Harlow

Three weeks earlier

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“So, Trey asked if I could join him in New York next week.” Alan loosens his tie and drapes it across the back of the chair before turning toward where I’m sitting up in bed.

It’s the same story as most nights in the Nagle household. I spend the evening alone, and Alan usually shuffles in from work shortly after I turn in for the night. It’s been this way for months. The more responsibility he takes on at work, the further into the background I fade.

“Again?” I question, not hiding the distaste in my voice. “You were just in Boston last week.”

“We’ve been over this, Harlow. You knew what I was signing up for when I took this promotion.”

“At no point did you say this much traveling would be involved,” I object, quickly softening my approach. “I just...it gets lonely here without you. Maybe if I found a part-time job, something small to occupy my time.”

“No.” He immediately shuts me down, stripping his shirt off before disappearing into the ensuite bathroom. “We made the decision when we got married that I would be the sole provider. It’s how my parents did it and how I want to do it as well. You take care of the house, and I make  money. That’s how this works.” He falls silent, the faucet kicking on seconds later.

“I just don’t understand why you’re so against me doing something for myself. It’s not about the money, Alan. It’s about having a life.” I raise my voice to ensure he can hear me over the running water.

He reemerges in the doorway seconds later, his toothbrush in his hand, toothpaste foaming at the sides of his mouth.

“You have a life,” he tells me, shoving the toothbrush back into his mouth.

“No, I don’t,” I argue. “I sit here all day with nothing to do. It’s just you and me, Alan. We have no children, no pets, nothing. There’s only so much I can clean. So much organizing and gardening I can do. I cook dinner every night, but five out of seven you’re not even here to eat it. My life revolves around a man who’s never here.”

His gaze goes stern before he turns and disappears back inside the bathroom long enough to discard his toothbrush and rinse out his mouth.

“What’s this really about, Harlow?” He steps into the doorway, leaning his shoulder against the doorframe.

“I’m telling you what it’s really about. I need something more than this.”

“Is this your way of bringing the children conversation back up? Because I’ve already told you I’m not ready.”

“This has nothing to do with having kids.” I shift on the bed, growing increasingly frustrated. “You’ve made your stance on that subject perfectly clear.” I can’t help how bitter the statement comes out.

I don’t think it’s unreasonable for a twenty-nine- year-old woman to want to have children with the man she has been married to for six years.

At first, it was all about establishing himself in his job. I understood that because he wanted us to be financially secure before having kids. Smart. But then he wanted a bigger house, more money, and once he accomplished that, he decided that being the manager of one of the most prestigious online security firms in the country wasn’t enough. Nope, he wanted to be at the top. And even now, months after landing an executive position, he’s still not willing to have a real discussion about it.

There’s always an excuse anytime I bring it up, so I’ve stopped bringing it up. It only serves to start a fight, and honestly, I’m not feeling up for that tonight.

“Then what? What could you possibly need that I’m not giving you?” He crosses his arms in front of his bare chest.

“I want something of my own. Andrea offered to let me work part-time at the flower shop,” I start, only to be cut off.

“My wife will not be working at some crappy little flower shop making minimum wage. Your job here is much more important.”

“What job?” I demand, my hands going up in defeat.

“Caring for me and our household.”

“Do you hear yourself right now? You can’t really expect me to keep living like this. I’m miserable, Alan. Can’t you see that?”

“I didn’t realize I was making you so unhappy,” he sneers.

“This isn’t about you. It’s about me and having something for myself.”

“I think you’re just looking for reasons to create problems.” He shakes his head. “The answer is no.” His arms fall to his sides before he stomps back into the bathroom, quickly closing the door behind him.

Angry tears well in my eyes and I have to fight back the urge to throw a slew of cuss words in his direction. Taking a deep breath in, I collapse back onto my pillow as the shower turns on.

Staring up at the ceiling, I wonder how we got here. How did we go from two college students crazy about each other to two people who barely co-exist?

I wish I could say we’ve grown up and apart over the years, but even that’s not true. It all changed when we got married. Alan was one person when we’re dating and became someone else entirely after we said ‘I do.’  It was like a switch flipped and the man I fell in love with disappeared right in front of my eyes.

I’ve spent years trying to find him again. Every once in a while I will see little glimpses – little pieces of the things I used to love the most about him. I try to hold onto those moments. The ones where I feel like his wife rather than some burden he endures or keeps around to prance in front of his fancy business associates.

Alan’s phone buzzes to life on the dresser, snapping me from my thoughts. It’s rare he leaves it laying around, and because of this, I can’t resist the urge to see who is messaging him this late at night.

Rolling out of bed, I quietly pad across the bedroom floor, snagging the phone off the mahogany dresser.

Monica: I had such a great time tonight. Can’t wait to do it again.

I blink. Once then twice, sure that it’s not what it seems. Swiping my finger across the screen, I type in the  password, my heart rate picking up speed when I realize he’s changed it. It’s been my birthday for as long as I can remember.

Pacing back and forth with the phone still in my hand, I type in two other combinations of numbers before finally getting it right on the third. Of course, he would change it to his office extension. I swear that man could not be more obsessed with work if he tried.

The instant the home screen comes up, I click on his messages. At the top is the one from Monica. I click on her name to open the thread and see that several other texts had exchanged between the two, each one more disturbing than the last.

I can’t believe what I see as my eyes scan the device. Plans to meet up for dinner,  drinks, and a hotel in Boston...

My stomach bottoms out.

I back out of their messages and scroll through some of the other conversations, stopping on a thread with a woman named Janice. Opening the text thread, I nearly lose the contents of my stomach as I see very similar messages being exchanged with her.

My hand instinctively goes to my mouth as I read about his plans to share a room with her while in New York next week and how he can’t wait to be able to touch her anywhere or however much he wants.

I feel lost with confusion swirling in my mind and my heart pounding in my chest that I don’t hear the shower kick off or Alan enter the room until it’s already too late.

“What the hell are you doing?” His voice washes over me like being doused with ice water. My eyes shoot open like they’ve been closed for a very long time like I’ve been asleep for years.

“Monica had a really good time tonight. Says she can’t wait to do it again.” I turn, squaring my shoulders as I face my husband.

“You went through my messages?” he questions, not even bothering with denial. Not that I would buy it for a second if he tried.

“And Janice can’t wait until New York, though I doubt she’d be as excited if she knew you were also fucking Monica.”

“Harlow.” He reaches for his phone, but I pull it back just in time.

“How many others are there, Alan?” I ask, tucking the device behind my back. “Three? Four? Ten? I mean at this point who’s counting, right?” I let out a shrill laugh, not sure why this seems so funny all of a sudden.

“You don’t understand. It’s not what you’re thinking,” he objects, denial finally kicking in.

“Actually, it’s exactly what I’m thinking. And for you to sit there and think that you’re going to fool me for even one second is comical. I may have been blind for years, Alan, but for the first time in a very long time, I’m finally seeing the man you really are. And thank god I see it before it’s too late.” I throw his phone as hard as I can at the wall behind him, watching it knock a nice hole into the drywall before finally clattering to the hardwood floor. “Well, now you have one less woman to juggle.” I take off through the house, managing to grab my keys and make it to my car parked out front before he finally catches up to me.

“Harlow, get your ass back in the house.” He comes pounding down the front porch in nothing but plaid pajama bottoms.

“No thanks, Alan. I think I’ll pass.” I tear open the driver’s side door, desperate to get out of here.

“You can’t just take my car,” he warns, closing in on me.

Leave it to him to throw it in my face that technically nothing we own is actually mine. Everything is in his name, considering he’s the only one who’s provided an income throughout our marriage.

“Well, then I guess you can call the fucking police and report me,” I hiss, hopping into the car.

I yank the door shut, click the locks, and fire the engine to life, backing out of the driveway with a loud tire squeal and a middle finger thrown up to my cheating husband.

Moments later, I’m speeding down the road in my pajamas, with no shoes, no money, and not one damn clue where the hell I’m going.