Finding Infinity (31 page)

He’s told me about it. He said that, after we broke up, he drank and listened to sad music. I wonder if this was the mood he was in. It’s hard to imagine that my cocky, self-assured, confident husband can be the sullen, mean, destructive, depressed man sitting in our bedroom.

As I scrub, I replay our life together, and realize that I have seen him like this other times. The night he told me he loved me at the lake house in Austin, and we got into a fight. He drank himself sick that night. Then, there was the night that I first made the tabloids, when Rachael and I cage danced together. He took his aggression out on me in an anger fuck. I realize now that today I left him after he got upsetting news, without offering him any way to relieve his disappointment and stress. He all but begged me to stay home and make love to him, but I left him.
Why am I rationalizing his behavior? He’s a grown man who destroyed our home, and he behaved like a bratty teenager.

Colin crutches into the kitchen and takes a seat at the breakfast bar. I ignore him, because I’m not sure what to say.

“Charlie, I’m not in good place right now. I just need to leave for a couple of days, to get my head on straight. I’m not leaving you. I just need to think. I’ll be back for Christmas.” He’s quiet and sullen.

I’m not sure what to do. I can’t pause time and call Rachael, which is what I want to do. She’d have a solution for me. I stand there, helplessly scrubbing at a pan that should be thrown away.

“I just don’t understand what’s going on. What’s there to think about? I get that today was a hard day for you, but it’s not like we can’t get pregnant; we just have to try harder than most.” I sound more resolved than angry. “I also don’t understand why you need to be away from me to think. It’s not because you plan on drinking, is it?”

Colin rests his elbows on the granite and drops his head into his hands. He whispers, “You deserve a husband that…”

“Goddammit, Colin. Quit telling me what I deserve!” I scream, at the top of my lungs. I throw the sponge in the sink, and turn around and look at Colin. “Do you want this to work? Are you trying to push me away?”

“Do you have any idea how hard it is to be married to you?” he asks softly, still not looking at me.

I stand there with my mouth gaping open. That wasn’t the answer that I was expecting. “No Colin. I don’t. Give me an idea,” I say, with pure venom in my voice.

He looks up at me with his blank face. “You’re fucking perfect. You’re smart. You’re gorgeous. You can have a baby. You can outrun me. You can out dance me. You can do everything better than me but sing. Hell, even in the bedroom you’ve proven that you don’t need me.

“You didn’t need me today, Caroline. I, once again, needed you, but you are so self-sufficient that you don’t need me — or anyone for that matter.”

I hear his words and all they do is anger me. He loves me for who I am, but he wants me to be needy and dependent on him? That’s not me. “I don’t know what to do, Colin. I can’t be someone else. This is me. You knew what you were getting when you married me.” I throw my hands up in frustration.

“In six fucking months, Charlie, I’ve been ill, and had to beg to keep my starting position for the first game of the season in Monday Night Football. I puked on you for God’s sake. Broken my leg, in spectacular fashion. Had a season-ending surgery, had my dreams of winning a Super Bowl stripped from me, had my perfect season end, found out that I have a disease instead of an intolerance, and have a low sperm count. I’m not a man to you. I’m a fucking pussy. I’m worthless. You need someone who’s your equal.”

I laugh, because this is really funny. He looks at me, with crazy eyes. He’s as mad at me right now as he was when I cage danced with Rachael after the biggest win of his college career.

“Welcome to the first two years of our relationship, Colin! Welcome to every fucking insecurity that I have. Welcome to seeing you modeling underwear on the side of a building that is ten stories tall, while I was so thin that I had to shop in the junior girls’ department. Welcome to why I ran away to Harvard. Welcome to having women, who are more attractive than me, throwing themselves at you. Welcome to reading about who you’re fucking in the tabloids. Welcome to every fucking day of my life.”

I slam my hands down on the granite countertop. “Welcome to what it feels like living with someone who is on a pedestal that I can never reach.”

I see the lines around his face crease even deeper, and his eyes spark with anger. I walk over and stand across from him at the breakfast bar. In a more resigned voice, I say, “Look. That was harsh. Your leg will heal, and you’ll be the starting quarterback next year for Dallas. Who cares that you got sick? Everyone gets sick. You will get sick again at some point in your life because, contrary to popular belief, you are not a god.” His face turns in disgust.

“We will have a baby. We will be parents. It just might be a baby that grows in our hearts, instead of my stomach. But you’ve got to give us a chance. You can’t run away from me when the going gets tough.”

It takes every bit of strength that I have to walk over to him and take him in my arms. I’m so angry and hurt that I want to kill him, but above all else, he’s my heart. He’s hurting, and I can help him feel better.

Apparently, that’s the only invitation that he needs, because he pulls me to him and kisses my head repeatedly, whispering, “I’m so sorry. I’m so fucking sorry, I’m such a screw up.”

The house phone rings, letting us know that the town car is here. I hand the phone to Colin, and stare at him. It’s his call. He’s either walking out on me or not.

He takes the phone from my hand, and says into the receiver, “Thank you, but I’ve had a change of plans.” He never takes his eyes off me.

I hang the phone up, and turn to Colin. “I’m going to bed.”

He crutches behind me to our bedroom. I’m so emotionally wrung out that I don’t bother brushing my teeth before I crawl into bed. Colin pulls off his clothes, and slides in next to me. I lean over and turn out the light on my nightstand, blanketing the room in darkness.

“I love you, Charlie,” he whispers.

I let out a sigh. “I love you, too.”

He reaches over, and timidly begins stroking my stomach.

“Please, don’t touch me. I don’t want to have sex with you tonight.”

He rolls over on his side and looks at me. Even in the dark, I can see his pain filled eyes. “Why won’t you let me make love to you?”

“Because I’m angry, and disappointed in you. You destroyed our Christmas decorations, Colin. You tried to send me back to Houston. You wanted to leave me.” Then I ask the question that is nagging at me. “If I had let you leave, would you have drank, or taken more of the painkillers for your leg than you should?”

He’s very quiet for a long time. When he finally answers, he says, “No. I know that it would numb me for a little while, but then I would just feel worse later. The only thing that will make me feel better right now, you’re denying me.”

“What did you do before me when you got like this?” I ask, because it’s not like I can really ruin the mood any further at this point.

“Fuck Jenna,” he says as he rolls over—away from me.

He doesn’t say another word but I can tell from his breathing that he’s not asleep.

I assumed as much about Jenna, but it’s getting the confirmation that hurts so much. I don’t go to sleep immediately, either. I lie there, staring at the ceiling, watching the blades of the ceiling fan spin. This is real life. This is the backstory behind the fairytale.

All fairytales that I read as a child cut off at the wedding. No one hears about how the princess dealt with the prince leaving her every weekend to slay dragons. Or what happens when the wicked step-sisters waggle their perfect asses in his direction. Do the princess and prince have a baby? Who knows? That part of the fairytale is omitted. Does Prince Charming want to have sex with the princess to make his ego feel better?

I feel like a real bitch for not giving Colin what he needs. Probably, if I was a good wife, I would have submitted to him, and let him have sex with me however he needed to feel better about himself. But I just can’t bring myself to do it. I don’t want to feel used.

I hug myself, and roll over away from him. For the first time since we’ve gotten back together, I’m grateful for our large bed. I can claim my edge away from him.

I must fall asleep at some point in the middle of the night, because I’m awakened by sunlight peeking in the bedroom windows. I open my eyes and glance at the clock. It’s still early, and even though I feel like my insides have been pulled out and baked in the hot sun, I need to run.

Colin’s side of the bed is empty. I sit up and look around, seeing him sitting in the formerly red chair.

He turns when he hears me stirring. “Did you sleep?” he asks, in a solemn voice.

“Not much. You?” I know full well that he didn’t.

“No. I couldn’t bring myself to lie next to you when you didn’t want me.”

“I’m going for a run.” I slip out of bed and into the bathroom. I have no response to his statement.

“Wish I could join you.” He gives his leg a rueful stare, as I sit on the foot of the bed to put my shoes on.

“We’ve got a house full of people coming tomorrow for Christmas Eve. We need to decide what we’re going to do.” I leave the unspoken questions hanging in the air. Are we going to redecorate the house and pretend that all is well? Are you going to ask everyone not to come? Are we going to keep our infertility between us, or share our marriage issues with everyone?

“Okay. I have my appointment with the celiac specialist today. I’d like for you to go.” He reminds me without any expression in his voice or on his face. He’s in game day mode.

“It’s not like you can drive yourself,” I attempt to joke.

He returns a half-hearted smile. “I love you, Caroline.”

“And I love you, Colin.”

I start my run around the lab rat maze inside the gilded cage. My running mix today reflects my mood. They’re more somber songs. I start off with Hinder’s “Lips of an Angel.” I listen to it twice. Then, I go for some Pat Green. “Trying to Find It” is one of my favorites of his. I pretty much cry through the whole song, especially when he talks about finding a book for his child. I wind up having to wipe my nose on my running jacket. Not my best moment, but I can’t have snot freezing to my face. I decide to quit running when I choose Earl Thomas Conley’s “Holding Her and Loving You
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I walk the rest of the way home, thinking about Colin. I know that I’m not the most sensitive person. I should have been in tune to Colin, and realized he was this depressed. How could he not be? I shouldn’t have gone in to the hospital yesterday. There were other surgeons who could have covered for me. I should’ve stayed home with him, and comforted him.

I put myself in his shoes, and imagine if it was me who was keeping us from conceiving. I’d be devastated that I couldn’t give him what he wanted. I just can’t believe that he behaved the way that he did. That’s what hurts so much. That’s what I can’t seem to rationalize. He gave up on us. That guts me.

When I get home, Colin’s in the same place he was when I left him. I ask him if I can fix him some breakfast, and he declines. I can’t force him to eat. I fix myself a bowl of oatmeal and drink my coffee. It’s black, caffeinated, and strong, just like I like it.

I finish up and load the dishwasher. I leave the charred dish from last night for Alice, hoping she can clean it. Then, I change my mind and decide toss it in the garbage hoping to rid our house of the physical reminder of our massive fight.

Next, I stare at the bags that hold our Christmas decorations and pictures. I’m not sure what to do with them, so I haul them to the garage. I’ll come up with something after Colin’s appointment.

I walk back into the bedroom, without looking at Colin, and head to the shower. I try not to think, and just be for a little while. I actually manage to pull it off for about thirty seconds.

The rest of my getting dressed routine is going through the motions. I watch Colin crutch around the bathroom. We don’t speak to each other, other than a polite “excuse me” or “Can you hand me that?’”

Our drive to the doctor’s office isn’t much better. For one of the first times in our relationship, the radio is turned up loud enough to drown out the silence. It does a poor job. Neither one of us sing along to the songs we like. We’re zombie people, driving from point A, to point B.

I drop Colin off at the entrance to the building and find a parking spot. When I walk up he’s growling at someone who looks like they made the mistake of asking him for an autograph. I hurry and try to defuse the situation. “Sir, I’m sorry. This is a difficult appointment. Colin would like his privacy.”

When the guy is out of earshot, Colin says in a snide voice, “You know I can still speak for myself. Everything else might be broken, but my mouth is functioning just fine.”

I was just trying to help.
“I know. Just trying to soften the blow.”

We take the elevator up to the fifth floor, and I sign Colin in and take care of the insurance information while he sulks and plays on his phone.

Our appointment doesn’t go much better. The doctor is going to run some genetic tests on Colin. Those will hopefully give us the results without having to do a biopsy of his intestine. We’re going to go hardcore gluten free in our home, assuming that he is positive for celiac disease.

When we leave the doctor’s office, I ask Colin if he needs to go anywhere before I take him to practice.

He shakes his head, and asks me to take him to his office building instead. That works fine for me, because I need to go to the hospital and check on my patients.

I don’t get out of the car at his office. I pull up to the curb outside of the front door. He leans over and gives me a chaste kiss on the lips.

“I’m sorry, and I love you,” he says in a quiet, non-emotional voice. “I’m sorry for the things that I said, and for destroying Christmas. Please forgive me.”

I take a deep breath. “I forgive you for your temper tantrum, but I need some time to get over you quitting on us.” I look away, and watch a lonely leaf dancing in the wind mirroring my mood. “Just give me some time to get over it, okay?”