KITTY
MARRIED LIFE HASN’T hit me yet. I guess I hoped it would be a huge deal. Not our wedding day, our marriage itself. But everything’s just the same. Nothings different except that we both wear a ring on our left hand and my name has somehow changed to Kitty Wiener. Seriously, I couldn’t at least keep Casey? No, Jordan had to go and make up some story and call me Kitty in front of everyone and somehow it stuck. It wasn’t good enough that I was changing one name for him, I had to change two. He changed none. That about summed up our entire relationship.
Our honeymoon has been hell. Today is the last day and I’m ready to go home; back to Jordan’s – our – apartment. I wonder if he’ll call it ours now that we’re married, or if everything is still his. Like I said, married life hasn’t changed much of anything about our day to day life. In the movies and in books, characters marriages are always portrayed as a moment that changes everything for the better. The couple rides off into a beautiful sunset, alluding to the fact that the rest of their lives will be filled with happiness and joy- and no hardships, ever. Our wedding didn’t feel remotely that way. Instead, I felt like we were riding in a speeding car to a future full of angry fighting. I knew what was hiding behind Jordan’s phony smile. And in my heart I knew he must have the same reservations as I have. But we’d both gone through with it. We’d both said I do, for better or for worse. And now here we are, on day five of our honeymoon. We didn’t go far. We’re staying at a cabin at Houston Woods, in southern Ohio. Jordan’s parents paid for it- our wedding gift. There’s a lake with a small beach that’s littered with children of various ages. Further out, the lake is full of pontoon boats, speed boats, tubes and water skiers. We don’t have a boat and we haven’t been to the beach all week. Mostly we’ve stayed in and it’s not for the reason you think. Jordan brought his computer and has been working off and on. I’ve been reading and sleeping. We haven’t watched any movies together or taken any long strolls, unless you count the one I took by myself at midnight last night. If you want to hear a list of what we’ve done together on our honeymoon, I can’t give you one, because it doesn’t exist.
At the wedding, when Trish and Eddie came to say good bye for the evening, Trish hugged me tight and told me that she was around if I needed to call and talk, any time. But I haven’t called her. I probably never will. I can only imagine her disappointment in me. I told her how I really felt. I asked her for help. And then I completely ignored it all. I pretended as if I never said the words. I went through with it, pretending to be happy, to be crazy in love and she knew it. Trish and I were never that close anyway; only for a brief moment before the wedding. Only when I had cold feet. And now, well, that was over and I assumed our pseudo friendship was too. Trish had a life of true love and passion to live. I had given myself a life that earned my dad’s approval and nothing more. I had chosen a life for myself that consisted of stability. I was comfortably uncomfortable and I knew it. Trish knew it. But I had to make that feeling go away. I had to find a way to be okay with it all. After all, I chose it. I did this. I created this life for myself. And now it was time to live it.
It’s true that I’m somebody’s something. I can shout it to the world that I’m a wife and as I do, I feel I instantly belong to the biggest clique there is. I fit in. I’m no longer a pariah in the world. I’ve joined a club. My mom and dad are proud. Jordan’s parents are proud. But it’s all at the cost of my own happiness and from the looks of it, Jordan’s too.
Is it my duty as a wife to pull my new husband away from his computer, away from his work, to look at me? Am I obligated to tear off my clothes and throw myself at him? And if so, why am I the one who’s obligated to try and make this work? Why not him? After all, it takes two to tango. It’s our last night in this damp dark cabin and I’m willing to bet we’ve said less than a thousand words to each other the whole time we’ve been here. What a way to start a marriage! I’m sitting on the bed, a pillow propped behind my back. The television is on low as I hold my book in front of my face pretending to read. Instead, I am peaking above the words. Watching him work. Watching him ignore me. Watching him wish I wasn’t here. And I can’t say I blame him. I wish I wasn’t here either. This isn’t how it’s supposed to be and we both know it. It’s just that neither of us is brave enough to say it out loud.
Jordan’s biting on the end of his pen, a bad habit he has. I want to ask him if he’s happy. I want to talk to him. Just talk. Not fight. Not yell. Not accuse each other of anything. I just wish we could have an honest talk. I just want to ask him if he’s glad we’re married. I want to ask him if he thinks we made a mistake. Should I? Can it really make things any worse than this?
I flip down the top corner of the page I am on in my book and close it, setting it on my lap. I keep my eyes on Jordan as he works, still gnawing at his pen. I open my mouth to speak and watch as blue ink spurts across Jordan’s concentrated face. “Dammit!” he screams and stands to toss his leaking pen across the room. He lets out a scream that sounds more like he is being gutted. This is not about the ink on his face. This is about us. It’s about what has silenced us both, choking our throats and filling us with the poison of resentment.
“Jordan” I say quietly, not wanting to further upset him. I stay seated, my book still neatly pressing against my bare legs. I want to laugh at the absurdity of it all. I wish we could both laugh at ourselves, at our unhappiness. Maybe then we could figure it all out. But instead Jordan is pissed and I’m frozen.
“Stupid pen!” He screams again, slapping the palm of his hand against the wall beside him. He runs his hands through his short hair and begins heading toward the door.
I stand. “Jordan. We need to talk.” I’m not sure he hears me and so I say it again. “We need to talk, please wait.” My voice is softer than I expect it to be. I smell the scent of Cool Water as I follow his trail and meet him at the door, before he opens it. His hand is on the knob and I place mine on top of his.
“Do you-“ my eyes fill with tears. I’d convinced myself I was fine with the week of silence, fine with being ignored. Fine with how things were. But I’m not. I draw in a deep breath and begin again. “Are you glad we’re married?” There. I said it. It’s out there. I can’t take it back now. I press my right hand to my stomach, thinking about the baby that is growing inside. Now is not the time to tell him. Maybe after we get back home and things have settled down.
I’m met with silence. He averts his eyes from mine. I stare down at my hand, on top of his, resting on the door knob. We need to talk about this. We have to.
“Jordan…” My voice trails as I choke back tears. We should have talked about this before the wedding, not after. But here we are.
And then I get an answer. “What the hell do you want me to say Kitty? Seriously!” He swipes his hand from beneath mine and punches the heavy door.
I take a step back. I want to tell him to stop calling me Kitty. My name is Casey. But now is not the time. I can’t make him angrier than he already is. I have to say something, I know this. “I want you to say what you feel. I want you to say…” I pause, pushing a stray hair away from my forehead. I move my eyes to try and meet his, but Jordan’s eyes are racing from side to side, he’s ready to hit something else and I hope it’s not going to be me this time. His eyes are full of rage. “Jordan, I want you to say what you really think. Are you glad we’re married? Because spending five days locked away in a honeymoon cabin this way sure doesn’t feel like it. I’m not accusing you of anything. I’m just putting it out there. I just want to talk. Can we do that, please?” I am careful to keep my voice at an even tone and I motion for him to follow me to the bed. I sit on the edge of it and wait for him to follow. He does.
After what feels like an eternity of silence, Jordan speaks. “I know you don’t love me anymore.” This time he finds my eyes and we hold each other’s gaze in a stare-off. I win. He looks away before I do. Yet he’s still daring me with his words to tell him he’s wrong. Only, he isn’t wrong. He’s dead right.
“And do you love me? Are you still in love with me? Because if you are, it doesn’t feel like it Jordan.” My voice is quiet and calm. I place my hands behind me, releasing the pressure from my back.
“Does it matter?” He fights back as I watch him pretend to fiddle with the laces on his shoes.
“Well,” I remind myself to stay cool. I’m not trying to provoke a fight. It’s just a discussion and it needs to stay that way. I can hear crickets chirping outside of the cabin walls. The light from outside of the windows has disappeared. Only the glow of the television set allows us to keep seeing each other. “I’d like to think that marriage matters. That our marriage matters. It just doesn’t feel like it does. And Jordan, I don’t know what to do. What do we do?” I’m asking him as if I’m a helpless toddler. I am not. But I don’t know what else to do. I feel stuck. We’re stuck. And we have to figure out something. I know there’s no magic potion that’s going to make us fall madly in love. I know the best we can hope for is an amicable friendship that we’re agreeing to call marriage.
He’s shaking his head and then he places his elbows on his knees as he slumps forward. I’m sitting on the opposite edge of the bed. You could fit two adults between us. I’m biting my lip so hard that I begin to taste droplets of blood. If only the wedding photographer were here now. If only our friends and family- our invited wedding guests- could see us. We’re the picture of misery and we’ve been married a total of five days. Neither of us has an answer because there isn’t one.
“We could get an annulment…” I whisper a while later, still biting my bottom lip.
Like me, he doesn’t move. Jordan stays slumped forward on the opposite end of the bed. His head is still buried in his hands. “We will not.” I know he says this not for himself, but for the embarrassment he would face from his parents, his friends and co-workers. He will not be humiliated. He would rather be miserable. And as if on cue, his cell phone rings, sending my heart into a fury. It’s his mother, the one and only human Barb E. Dahl. I lean my neck from side to side and then look up at the ceiling, staring at the fan above us. I’m pretending that it is interesting, but it is anything but. Just like I’m pretending this marriage can work, because Jordan says it has to. After a few minutes I lean back on the bed, still watching the ceiling fan. That’s when I tune in to Jordan’s voice. Up until now his phone conversation has been merely a series of muffled words. But now I’m listening. Now I hear his words. “We’re having the time of our lives.” He says the words like he means them. And then I realize, this is what we’ve both chosen. This is the time of our lives and we’ll never get it back.