Chapter Four

Magnolia

MY MARRIAGE DIDN’T DISINTEGRATE over time. It imploded in one, horrifying, self-actualizing moment. I had no idea Paul was unhappy—no blatant signals he was cheating on me. Sure, over time we settled into the comfortable familiarity of a worn-in relationship, but my mistake was thinking that was normal. Didn’t all couples say “hello” and “goodbye” and “what’s for dinner?” Isn’t the lack of passion and fire between two bodies bound to dwindle after years of the monotonous grind of running a family business and parenting a child? The simple answer? No. It shouldn’t. Ebbs and flows in a marriage are completely normal. Ebbing for years without ever feeling the rush of a flow is a proverbial death wish. I should have known.

The last year and a half of our marriage, he came home late almost every night when I knew the workload like the back of my hand and couldn’t find a reason for his tardiness. There wasn’t that much work to do after five P.M. Not by a long shot. But he kissed me square on the mouth, smiled, and asked me what was for dinner moments after coming through the door. Normal. I didn’t see the symptoms of chinks in our armor. I didn’t know I was supposed to be looking for them. Paul’s affair is not my fault, I know that. That mistake lies squarely on his shoulders. Accepting a half-hearted offering of his love is my fault.

I was naked, in the shower, when he busted into the bathroom to tell me Kendall caught him having sex with Pamela. He apologized so many times, his words eventually faded. I still had conditioner in my hair and only one leg was shaved. Par for the course though, a divorce feels like unfinished business even when it’s final. I shave that leg first now as if I can prevent my world from being rocked by keeping it smooth.

Sleeping isn’t an option. I will be up for the rest of the night. I can’t get Aidan’s face out of my mind. Or his body. Or the fact that my inner thighs are stinging from the stubble burn of his scruffy face hours later. My core clenches at the reminder of all of the orgasms he gave me with his mouth and fingers. He wouldn’t let me reciprocate the act and something about that makes me feel guilty. It also makes me feel all kinds of butterflies in my stomach. I lie awake in my king-sized bed, staring at the ceiling, piecing together the reasons my marriage would have never worked even if Paul hadn’t cheated. We had a child that connected us, but that doesn’t mean we had a connection. The real kind, one that sizzles and pops and causes an ache deep in your chest.

Recognizing that Aidan is a horrible man to fall for was made even clearer when Polly showed up at his door demanding…him. Other women desire him. It’s a risk to give anything except my body to Aidan Mixx, and yet I feel it happening, felt it happening all night long. Every touch held an unspoken promise of pleasure I know I’ll never tire of. More than his body and his touch were his words. He told me I was desirable. That I was worthy of his attentions. By claiming me as his girlfriend, even if the scenario is pretend, he’s affirming I’m good enough to be his and everyone around him can witness it. Warmth spreads through my body when I think of the words he said when he dropped me off at my front door. I’ve never wanted to call someone mine more.

Clutching the sheets, I roll to look out the window that overlooks the bay. I have a clear shot of his bright white condo complex lit with several megawatt lights that highlight the shoreline and docks. “You’re right there,” I say, realizing how this town got a touch smaller with the knowledge that I can look out my window and know he’s there. I wonder if he’s looking over here. I wonder if he’s awake. If he’s regretting our deal, or if he’s thinking about me. It’s hard to think he might be. I’m another woman in his laundry list of conquests, and he just joined an exclusive club formerly known as Paul’s. I’ll get used to it. I can do this. I blink a few times as my eyes get heavier. My cell phone’s dull glow signals a message. I grab it from my nightstand and unplug it from the charging cord. Aidan put his number in my phone before we left his house. His name flashes as his initials, AM.

His text reads, I can’t sleep.

I can’t sleep. Probably for different reasons though, I reply.

If not being able to get a chick out of your head is the reason you can’t sleep, then we’re on the same page.

I blush, and swallow hard, rolling to my back, the phone hovering over my face. You can’t stop thinking about me?

I never said it was you, Aidan texts back.

Oh, it’s Polly then? She was a bit feistier than I was. I fire back, grinning from ear to ear.

You’re full of jokes.

So are you, I reply.

Your body is all I can see when I close my eyes. Then my dick gets hard. Sleeping is impossible with a hard-on. In case you were unaware of that fact.

This is why sleepovers are nice. If you were next to me right now you could just roll over and game on. My core clenches again, and I flush, a reaction to merely thinking about Aidan naked and his attentions focused on me. I add, If it wasn’t obvious, I’m not good at dirty talk.

I need the opposite of dirty talk to calm myself down. What are you doing later?

Swallowing hard, I try to think where this is going. There is no way in hell Kendall can know I’m seeing someone regularly. She can know I’m dating casually, but to what extent needs to be a well-guarded secret. Kendall feeling secure, loved, and happy is what I will always focus on first and foremost. Kendall has a parade. It starts at Bronze Bay High School and goes through Main Street at lunchtime. I’m helping decorate the float in the morning. I’ll be dead to the world without sleep, but that’s what coffee is for, right?

Any plans for the evening?

I could be persuaded to accept plans for the evening. Kendall asked permission to sleep over at Jenny’s with Juliet so I have the night free.

A tour of Magnolia’s Steals? Then a walk on the beach? Cocktails in hand, Aidan texts.

Smiling, I reply, Are you hunting for any specific antique treasure?

I am.

Give me some details so I can look into my inventory beforehand.

Sculpted tail. I’m okay if it’s a little leaky. A smooth finish. Something that responds to only my touch, though.

Pressing my lips together, I try to stifle my laughter, but it resonates in my bedroom louder than it should. I think I might have something that fits that description. If not, I’m going to auction next week. I’ll keep my eyes peeled.

Auction?

You know, where people sell their old things? Typically, it is stuff left over from estate sales, or someone dies and has a house filled with treasures that their family is trying to sell off. I love a good auction.

Oh, okay. I had something far more nefarious in mind when you said auction.

No one is selling sex at the auctions I attend, I reply, rolling over again.

Aidan’s message bubbles up. You just gave me a hard-on again.

You don’t have to pay for my sex. I’m your girlfriend, right? Isn’t that part of the gig? I give it to you for free?

The gray bubble pops up and disappears for a few moments. He’s struggling with how to respond. He begins typing again and his message arrives. How long is our relationship arrangement scheduled for?

My stomach sinks. How long do you think it should be? How long do you need to hold a relationship to fake everyone out and make them think you’re a changed man? He is the prime example of what happens when you screw your way through a small town. You’re left to focus on damage control.

We can play it by ear?

Your hard-on disappeared that quickly, huh? I try joking.

No, it’s still here. Sort of shocking actually.

Sleep never comes while I talk to Aidan until sunlight begins to invade my room. The words always drifted back to sex and his dick, but in between were real flashes of two people getting to know each other. He’s estranged from both of his parents and he has no siblings. He didn’t want to admit to that, but did after I volleyed information he wanted. There’s more to that, to his childhood, and the reasons he isn’t on speaking terms with his parents, but he closed that topic quickly and I was left with a heap of questions and a bad taste in my mouth.

Is that how Kendall will view her childhood? Will she never speak with her father again? Will he become an estranged memory that is painful to talk about? A man she doesn’t claim. A man who will never be in her life to celebrate in her victories and cheer her through failures? A chapter in a dark place in her life she won’t share with the man she falls in love with without prodding? My stomach flips and I hate that I recognize the hurt in Aidan and compare it to what Paul did to Kendall.

My daughter bounds into the room after knocking furiously several times, a rule we both formed when we moved into the new house. I give her space, she gives me mine, and we knock before we enter each other’s respective spaces. “Momma!” Kendall cries out, a bouquet of youthful energy. “Are you awake?”

“Good morning, baby. I’m up,” I croak, rolling to look at her. She’s wearing a Mickey Mouse t-shirt with googly eyes. A souvenir we picked up when we went on vacation to Orlando, Florida when she was five. She begged for the shirt while at Disney World. I bought it several sizes too big for her at the time, and still to this day that shirt is worn as soon as it’s clean. She says because it’s old and soft, but I know the real reason she loves it. It’s my line of business. She loves the memory attached to it. A feeling of love and fullness, a dank grasping for a time when things were simpler, and her family was full and untainted by infidelity.

“We need to swing by the hardware store before we head to school. I told Juliet I’d pick up gold spray paint. Ms. Jenny and Juliet left here early to get started on the float.”

Kendall sits on the edge of my bed, gazing out the window. “How many cans do you think you’ll need?” I ask, sitting up, hoping I don’t look like the changed woman I feel inside. I assumed everyone was asleep when I crept in last night. Jenny spent the night here with the girls. Our house is big, old, and drafty. It has more guest rooms than we’ll need, but because of the age, location and the price was right, it’s ours forever.

Kendall sighs. “I don’t know. Four? Maybe Five? It’s for the skirt of the float. I ironed my skirt so you don’t have to,” Kendall says. “I couldn’t sleep so I already ate, too.”

I didn’t hear her. Not one sound to indicate she wasn’t peacefully asleep in her bed tucked in tight. “Oh,” I reply, swallowing hard. Laying a hand on her shoulder, I say, “Everything okay? You want to talk about it?”

Her eyes narrow as she looks at me. “He called me last night,” Kendall says, eyes watering. “While you were out. I don’t want to talk to him, Mom. I don’t want to ever talk to him again.”

“That’s your decision. It’s your right, Kendall. Don’t talk to him until you’re ready. Remember what the therapist said? It’s all up to you, honey.”

A tear drops. “I talked to him last night.” She says the words like it’s her last confession. My heart squeezes.

“What did he say?” It’s a morbid curiosity I’ll never outgrow, I think. You think you know every single thing about a person only to come upon a day when the man you once loved is a stranger. I’ll always be interested in his life regardless of how much he hurt me. It’s irrational, I know, but the hope is one day it will merely be curiosity without any emotions attached to the update.

“He’s marrying Pamela,” Kendall says, scoffing when she says her name. “He asked me to come to the wedding. Told me it would be a fresh start. The start that should have been. He wants me to pretend I didn’t walk in and see him cheating on you. With that awful woman…girl, whatever she is.”

I can’t help it. My stomach heaves at the knowledge. I knew they were still together, but I assumed he’d grow tired of Pamela in the way he grew tired of me. Never for a second did I think he would move on with her in a marriage capacity. Live together? Sure. Give her the same vows he gave me? “Excuse me, honey. I’m not feeling so well. One second.”

Shuffling across the hardwood, I enter my bathroom and close the squeaky door, and vomit into the toilet. It’s unfortunate I can’t control it, can’t hide my shock and horror at this knowledge for Kendall’s sake, but it’s too much to hide. Too much. She knocks on the door.

“Mom, it’s okay. I told him I’d rather die than go to his wedding to that whore,” Kendall says through the closed door.

I squeeze my eyes shut and swallow down the acrid taste of vomit. “Don’t talk like that, Kendall. That’s a horrible thing to say.” Thank God she said it. Thank God. “You need to call and apologize to your father.” Thank God I have her. Thank God she hates him. Pamela is a fucking whore. Her father is a horrible human. The worst. “Do you understand me, Kendall?”

She stays silent, waiting to talk to me to my face, I’m sure. I splash water on my neck and cheeks and brush my teeth quickly, staring at the person in the mirror. He is marrying Pamela. How can he do this? Ask Kendall to be a part of that atrocious abomination of a day? I’m going to call him as soon as I have the house to myself. Give him a real piece of my mind. I open the door and Kendall flies into my arms.

“I don’t want to apologize to him. He’s not a nice person. You told me to always be kind. If I can’t be kind, then be silent. I don’t want to be silent. I want him to know that he hurt me. That he hurt you. He doesn’t deserve to be happy.”

He doesn’t. Anger and rage boil to the surface. I hug Kendall, tucking my head into her hair inhaling the scent of her fruity shampoo. “I’ll talk to him. You don’t have to go, okay?”

She nods. “You should have come to me when you couldn’t sleep, Ken,” I say, pulling her long hair into a ponytail, peering into her eyes. “I’m so sorry you have to deal with this.”

“Everyone has shit in their life,” she says, shrugging. “My shit just happens to be one-half of the pair that gave me life.”

“Don’t curse,” I say. “It’s not lady-like.”

Kendall smirks. “He is shit, though.”

Shaking my head, I pull her back in for another hug. “He is,” I admit. “But good or bad, he is your father and you’ll have to deal with him at some point. I’m not saying now, because that’s bad form on his part, but eventually, Kendall, you will have to look at him, and despite everything he’s said and done to you, you’ll have to forgive him. Not for him. For you. For you, honey.” I sigh. If only I could take that advice. Only minutes ago, I was basking in the glow of the possibility with Aidan and once again Paul has dragged me back down to planet earth. Reality.

“Maybe on my death bed. Or his,” Kendall replies, pulling out of my grasp. She sits on my bed hard, bouncing, her hands tucked under her thighs. The eyes on the Mickey Mouse shirt move up and down as she bobs, and the pit returns to my stomach.

Swallowing hard, I tell her, “Go get dressed. We can stop by the coffee shop for tea and pastries before we go to the hardware store. That sound okay?”

Kendall wipes under her eyes. “Thanks, Mom. I’m sorry I had to tell you that. I didn’t want him to spring it on you. Better from me than him.”

“When did you get so old and wise?” I ask, smiling sadly. Approaching her, I tuck her hair behind her ears like I did a million times when she was a wild toddler. “I’m okay, honey. I promise. My stomach wasn’t feeling good all night. I think it’s why I slept so poorly.”

“My therapist says it’s part of the process. Putting my feelings aside to think what others might be feeling. And since there’s no way I’m putting myself into his smelly shoes, I’d rather put myself into yours. I’m sorry, Mom. I was so wrapped up in what I saw,” she looks off and enters the dark place I hate with a violent passion. “And how that made me feel, that I didn’t stop to think how awful it would feel to actually be married to a man who did that.”

There are moments when your children speak, and you realize a level of maturity developed that wasn’t there only days, perhaps moments, before. This is one of those moments and I’m not prepared for it. Not prepared for it because Kendall is moving through the grief process more eloquently than I am. Sure, it was my marriage, but for all intents and purposes, she lost the father she thought she had. “I love you, baby. Thank you for that,” I say, kissing the top of her head. “I’m doing great. Don’t worry about me, okay? I’m so over it. The past is the past.”

She hops off my bed and skips out of my room, lighter than when she entered. My heart is a little darker for it, but that’s okay. I’ll take it if it means she doesn’t have to carry it. I allow myself to cry in the shower, the hot water splashing around me to hide the emotions I’m trying to bottle up. Pamela didn’t just take my husband, she stole the happiness I thought I had. I take my time cleaning my body. With every glide of the razor on my legs, I find new resolve. A steely mission to not let their marriage affect my life.

I paste the smile on my face, the one that tells everyone I’m okay, when I meet Kendall in the kitchen. Then again when I order our drinks at the cafe, and still when I’m at the hardware store. I pretend to be okay while I laugh and paint the float with my daughter. I tell her how beautiful she looks as I zip up her cheerleading uniform in the locker room and watch her board the parade float. I smile and wave to her and her friends, my grin wide and encouraging. When Kendall sets off, the float disappearing into the distance to the sound of the marching band, the charade ends. I know Kendall is safe with her friends and heading to Jenny’s directly following the conclusion of the parade. I retreat to Magnolia’s Steals and surrounded by thousands of stories from the past both happy and sad, I fall apart completely.