Is This What I Want? (12 page)

“And you think our sex life is so good because you fucked me hard in the bathroom on the plane? I only liked it because I’m used to being treated like shit by men. That’s all I ever knew before you. You seemed like my prince charming at first. But you’re just like the rest, aren’t you? I’m supposed to be so grateful that you let me teach you how to kiss better… that I let you do anything to me anywhere? I thought I had a dark side. But you really have a dark side. You let a slut from work suck your dick and then you went down on her in a closet. And you kept it from me for seven years. Who are you? What’s in there?” She stabbed her finger into my chest over and over and I wondered how I’d explain the bruise to Sam if he saw it.

I considered walking away and leaving her there. My heart was racing. I couldn’t hear any more of this. Everyone was staring at us.

There were so many things I wanted to say. Responses that would put the blame on her for the ugly things she accused me of, and reminders of all her maddening imperfections and how difficult they made my life. She deserved it, but I held back.

I felt bad about leaving Jenny and Lindsay, but they were grown women and they would have to fend for themselves. I overpowered Beth and pulled her out into the front lobby as she kicked and screamed.

Mike stood in front of us as I tried to drag her out to the street.

“Hey, what’s going on here? You can’t treat her like that.”

“I’m her husband. She’s drunk and belligerent. We’re leaving.”

Mike looked at Beth who was sobbing now.

“Do you want to go with him? Are you safe with him?”

She nodded and wailed.

In the taxi, she slumped over on my lap and passed out. I had to carry her to our room. After tucking her into the bed, I lay awake on the couch for the rest of the night, reliving everything. Not just that evening, but our whole marriage, the history of our relationship. How everything started. All the things that had gone wrong. All the years we neglected each other. The issues I brought into the relationship because of my parents’ unhappy marriage, the issues she brought because of the way her parents were. It was clear that we both had a lot of work to do on ourselves. My need to keep my family together at all costs suddenly seemed more like a coping mechanism for the pain of my childhood rather than my belief in our true love.

Everything felt different. I didn’t want it to, but it couldn’t be helped.

When she was reasonably recovered the next day or evening, I’d find a way to tell her what I decided.

MY HEAD WAS POUNDING
and the sunlight streaming through a crack in the layers of hotel drapes assaulted my eyes. I raced to the bathroom and made it just in time. Tears streamed down my cheeks as my angry stomach unloaded its fermented contents. Swaying back and forth with my hands clutching the toilet seat, I waited for the next round. The time in between was its own form of misery. The gurgling, the gagging, the excessive saliva. This had to be the worst I had let myself get in over a decade. The last time was the night with Dave, but it wasn’t nearly this bad.

When it seemed there couldn’t be anything left, I struggled to stand up and look in the mirror. What I saw was not pretty. My eyes were so bloodshot you could only see specks of white. The black circles under them made me look like I had been in a fight. My hair, though, was still straight as a pin, making my swollen face look even bigger.

Rick was gone. I figured he must be playing poker. I crawled back into bed and started to shiver. The last thing I remembered from the night before was drinking in a gay bar right before we were going to go to The Purple Room with those girls we met. Did we go? What happened? I knew it would come back in bits and pieces and I prayed it wouldn’t be as bad as I feared.

I wanted Rick to come back soon to help me remember what happened. Then I worried that maybe he was mad. I went back to when we were much younger and a couple of times I drank too much and blacked out and picked fights with him. The next day he would tell me the horrible things I said, and I always apologized and begged for his forgiveness. There was often a seed of truth in what I had said, even though I couldn’t remember saying it, but I always assured him I didn’t mean any of it.

The alarm clock on the little nightstand next to the bed read 10:24 am. I looked around the room and took it all in, which I hadn’t done when we dumped our things and ran right out to the casino upon our arrival the night before. There was a generous sitting area with soft red cushioned round back chairs and a dark wood table with a bottle of champagne and two glasses sitting on it—complimentary, since we were celebrating our anniversary. A backlit extra-wide flat screen TV sat atop a dresser with ornate knobs. I noted that the bed was much larger than the one I slept in at home as I rolled on my side and pulled the soft, white comforter up to my nose. This luxurious place was meant to serve as our nest for a romantic getaway. What would it be now? I had no idea.

The door opened and Rick walked in and sat down on a chair. The look on his face was not one I recognized. He seemed serious and a little upset, but also resigned and detached. My stomach turned and my chest felt tight.

“I… I don’t remember. I’m sorry.”

“I know. I knew you wouldn’t at first.”

He looked fresh and clean in a pair of dark blue shorts, a soft, light blue tee shirt, and a Dodgers baseball cap.

“How bad was it?” I asked, not sure I wanted to know.

“Pretty bad,” he said, with not a touch of sympathy.

I had to know and didn’t want to know in equal measure.

Dragging my body up into a sitting position, I waited for him to say something.

“How do you feel?” The question seemed to come more from a sense of duty than concern.

“Horrible. I’m never drinking again. I mean it this time.” He rolled his eyes.

There was a long silence. I leaned my head back against the pillow, trying to think of something to say or ask but instead I must have fallen asleep.

When I woke, Rick was gone again and the clock said 2:48 pm. I couldn’t believe I slept that long.

I stood up and felt dizzy. I knew I needed to eat something and hoped my stomach could handle it.

There was a loaf of soft French bread and a large bottle of water sitting on the table that hadn’t been there before. Even when I didn’t deserve it, Rick always took care of me. I smiled.

As I took slow bites of bread and sips of water, my mind started to clear a little. I gasped and covered my mouth, dropping a piece of bread as something came back to me. I was dancing naked on a stage. My body shuddered and I climbed under the blankets, this time covering my head as if I might be sheltered from the images inside it. After a while, it felt safe to come out.

I stood up and walked to our eighteenth floor window, opened the curtains and looked down at the view of tiny families in the pool. “No, no, no. It can’t be. It must have been a dream. I would never.”

But I knew it was real. It was a memory. Hyperventilating, I sucked in deep breaths to calm myself. The words “we’re so different” and “we’re not a good match” came to me. They were thoughts I had in the past. Even possibilities I shared with Carly. But I never wanted to say them to Rick.
I couldn’t have
, I thought. He wouldn’t understand. He would think I was certain about them, when really they were just fears or doubts. Everyone had those in a marriage, didn’t they?

I looked over at his tidy black carry-on sized suitcase and noticed that all his things were packed up. Maybe he just never unpacked, I told myself. But the clothes he had been wearing the day before were neatly folded on one side with the unworn, clean clothes on the other. His bag of toiletries was in the zipper section too, which didn’t make sense since he had clearly used it and we were staying another night. Why wouldn’t he just leave it in the bathroom?

The next day would be our ten-year wedding anniversary. He couldn’t be planning to leave Vegas early. Nothing so unforgiveable happened, had it?

I moved away from the window and sat up in the bed as I called his cell phone.

“Oh good, you’re up. I’ll be right there.” He didn’t let me say a single word.

I brushed my teeth, washed my face, and tried to make myself look presentable with a little makeup. Slipping out of the green dress I still wore, I noticed bruises all over my legs. It wasn’t difficult to deduce that they must have been the result of falls and run-ins with objects that stood in the way during my drunken stupor. Embarrassment, shame and foreboding made me want to jump out the window. Maybe that was one of the reasons it couldn’t be opened.

I rifled through my suitcase to find a basic light purple tee shirt and white shorts and put them on as quickly as I could. Sliding my feet into a pair of white flip-flops, I saw that the bright pink polish on several toenails was chipped and wished I had brought some type of closed-toed shoes.

I was about to check my face again to see what could be done, when I heard Rick come in.

He appeared relieved when he saw me.

“You’re looking a lot better.” It seemed to be what he wanted, so I went with it.

“Yes, I am. Much better. Where have you been?”

He hesitated.

“Walking around. Thinking.”

I kicked off my flip-flops and sat on the edge of the bed. He sat next to me. The smell of his Old Spice deodorant made me want to curl up in his arms.

His eyes were sorrowful and I felt a heartsick energy coming from him.

“Rick, I didn’t mean the things I said. I swear. I don’t even remember most of it. But what I do remember… I was just… I drank so much. I blacked out. You have to believe me. I’m so sorry.”

He stood up and walked over to the table. Then he sat and started mindlessly twirling a champagne glass around.

“Rick?” I knew I didn’t want to hear whatever he had to say but I couldn’t stand waiting another minute.

He came back to the bed and sat closer to me. It provided no comfort. He took my hand in his and this only made things worse.

He let one of my hands fall to my thigh as he caressed the other.

“I love you, Beth.”

“But?”

He nodded, not denying that there was a “but”.

“I need a break. I think we both do.” He said it in such a stoic tone. I couldn’t breathe. I placed my hand on my chest and pressed down with force.

“What does that mean?”

His beautiful blue eyes were filled with regret and resolve.

“You know what it means. We talked about it as one of the options when we first started going to Carly.”

“You’re not saying separation, are you?” Shock set in and I started to shake all over.

“I am.” He studied the painting of a white vase filled with orange daisies above the bed.

“But things have gotten better. What about the plane? That was just yesterday.”

“Last night you said you didn’t like it. You seemed to like it just fine at the time, but then you said that was because you’re used to men treating you like shit. You said I’m the same as all the rest.”

I slammed my head back against the headboard hard and it made a loud bang. I wanted to hurt myself worse but the mild ache helped a little.

“Beth! Don’t do things like that. You scare me.”

“I’m an idiot. I said that because I’m confused. It’s my fault, not yours. I think I’m more messed up than I ever realized because of things that happened when I was younger. Inappropriate sexual stuff. Sleeping with guys who were just using me, thinking they actually cared. I’m too sensitive. I want the adventure and the passion, but I can’t handle it when I get it. I’m too fragile deep down. I have to heal myself. And my parents… you know the things I saw and heard while I was growing up. I started watching their porn videos when I was eleven. I mean, it’s not like they knew, but can you imagine how that shaped my distorted sense of intimacy? Please, try to understand. It’s all so complicated.”

He rubbed his eyes and cleared his throat.

“I know all that, Beth. It’s a lot to deal with. And I’m realizing that I didn’t have very good role models for a healthy relationship while I was growing up either. That’s why I think we need some time apart to work on ourselves and see how we really feel about each other after some time has passed.”

I cried, not because I thought it would change his mind, but because it seemed nothing would. What he was saying made sense too, when I let it sink in. He was being the mature one, as always.

Still, I couldn’t stop myself from pulling out the one card that carried a shred of hope.

“But,” I sniffled, “the kids, Rick, what about the kids?”

“Don’t you think I’ve been suffering over that thought since I made this decision last night?”

Oh God, he decided this last night, I thought. He had all night and all day to talk himself out of any misgivings.

“I’ve planned it all out, exactly what we’ll tell them. We’ll do it together. We’ll promise to make it as easy on them as possible. We’ll always be civil and never, ever say a single negative thing to them about each other, right?”

It began to feel like an out of body experience. I was watching a movie. This couldn’t be my life. Yes, it happened all the time. But it was not supposed to happen to me. Even when I was wrapped up in the Dave mess, I couldn’t fathom this.

“But, Rick, I still love you.”

“I still love you too. But that might not be enough. We need time apart. I’m sure of it. I’m not being selfish. You have a lot to work through. I know you still have feelings for Dave. I can tell by the way you’d talk about him in therapy – how different he is from me, how sensitive and affectionate he is. Maybe that’s what you really want and you were too young to know it when we got married. No matter how much you drank when you said that last night, I know there’s truth in it or you wouldn’t have said it at all. Now you won’t have me to hold you back from what you really want. Now you won’t have to report to me every Tuesday night after class like I’m your parole officer.”

But I need you to hold me back
, I wanted to say.
I don’t trust myself. I only survived the last couple of classes with Dave because you held me accountable for telling you everything about what transpired, every word we spoke to each other, innocuous as it all was
. I couldn’t say these things but it didn’t matter. He knew.

“Maybe it’s time for you to give it a go with him. Maybe if you don’t, you’ll always wonder, ‘What if…?’ I’m ready to let go of my control here. It’s not working anyway. Who knows? Maybe you need to be single again for a while. To do it right this time, with more confidence, knowing who you really are and what you want. I never knew you were interested in being with another woman. But it’s normal, lots of people want to try that sort of thing.”

It hadn’t come back to me until he said it.

I covered my entire face with my hands and drew my knees up into my chest.

“It’s okay, Beth. No judgment anymore. I’m always so hard on you about things. I know that. You need some space now. So do I. We’ll figure this all out, one way or another.”

Closing my eyes, I let it sink in. I tried to picture it. I couldn’t. So many questions flooded my mind. I knew most didn’t have answers yet, but some he had surely thought through.

I opened my eyes back up with a start and looked right into his face.

“Who has to go?” I prayed it wasn’t me.
Please, God, please
.

“I’m going,” he said right away. “I’ll stay with my mother for a while.”

This only raised endless additional questions. I opened my mouth but he went on.

“I’ll still leave work early on most of the afternoons you teach and spend that time with the kids at our… at the house. But maybe your mom or my mom could do it sometimes instead, when I’m swamped with work. The rest of the week will be the same as usual, with you taking them to school and picking them up. I just won’t be there. And if you’re okay with it, I’d like to have them stay with me at my mom’s on the weekends, for the whole weekend. It seems fair since you’ll be with them most of the week while I’m at work.”

I held up my hands to make him stop. It was all I could take in at once. Staring at the clouds out the window, I was surprised to find myself considering the upside. Weekends all to myself. What would I do? Would I do bad things? Why did I immediately go to the possibility that I would do bad things? Despite my flaws and new discoveries about issues I needed to work through, I was not a bad person. I could read more. I could lay in bed alone and write in my journal. I could spend more time with friends, more time with my parents. I could enjoy peace and quiet. I could be alone. I could be alone with just me.