Chapter 10
Grace
Sunlight pours in through the open blinds as I set my hands on the door handles. With a determined yank, I pull open the closet doors. My gut clenches hard but I know what I have to do. It won’t be easy, though.
This is the chapter my self-help book calls “The Detox.”
At the very least, tackling this big chore will keep me from driving myself crazy all day, wondering how Daniel and Sebastian are spending their time together. I step inside the small room and press my nose to the burgundy silk of Daniel’s paisley jacquard tie. This is one of my favorites. It’s the tie he was wearing the night he proposed. My ribs tighten in my chest when I realize just how faint his scent is now. He’s been gone so long. But whenever I touch this tie, I’m transported back to that night, in that Italian restaurant in Chicago.
“Babe, are you feeling okay?” I ask as I peer across the candlelit table at my usually outgoing boyfriend and he’s sweating bullets, he’s practically green and he hasn’t said more than a dozen words over the hour or so that we’ve been sitting here. He looks downright queasy, alternating between sneaking peeks at the door and checking his phone. “Do you need to throw up?”
I glance around for the server. I knew that eggplant Parmesan smelled funny. Most of it is still sitting on Daniel’s plate.
He swallows hard, drumming his fingers against the table. “I don’t need to throw up.”
Well, something is definitely wrong with him. He looks like there’s something in him that needs to come out.
“Oh shit…” I mutter as it dawns on me. I lean across the table and whisper. “Do you need to poop? Do you have diarrhea?”
He scowls. “No. I do not have diarrhea, Grace. Please keep your voice down.”
He won’t talk about whatever is going on. He just sits there, tense as ever. This is so not like him, especially on date night. Whenever we get dressed up and hit the town, he spends the evening trying to make me laugh, pressing kisses to my face and trying to grope me discreetly. Tonight though, there’s none of that.
“Wait! Are you breaking up with me?!” I blurt out, dropping my fork with a loud clang against my ceramic plate.
A few eyes are drawn in our direction and I feel my cheeks blazing. Daniel shakes his head vigorously. “Just…just eat. Okay?” He nods at the classic pasta and meatballs in front of me.
I reach for the bottle of red wine instead. “Wow. You are so breaking up with me. This is mortifying.” I swallow a whole glass without even flinching.
“Why do you always think I’m breaking up with you? It’s a disease, a complex. You should have it checked out.”
“So, now you’re breaking up with me and you’re calling me crazy?”
“Grace, I’m not breaking up with. I love you.” He takes a glug of his wine, not seeming to notice the way my heart jolts when he says those three little words. No matter how many times he utters it, every time he says those words, it sounds brand new.
I sit there quietly, fiddling with my fork, trying to herd the competing thoughts clashing in my head.
Maybe he’s stressed about finals…Maybe he’s been arguing with his dad again…Maybe he does have diarrhea but he’s embarrassed to admit it…Maybe it really is just nothing.
Just as I’m about to let his innocent declaration of devotion win out, he looks over at the door and the words, “About time…” slip from his mouth.
When I follow his line of vision, I see the hostess seating a petite woman wearing a trench coat buttoned all the way up to her throat and a dark hat pulled over her brown hair. She doesn’t take off her sunglasses and she refuses the drinks menu. Instead, she rummages around in her purse.
Frowning, I turn back to Daniel. “Why is your sister sitting in the corner like a creep with a camera pointed at me?” This night is starting to feel a little too Sin-City-meets-Kill-Bill for my appetite.
Daniel’s shoulders heave as he sighs. “Because I’m going to ask you to marry me and I’m hoping that you’ll say ‘yes’.” He reaches into his chest pocket and slaps a beautiful solitaire round diamond onto the table. He slides down to one knee. “What’d you say, Angel? Will you be my wife?”
My excitement overpowers my shock. I drop to my knees in front of him and clench my fingers around his tie, pulling him closer. “Oh my god, baby! Of course I’ll be your wife!”
I drop the necktie into the empty suitcase open at my feet. I dump a dozen other ties into the suitcase, too. A tide of emotion sneaks up on me, but I push it down. Then I move on to the shirts. I pull them off of their hangers one by one, folding them neatly and tucking them into the suitcase. Next, I do the pants.
When I get to his t-shirt drawer, the first one that I pull out sends a wave of nostalgia crashing into my chest.
Daniel lies next to me on the grass, staring at the side of my face. He bumps his shoulder against mine. “What are you thinking?”
Disturbed from my silent introspection, I glance over at him with a smile. “Nothing.”
He doesn’t seem to buy it. “Come on. Talk to me. What’s on your mind?”
It’s a few days into our last semester of law school. Like nearly everyone else, I have an internship lined up for after graduation. But unlike most of my classmates, I have an engagement ring on my finger. I’ve been feeling differently about things since Daniel asked me to marry him a few months ago. Yes, I get good grades and I’ve paid my way through school on academic scholarships, but I’m just not sure that I want all this anymore.
Daniel’s face is no longer playful. He wears a grave expression when he says, “Talk to me, Grace. You’re worrying me.”
He never has to work too hard to persuade me to give him what he wants. “I don’t think…I don’t think I want to be a lawyer,” I confess softly, rolling over onto my back and staring up at the sky. “I’m not sure what I want to do with my life, but practicing law isn’t it.”
I peek into his eyes and the judgment and disappointment that I’d expected to see aren’t there. He’s silent for a long while and then, he pulls in a slow breath. “I’m glad you can finally admit that.” He stares blankly at the students milling all around us on their way to and from their classes.
My eyes widen with surprise. “Wait – you knew?”
“Of course I knew. You’re my girl. I know everything about you.”
God, I made the right choice with this guy. He’s definitely it for me.
He bites his lip. “Okay. If you don’t want this, I’m not going to try and persuade you. I just want you to be happy.” His lips sweeping over mine and his hand cupping the back of my neck is all I need to believe him.
By the time I’ve emptied his clothes from his drawers, I don’t know how I’m even standing up. I’m so overcome by emotion. This activity might be cathartic for some people but for me, it feels like slicing my heart with razors, one tiny gash at a time.
I zip the suitcase shut and drag it out of my bedroom, down the hall to the guestroom. I haul them up into the middle of the bed, proud that, at least, I’ve managed not to cry…until I stand at the window and peer down at the driveway.
My eyes blink open and I bolt upright in bed as our two-week-old’s shrill wails pour through the baby monitor. I swear, he’s been crying all night, pausing only to sleep for a few precious minutes before waking up and starting the process all over again.
Cringing, my hand goes to my stomach, stroking my tender wound with light fingers. It’s still so sore. I’d expected to feel a bit better by now but some days, it actually feels worse. And my body feels like I got trampled by a sumo wrestler. Mentally, I’m no better. This lack of sleep is really starting to get to me.
Moving slowly, I swing my feet over the side of the bed in the dark as I glance around for Daniel. Light creeps in from under the door of the adjoining bathroom. Hobbling over, I push the door open.
“What’s going on?” I ask when I see him in front of the sink, staring into the mirror as he knots his tie. His toothbrush is trapped between his teeth and his dark hair is neatly combed.
He gives me a cursory glance. “Stupid client’s private jet just landed from Japan. He wants to meet right this fucking minute.” The irritation on his brow is magnified by the glaring overhead lights.
I fold my arms over my chest as the baby continues to cry. “But you’re on parental leave. You have two more weeks.”
He spits into the sink and rinses his mouth before setting his toothbrush down on the counter. “I’m being considered for junior partner. You know I can’t be shunning clients right now. We’ve talked about this. You encouraged me to go for it.”
As he continues to hustle about, I glare at him wordlessly. Yes, I did encourage him to go for it before I had an emergency C-section that turned everything upside down.
“It’s just one meeting, Grace.” He pushes around me and scuttles across the bedroom to grab his briefcase.
The level of rage I feel may be unjustified but it’s scorching the hollow of my belly. “I need help,” I tell him. “I’m exhausted from all the breastfeeding and the rocking and the singing. I need your help with the baby.” I know that I’m pouting but I can’t stop myself.
He clutches one hand on my shoulder and presses a quick, condescending kiss to my temple. “My mother will come by in a few hours. I’ve really got to go.”
Dashing down the stairs, he doesn’t even look back. I head to the window in the guest bedroom and glare down at him as he jumps into his fancy Mercedes and speeds away.
That was just the first of many nights when Daniel ran out on me when I needed him, putting work ahead of all else.
I yank the blinds shut, reminding myself that this divorce is the best thing for me.
Detox.
This is what I need to do. I wish it were easy to stop feeling guilty about it. I wish it were easy to stop crying. But I’ll get there eventually, I guess.
Maybe I’ll start with another double-chocolate cookie.