Chapter 20
I felt sick as I drove home and I knew The Russian would be feeling like shit too. I didn’t want to ruin his game today but I didn’t want to talk to him either before I had my head in order – there was no point in both of us getting angry again and hanging up on each other. We had to find a way to manage it because we wouldn’t survive it, and I was hoping Dad would give me perspective.
I drove into the churchyard, which was also my parents’ home, while Dad served the parish he was assigned to; I was about fifteen minutes early. I entered the front of the church to catch Mom in the vestibule; I knew she would be there handing out the hymn books while Dad was preparing in the small room beside the altar. Her first reaction was as expected.
“Carla! What’s wrong? What’s happened?” she asked, pulling me into her to kiss each cheek.
“Hi Mom, sorry to drop in unannounced ...”
“Don’t be silly, this is your home. Are you okay?” she said, cutting me off.
“I just needed a male perspective, no offense, and I thought I’d see you and enjoy Dad’s mass as well,” I said with a shrug, trying to keep it all super casual while my head thumped, my stomach churned, and I looked like death on legs.
We greeted a couple of parishioners and she handed them a hymn book. Mom turned back to me and shook her head, reading the situation immediately.
“Men,” she sighed. “Nevertheless, your father will be delighted to see you, it will make his day.” She softened and squeezed my hand, “makes my day too.”
“Thanks Mom,” I said, smiling at her. Mom didn’t easily give affection, she was very stoic, so it took a lot for her to say that. Then Dad came out towards the altar area and saw me. He did a double take, like he’d been caught in a time warp, and headed down the aisle, smiling and adjusting his church robes.
“My prayers have been answered,” he said, looking towards heaven. I smiled and shook my head at him while giving him a hello hug and kiss.
“Tell me you’re staying for mass and lunch after?” he said.
“I am staying for mass and lunch after, if that’s okay?” I offered, with a glance to Mom.
“Always,” Mom said.
“Wonderful, well today has just gotten better – a beautiful day, parishioners filling the seats and my two girls,” he grinned. It didn’t take much to make Dad happy.
“I’m going to go get a seat,” I said, leaving them both to their work, and slipped away. I was hoping I wouldn’t see any of my childhood male church or school friends and get my photo snapped with them ... heaven forbid!
I selected a seat and slipped into a pew, knelt and thanked God for good health, family, my new job, friends and for The Russian, and then Dad entered the altar to start mass. I joined in the hymns and prayers and enjoyed his sermon, which seemed to have been written for me that day – keeping the faith in each other and the world in modern times. I had full faith in The Russian, but he wasn’t having any in me. I didn’t know how to make him secure, I didn’t know if I had to change who I was to make that happen or if I should change. I returned to Dad’s sermon and then participated as best I could in the rest of the mass when I wasn’t drifting off going over the previous night’s argument in my head, again and again.
After Dad had seen off the last of the parishioners he joined Mom and me at home.
“You two have shrunk,” I observed.
“We’re getting older ... that’s what happens when you don’t see us often enough. Next time you come home, we’ll be a foot tall,” Dad joked.
I laughed. “It’s good to be home.”
“It’s good to have you home. Now come on, let’s get some of your Mom’s prize winning lemonade and chat.”
“Yes, get out of my kitchen while I work,” she said, bossing us. Mom got to fixing lunch while Dad and I moved into the lounge room to talk.
“We’ve heard and read a bit about your new boy, online of course,” Dad said.
I nodded. “I will be bringing him home to meet you as soon as the season’s over and he can get away.” Then I told Dad all about it; he listened attentively, sipping the cool homemade lemonade that Mom had made while I talked, finishing by reminding him he only had my perspective.
He sat back and thought about my situation for a short while.
“I’ve had a few people in your situation; a number of couples that I’ve had to give counsel to,” he said.
I breathed a sigh of relief, I knew he’d be able to help me see the light in the relationship; I dreaded the day I wouldn’t have my father’s counsel. I relaxed back in my chair, tired of talking, tired in general and listened to my Dad, trying to remember everything he was telling me.
“You have to remember, darling, that Alex has been very, very hurt,” my father explained. “He started off with a full trust bank and it has been completely diminished. Now he’s coming into this relationship, but you don’t have the benefit of a full trust account. You’ve got nothing in your trust account and you have to build it for him to trust you. The reverse of what most normal couples start with,” Dad said. “He’s asking you to prove you’re worthy when you’ve done nothing to prove you are not.”
I nodded, totally getting the big picture.
“But,” Dad said, continuing, “he’s not doing it to punish you, he’s protecting himself. Men and women are both victims of cheating, but their reactions can be quite different.”
“Do you think my actions were inappropriate?” I asked, “please tell me the brutal truth Dad, I won’t be offended.”
He shook his head. “Your actions weren’t flirtatious or meant to hurt Alex. You socialized with friends as you normally would, feeling secure in your new relationship with Alex. But you do need to help him rebuild his trust if you want to be with him.”
“How? I told him I am a one-man woman, that he was the only one, and he’s already met my friends,” I said. I felt my phone vibrate in my pocket again, but Dad and Mom were very anti-phones when in company. I knew it probably was The Russian – his game was on at one o’clock and it was now nearing eleven-thirty.
“Alex is probably very confident in areas he can control ... you’re not one of them,” Dad said. “So now that he is falling in love with you, it’s opened his wounds, he’s feeling very vulnerable.”
“We both are,” I said, agreeing.
“Before we discuss steps to help the situation, there’s a few things, darling, you need to be aware of for your personal wellbeing,” Dad said. “You can give him the ‘I won’t cheat on you like your ex did’ speech, and probably have already?”
“I have,” I said.
“Yes, well, it will take actions not words to convince him, and seeing those photos of you with other guys, as innocent as they were, has just triggered all his concerns. He’s not only been cheated on, but cheated on very publicly, and had to try and look stoic. Each time she’s returned to him, he’s forgiven her or accepted her excuses, and meanwhile his own self-worth has suffered.” Dad stopped to sip his lemonade.
“He’s such a dynamic and confident guy though in every other aspect of his life. It’s completely out of character, he doesn’t act like he’s affected,” I said. “I guess she’s really worked him over.”
Dad listened and thought some more. He continued. “Be careful then, Carla ... you can’t be explaining your actions – you shouldn’t have to explain why you didn’t text him back immediately or why you didn’t answer his call straight away, or who that man was you smiled at; that’s not healthy either. You’ve said that you’ve fallen for each other very quickly; well, that speed isn’t helping, because he’s got nothing to hold on to ... no build up, no history with you. Suddenly he’s in deep and you might cheat on him or leave him.”
“Will we survive this?” I asked.
“Of course,” he said. “Will he seek counseling?”
“I doubt it very much,” I said, thinking of my lion. “He’s very alpha.”
“Hmm,” Dad said. “You may have to show more transparency than you normally would in a relationship, just until you are secure together – you know, tell him where you went and who was there, and make sure he knows those people. Give him a sign ... something that’s uniquely his.”
“What do you mean?” I asked, putting my glass down and leaning back into my parents’ old leather couch.
“Tell him that when you put your hand on your heart, you are thinking of him. So in those photos he saw, or if you are doing an interview, a quick placing of your hand on your heart will be a signal you are thinking of him in that situation. He’ll be looking for it, it will make him feel more secure and safe.”
“That’s cute,” I said, smiling.
“I’m full of cute ideas,” Dad agreed, and grinned.
“Tell Alex you deserve to start with a full bank account of trust and that it can overflow, it can be added to. So every time he feels safe or loved he tops it up. When he’s feeling insecure, he has to think of how much is in the account already. Is there enough there for him to draw on?”
I nodded. “Yeah, that’s good too. Makes him stop and think of his actions.”
“Exactly.”
“But most importantly, and I’ve learned this lesson the hard way, and so have many of my counseling clients ... the time he invests worrying about losing you and whether you are cheating on him is driving you away, and he will lose you. So he must try and be in the now. Every time you or Alex get worked up, stop and breathe. Invite him to talk about it, remind him regularly of all the great things he is to you. We must all remember to do that,” he said, with a glance to Mom in the kitchen.
“Thanks Dad. You can say no ... but if I talked him into speaking with you about this, instead of a psychologist, would you talk with him?” I asked.
“Of course, darling. But be warned, I’ll be asking him his intentions for my daughter as well,” he said.
I rolled my eyes and Dad laughed.
“Come on, let’s not keep your mother waiting.” We rose and I linked my arm through his. I had some work to do with The Russian. I was prepared to do it – I wondered if he was. However, I had my limits ... I won’t be called a tart or accused of fucking around when I didn’t do that. I was drawing the line right there. We entered the kitchen and Mom announced lunch would be ready in ten minutes.
“I’m going to go and call Alex and wish him luck for the game,” I said, and excused myself. I felt more secure in my own head now that I hadn’t done anything wrong – I just hoped he’d cooled down and thought about his actions too. I walked outside into the church grounds and checked the time – he was probably on the team bus on the way to the stadium now ... may be best just to text him.
I decided to check his messages first. I took the silencer off my phone and saw he had called three more times last night and three times since six a.m this morning. He’d left two messages in my phone message bank and both of those had been left earlier today ... that was probably a good thing. I was glad he hadn’t vented last night; I wondered if he’d learned from experience not to do that.
I put the phone to my ear and listened to the first message that he had left about six a.m.
“Brooker,” he sighed, “I need to talk with you, hear your voice. Call me.”
His voice was heavy with stress and weariness. I listened to the second message, which he had left about an hour ago when I had been in church.
“Please, call me.” That was it.
I checked the text messages and there was one there that he had sent about three a.m., and one this morning about half an hour ago. He mustn’t have slept at all.
I dreaded opening the first one which he had probably written when he’d been majorly pissed off. I tapped on it and read:
Are you in bed alone?
For the love of God, thank goodness he hadn’t left a stack of those; he’d have so much more to apologize for this morning! Seriously! I opened the text he had sent thirty minutes ago and read:
Where are you? Call, please Carla.
He’d used my first name ... I didn’t know what it meant. There was no apology. I decided to text him and I tapped out the words:
Play well today. I’ll be thinking of you. Cx
That was good, it was generous given what had transpired. I took another long look at the words I had typed, took a deep breath and pressed send. Done!
If he was still angry, well, that was a peace offering and might help him put things on the back burner until the game was out of the way.
My phone rang moments after the text had gone off to him, his name flashed on my screen. Butterflies filled me, my stomach churned ... I truly felt terrified answering it. I thumbed across the screen, accepting the call.
“Hello.”
“Brooker,” he said, his voice was heavy, he breathed out as if he had been holding the weight of the world until I called. “I’m sorry.”
I couldn’t help myself, I started to cry.
I heard him swear softly under his breath. “Babe, don’t cry, I’ve been sick for hours about what I said to you ...”
I still couldn’t say anything ... I didn’t know what to say.
“I hate being the one to make you cry, don’t cry,” he said again. “I’m truly sorry ... where are you?”
“At Mom and Dad’s.”
“You went home? Are you okay?”
“Yes. I drove home early this morning and went to Dad’s service. Dad helped me.”
“You told him what I said?” he asked.
“Yes.”
“I’m never meeting him,” The Russian said, and I laughed for the first time in over twenty-four hours. It felt good to have a bit of tension lifted.
“He’s not judgemental and he’s a counselor too, he has some good advice for us,” I said. “And he’s praying for your soul,” I joked.
The Russian chuckled. “Thank God someone is.”
I heard a voice in the background.
“Where are you? Was that Lucas?” I asked.
“I’m out the front of the hotel, we’re just getting our gear on the bus to go to the stadium. And yeah, that was Lucas,” The Russian said.
Lucas’s voice came down the line again. “Is that Carla?”
“Yes,” The Russian answered.
“Thank fuck for that,” he said.
I heard The Russian walking, putting some distance between them.
“Brooker, I’m a fucking idiot ...”
“But you’re my fucking idiot,” I said, teasing him and he laughed ... that beautiful, rich, baritone laugh.
“We’ll land about seven tonight, can I come over and see you then?”
“Okay,” I agreed.
“Or you could pick me up at the airport?” he suggested, “Like some of the partners do.”
“Or I could pick you up at the airport,” I agreed.
“Russian!” I heard a male voice yell. “Final call for the bus.” The Russian ignored it.
“Great. I’ll text you the flight details later.” He breathed out again. “Brooker, I’m worried that ...”
I held my breath. Please don’t say ‘we’re not going to make it’, or ‘we’re not suited’ ... I couldn’t take it.
The Russian continued. “I’m worried that I don’t know how to fix this and I’ll blow it between us.”
“Russian,” I said, his name softly, “We’ll sort it, I promise.”
Lucas interfered again. “For Fuck’s sake, Russian, get on the bus!”
“I’ve got to go, they’re all waiting.”
“What? You’re the only one not on the bus?” I laughed. “Go then, I’ll be watching the game and sending you positive vibes.”
“Thanks for calling me back, I needed to hear your voice.”
“Russian!” I heard a chorus of voices that time.
“I’m fucking coming for Christ’s sake,” he yelled back. “Got to go. Text me later? See you soon?”
“Yes to both,” I said, feeling in love and happy again after that horrendous night of pain.
“Bye,” he said the word slowly and deeply, like he was drawing out the moment before disconnecting. He was walking at the same time; I could hear his movements.
“Hang the fuck up now and get in here,” Lucas said in the background.
I heard The Russian swear again and hang up, and I laughed. We were okay; we were going to be okay ... I hoped we were going to be okay.
I went back inside and felt so much better. Mom called out that lunch was ready and I walked through the hallway and living area to the kitchen, past the shrine that had been set up for my sister, my deceased sister ... the reason I hadn’t been coming home very often.