forever. We know this. We take classes at school and learn about it. They tell us about the different phases of love. But the honeymoon phase ended, and we didn’t slip into the next phase of our relationship. We just settled. We each had things to do, and we somehow forgot each other along the way.

I don’t know how long I stand at the sink looking out over the perfectly manicured lawn. Somehow I notice the music clicking off, but it barely registers in my mind. And then the fridge opens.

I turn and see Mason standing there, pulling out a cold bottle of beer. I glance at him. He really is an attractive man. He was so young when we met. Three years older than I was and just starting to develop muscles.

Now he’s incredibly fit and has grown a few more inches. His paint-stained T-shirt hugs his muscled arms and flat stomach. His jeans mold over his butt and thighs. His feet are bare. They normally are when he works. He barely looks at me as he sits at the breakfast bar.

“Hello, Mason,” I say. There’s no kiss, no hug, no excitement at seeing each other.

“How was work?” he asks, almost absently.

“It was fine,” I tell him.

I suddenly feel the need to cry. I don’t know why. It isn’t that I’m sad. I don’t feel much of anything really. Maybe I should feel guilty. What if he was the one having an affair? What would that do to me? I don’t think I’d care. That makes me feel even sadder. “How about you?” I finally ask.

“I have a show in a few weeks, so I’ve been trying to get all the pieces done,” he tells me. He isn’t looking at me. He sips on his beer as he glances through his phone. He doesn’t acknowledge the device when he’s in his art studio. A tornado could sweep through and he wouldn’t notice. He gets lost in his work. That used to be enduring to me. Now it annoys me.

“That’s good,” I tell him. I move to the fridge and grab my own bottle of beer. I sit down, not on the stool next to him, but one seat away. I don’t want our legs to rub together, don’t want to be here with him. My heart is back with Kaden. I close my eyes for a moment and feel a fluttering in my stomach.

Should I tell Mason I’m leaving? Should I walk away? That would be best for both of us. Isn’t it better to simply rip off the bandage? I’m not sure.

He finishes his beer, then turns to me and smiles. It’s that boyish smile I’d once fallen in love with. I grin back, almost feeling as if it’s a real smile. I feel my fingers twitch with the need to reach up and caress the five-o-clock shadow on his strong jawline.

But my hand falls away as he stands. There’s still something there, a small thing that makes my heart flutter. That’s why I don’t leave him, that’s what keeps me here. He moves to the garbage and tosses his bottle then passes by me, stopping almost as an afterthought.

He bends down and kisses my cheek. The tears sting even more.

“I’m going to work late tonight,” he says. And then he’s gone.

I sit alone with nothing more than my turbulent thoughts running through my mind. I don’t know how long I stay at that counter, sipping on my beer before I finally move. I’m not cooking tonight. Mason will forget to eat if I don’t feed him.

I don’t care.

The weight of the world feels as if it’s resting on my shoulders. I go to the bedroom I’ve shared with Mason for the past ten years and strip my clothes away before getting into the shower.

I go to bed. It takes a long time for me to fall asleep. But Mason never comes to me. That is probably for the best.