Olive Oil and White Bread (31 page)

They say the third time's the charm.

Such was the case for Jillian.

It was once again after hours. They were in her room, door shut and locked, blinds all closed tightly. Lindsey had wasted no time making her move, and Jillian found herself yet again seated on a desk with Lindsey standing snugly tucked between Jillian's knees. They were kissing deeply, but Jillian's thoughts were screaming so loudly in her head, she was surprised Lindsey couldn't hear them.

Stop it. Why are you doing this? Why do you continue to do this?

Jillian had no answer.

You don't even touch her. You have no desire to touch her. Does that mean nothing to you?

Again, no answer was forthcoming, but Jillian's attention was caught this time. It was true. This was the third time in as many weeks that Jillian had caved in to Lindsey's physical persuasion, but it was the first time it occurred to her how alarmingly one-sided things were.

As Lindsey's deft fingers slipped beneath the hem of Jillian's shirt
and touched the bare skin of her belly, Jillian wrenched their mouths apart.

“Wait,” she said, her breath ragged.

Lindsey was persistent, moving from Jillian's mouth to the side of her neck. “Wait for what?” she murmured.

Jillian craned her neck away and pushed gently at Lindsey's shoulders. “Just wait. Stop.”

Lindsey pulled back, her hands gripping Jillian's waist, and blinked a few times to clear the haze of arousal from her eyes. She looked expectantly at Jillian.

“Lindsey,” Jillian began, then paused to clear her throat and swallow. “This isn't right.”

Lindsey scoffed. “No kidding. If you'd just come home with me, we could do it in an actual bed.”

“No. No, that's not what I mean.” She held Lindsey's gaze, knew exactly when Lindsey got what she was saying.

“But . . .” Lindsey looked down, the first sign of emotion Jillian had seen from her passing across her face. “We're good together.”

Jillian took a deep breath. “You are amazing,” she said, and she meant it. “And I am . . . so flattered that you feel the way you do.”

“Flattered, huh?” Lindsey grimaced. “That's rarely a word you want to hear from the woman you've been making love to.”

“I love Angie,” Jillian said quietly, and for the first time in months, realized it was the absolute truth. “I love Angie, and I can't keep doing this.”

“How would she feel if she found out?” Lindsey said sharply, challenging her.

But Jillian knew the threat was halfhearted. She looked at her until Lindsey's expression turned to one of guilt, and she looked away.

“I'm not going to tell her,” Lindsey said grudgingly.

“I know. I'm going to.”

Lindsey's gaze snapped back to her. “You are?”

“I have to. It's killing me. I can't sleep. I can't eat. I've lost weight—which isn't necessarily a bad thing—but she's been looking at me with concern, and it just crushes me. She knows something's wrong, but I think she's afraid to talk to me. So it's up to me.”

“Jesus.”

“Yeah, tell me about it.”

They were quiet for a long moment. Jillian looked up at Lindsey, tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “You're pretty wonderful, you know that?”

“Not wonderful enough, though.”

Jillian smiled sadly. “You'll be okay.”

Lindsey nodded. “I will. I hope this works out the way you want.”

Jillian swallowed hard. “So do I.”

“Can we talk?”

That's how it started. Angie actually looked relieved, which was ridiculous, since it wasn't a question that was usually followed by good news. But she sat down at the kitchen table across from Jillian, who'd already begun to crinkle a napkin in her hand.

They sat quietly as Jillian tried to think of the right way to begin.

“Are you leaving me?” Angie asked softly.

Jillian's eyes snapped up. “What? No. No, of course not. But . . .”

“But?” Angie's eyebrows raised and her brown eyes widened slightly as her face creased with worry.

“I . . . did something.” Jillian tried to swallow, but it didn't seem to help. Her stomach was churning, and she realized with horror that throwing up was a distinct possibility.

Angie shook her head, confused. “You did something. What does that mean?”

“I . . . did something. Something stupid.”

Angie continued to stare, but the tinge of dread was there in her eyes.

“I made a mistake.”
God, just say it, Jillian
, her head screamed. But her tongue continued to stumble over words that weren't saying what needed to be said.

“What kind of mistake?” Angie's voice was just above a whisper, and Jillian was suddenly clear on the old adage:
The wife always knows
. Angie knew what she was going to say, but was waiting for her to say it. Jillian's fingers worked of their own accord, shredding
the napkin to tiny little bits of paper, even as her voice box decided to stop working.

“Are you having an affair?” Angie asked quietly.

Jillian had no idea five simple words could hold so much pain. She looked up, wished she hadn't when she saw the anguish on Angie's face.

“No.” Adamantly, she shook her head. “No. It's over.”

“So, you
did
have an affair.”

Did three times constitute an affair? She asked herself the question mentally before closing her eyes at the absurdity of it. Yes. Any extramarital sex constituted an affair. She nodded her head slowly.

“With who?” Angie's voice had gone steely. The anger was setting in. Why shouldn't it?

Jillian was hesitant to answer, though she didn't know why. Turned out, she didn't have to.

“It's that gym teacher, isn't it? The one you spend so much time with? God, I'm so stupid. How did I not see that coming?”

Jillian gnawed on the inside of her cheek, no idea what to say. Angie's beautiful face had flushed red, and her hands were shaking. But it was the tears in her eyes that made Jillian's heart twist. “I'm so sorry,” she said, her voice a strangled whisper.

“How long? How long has it been going on?”

Jillian shook her head. “Not long. A couple weeks. And it's over.”

“Oh, good.” The sarcasm was thick and heavy. “I'm so glad you spread your legs for somebody else for not very long and now it's over.”

“Angie—”

Angie held up her hand, cutting Jillian off as she looked away. The tears spilled down her cheeks. When she looked back, the pain etched across her face was almost too much for Jillian to bear. Angie asked simply, “Why?”

Jillian's eyes welled too as she looked away. Her throat closed, making words next to impossible.

“Why, Jillian? I don't understand.”

There wasn't a good way to explain it. Jillian could barely explain it to herself. How was she supposed to make Angie see what she'd been feeling for months now, years even?

“God damn it, I deserve an explanation, don't I?” Angie slapped the table, making Jillian jump.

A tear cleared Jillian's bottom eyelid and left a wet trail down her face.

“Don't I give you enough?” Angie stood suddenly and started pacing in the small room. “Haven't I given you everything I can? Haven't I? I work my ass off, Jill. For you. For us. I work constantly.”

“That's not fair.”

“What's not fair?”

“You throwing your work in my face. I have a job, too, you know. I work hard too, just like you.” This was not the direction the conversation should be taking, and Jillian knew it, but she couldn't stop.

“Do you think I want to not be here for you? Do you think I
like
working eighty hours a week?”

“I don't know, Angie. Don't you? You're not responsible for supporting me, but you act like you are, like I'm some kept housewife who needs your paycheck to survive. That's your view, not mine. I don't need you to take care of me. This is supposed to be a partnership.”

“I'm not the one fucking somebody else!”

Jillian flinched at the crude words. “It just happened.” She wanted to put all the blame on Lindsey, but knew she couldn't, that she'd be lying.

“Well, that makes me feel so much better.”

“I didn't mean for it to. I swear. It just happened.”

“How? How does that ‘just happen'?” Angie sneered, her anger ratcheting up, her eyes narrowing. “Did you trip and fall into her vagina? Did you walk into her by mistake and your tongue just happened to slip into her mouth? How does something like that ‘just happen'?”

There was no explaining. She knew it. Angie was too angry—rightfully so—and Jillian didn't know what to say.

“It ‘just happened.' Please. Give me a break. That line is such a load of bullshit.” Angie was still doing a weird form of pacing while she muttered in disgust. “I can't believe this. I can't believe you'd be so reckless.” She stopped moving then and threw her hands up. “Christ, I can't believe you're that easy.”

Jillian's head snapped up then. Angie had a right to be angry, she knew. But insulting?

“And she's practically a kid. Isn't she, like, ten years younger than you? Were you sucked in by that? Her youth? What was it?”

Jillian rubbed at her forehead.

“Was it her hot little bod? Was that it? Couldn't resist the gym teacher? Were you playing out some old schoolgirl fantasy?”

Jillian clenched her jaw.

“I don't get it, Jillian. Seriously. I don't get it. What did she do for you?”

Jillian snapped. “She
noticed
me, Angie! She
noticed
me. She
wanted
me. She
really wanted
me, and she let me know it.
When was the last time you did?
”

Angie stood perfectly still.

Jillian closed her eyes, knowing a line had been crossed. A truthful one, but a line just the same. When she opened her eyes again, Angie was gone from the room. She could hear her stomp up the stairs, drawers slamming in the bedroom. More stomping around, and then Angie was down the stairs and out the door before Jillian could even bring herself to stand up. Instead, she stayed sitting, and sobbed like she'd just lost her best friend.

Because she was pretty sure she had.

Twenty-Nine

Angie could feel her mother's eyes on her as she pushed her eggs around her plate with a fork. She'd been sleeping in her parents' guest room for three nights—though she'd gotten very little sleep. Giving no explanation, she had showed up on their doorstep and asked if she could stay for a while. Of course they said yes and, god love them, they didn't pry. They knew Angie would come to them when she was ready, as she'd done since she was a child.

“You know,” her mother said over the rim of her coffee cup, “just because you're pushing your food around, that doesn't mean I don't notice that you're eating none of it. I'm a mom. Nothing escapes my attention.”