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Since our disastrous date night, Will has been giving me the silent treatment. I come home and go straight into the bedroom to read while he stays in the living room with the TV. I wasn’t even mad about anything because I’m used to getting blamed. He was the one holding a grudge, but if he wouldn’t speak then neither would I. He finally got over it, and only a few conversations later, we are already embroiled in another battle.
I’m a candy junky and usually have lifesavers in my purse at all times but had just ran out, so I asked Will to pick up a pack for me while he was out doing errands.
“Here.” He tosses me a six-pack of pineapple flavor.
“What’s this? I asked for Cherry. Red.”
“Oh, sorry,” he says. “That’s the first thing I saw.”
I sigh and pull out my wallet to pay him back. I hardly ever ask him to do anything for me, but the one time I do he can’t even be bothered to take the time to get it right. They always have Cherry at that Walgreen’s. I shouldn’t say anything, but I can’t help myself.
“I don’t like Pineapple. That’s the one flavor I don’t even like,” I say, quietly thrusting a crumpled bill into his hand.
“I said sorry. What more do you want? It’s not a big deal.”
Arguing with him is always a lose-lose situation, I learned that a long time ago, but the frustration of living with someone who has a perpetual chip on his shoulder gets the best of me. I’m tired of walking on eggshells, so I pounce on them instead.
“Nothing is ever a big deal to you until it’s me screwing up. Oh, then it’s a big deal. It’s always a big deal when I make a mistake and you don’t hesitate to let me know it. But if I have any problem with anything you do, then I’m just supposed to shut up and act like it never happened.”
“What’s your problem? It’s just candy.”
“It’s not about the candy!” I cry out. “I couldn’t care less about some stupid cherry lifesavers. It’s about us, and what’s happened to us.”
My whole body trembles. I can barely get the words out, but I’ve kept this bottled up for far too long.
“You hate me! Why do you hate me so much?”
“Lex, I don’t hate you.”
“Then why are you so angry at me all the time? Why are you so cold? I don’t know what you want,” I say, weakly raising my hands palms out in surrender. I run into the bedroom, almost tripping over the shoes he left in the middle of the hallway, and dive onto the bed in a fit of agitation.
He follows. In a steely voice, he says, “You mope around in sweats and a t-shirt. What is it that you want from me?”
His words sting, but I don’t have a comeback for that one. He’s right.
He sits on the edge of the bed next to me and in the dim light from our bedroom lamp, I can see his pursed lips and tightly clenched fists. He tosses the money I gave him on the bed.
“You may think you’ve got it all figured out, with your excel spreadsheets telling me how to get out of debt, but that doesn’t make you any smarter or wiser than me. I can’t buy dinner. I can’t even buy you a pack of lifesavers without you trying to give me money.”
“I’m tired of struggling,” I say quietly.
He fires back, “We only struggle because of you. It’s always about you. You have a great job, but if you hate it so much why won’t you quit? We could’ve been gone, but you don’t want to leave your precious California. You can’t move to Anderson.”
Spit flies from his mouth.
“I tried to marry you, but you called it off. I tried to go to a good school, but you wouldn’t let me. I work extra shifts on the weekend. I’ve done everything I can to make things okay, but nothing’s ever good enough.”
I reach tentatively for his hand, but it remains clenched at his side. The light from the overhead lamp catches the engagement ring on my finger dangling in the space between us. When he gave me this ring, I was so dazzled by the half carat diamond in a gold setting. But when I looked closely, I actually saw three black spots embedded in the stone. The jeweler told me they are flaws in the diamond, making it the most perfect representation of our relationship. Flawed. I withdraw my hand.
The room goes silent except for the sound of his heavy breathing and the wracking sound of my jagged breath going in and out of my lungs. We stare at each other for a split second longer than I can handle. I turn away.
He stalks towards the door punching the wall just to the right of the door frame on his way out. His keys jingle. The door slams shut behind him, shaking our whole apartment, while I sit there with a lump in my throat big enough to make my whole body ache.
“Damn lifesavers,” I say to myself, unraveling the wrapper a little more to release one. Grasping the tiny red circle between my fingertips, I hold it millimeters from my eye, peeking through the hole like a telescope before popping it into my mouth.
“So, when are you coming?” I’ve just pulled up to Belle’s Bridal, but rather than go in right away, I returned Jamie’s phone call.
“I’ll be there for five days next month. Tony’s picking me up, and I’m going to stay with him for most of it, but I’m gonna see my mom too.”
“I can’t wait,” I say before hanging up.
With a sigh, my attention turns to the display window and the twin headless mannequins draped in white. I’d rather run for three hours on a treadmill in a non-air conditioned, overpriced gym than look at bridal gowns right now. I’m meeting Sarah, family, and friends at the very same bridal salon where I fantasized about finding the perfect wedding gown for myself. Realistically, I know I’ll end up at Budget Bridal where I can find more affordably priced dresses, but it’s nice to dream about being pampered and catered to at Belle’s Bridal.
As a guest of the bride, an attendant ushers me over to a private viewing area and hands me a glass of champagne. I help myself to a plate of cheese and fruit and sit down on the richly colored, red velvet sofa next to one of Sarah’s friends and attempt to morph from Debbie Downer to excited, supportive friend.
Sarah emerges from the fitting room in a gorgeous A-line princess dress that complements her curvy figure, taming her generous cleavage with a sweetheart neckline. When she gives me a hug, I strain my eyes to see the number on the $7,000 price tag dangling from the dress.
“I’m so glad you made it.”
“I wouldn’t miss it,” I say, infusing my voice with false cheer. I’ve done my best to put a lid on my misery and partake in her daily wedding banter, but I’m having a difficult time feeling bad for her because her florist can’t get the tulips in the perfect shade of pink when my engagement is blowing up in a miserable cloud of smoke. When do I get to plan my dream wedding?
I grin and bear the whole dress shopping experience and when she decides on a beautiful gown fit for a queen with intricate beading on the bodice, I tell her that it’s absolutely the perfect dress for her and that I am so happy for her.
When I step outside the whimsy and fantasy of the bridal salon, the weight of the world once again crashes down.
