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Jase
I give them three weeks. Twenty-one days to be without me. No pushing, no prodding, just phone calls with my mom and Jaz. She seems to miss me, but I haven’t heard a word from anyone else... other than Ellie’s incessant texts, calls, and need to bother me.
These weeks, I’ve been to work only twice. Sally has been on my ass for my recent lack of performance. I own the damn place. They can fare fine on their own. This time is needed for both planning how to fix things and think about what I’ve done.
This past year, I thought I had finally found a happy medium, but I couldn’t have been more wrong. Ellie was a distraction since high school at that fucking drive-in until now. She’s always been here. Yes, when she kept trying to push closer, I should’ve dropped our friendship. In the back of my mind, I knew she was bad for me and Lo. Yet, they stayed friends and Ellie pretended like the few stolen kisses we shared disappeared.
There are many things in life I regret, but Ellie will be at the top of that list forever. And with her pregnant, how the hell am I supposed to fix that? How does a marriage come back from that? Especially when Lo and I lost a child. Ellie is having what I failed to give my own wife.
Vodka has been my mate throughout this entire ordeal. Luckily, I wasn’t dumb enough to drunk dial my own wife, but I cried a lot, all while holding onto her ring, as if it would conjure her back here to me. I screamed and yelled and took the same bat she took from our son and bashed more shit.
Our house is a wreck, not just physically but metaphorically as well. Our house is no longer a home full of warmth, smiles, laughter, and a family. It’s the wreckage after a storm. It doesn’t even sit on its legs but merely exists in the rubble we’ve created together.
The booze doesn’t help me. It didn’t back when I was a teen, and it sure as hell didn’t help when Lilac died, so why on Earth do I believe it will help me now?
Sitting against the frame of the bed where there’s plaster, sheetrock and broken frames scattered around to me, I weep. Along with the ache in my chest is a new hole, one of loathing and disgust, and it’s all aimed at myself. All for what I’ve done. All for my mistakes.
I count them over in my head.
The times I’ve been unfaithful.
The times I shared my bed with someone who wasn’t my wife.
The times I woke up in a bed that wasn’t my own.
The times I wanted to walk away from this marriage for good.
Now that it’s happened, that’s the last thing I want. Now that Lo is gone, she’s all I want back. She deserved more. She deserved better. She deserves Toby. Bile rises, making me sick for an entirely different reason. Did she go back to him? Are they together now? Laughing at the expense of my suffering to where they can be happy and raise my children? The rage from a frail drunk’s fears swells inside me. It chokes me with its purity, suffocating me with its punch. How the hell did I let this happen?
My biggest fear as a teen was Lo moving on with Toby. He makes sure to always choose her. He makes sure she comes first. He makes sure she’s everything to him.
How have I fallen so low?
I pick up the bottle of Grey Goose and realize I’ve had a third of it in the last day. God, no wonder I feel like shit. I take another swig. It only tastes like water now. There’s no way I can drive. There’s no way I can change my life by crumbling like a loser.
I think back to the first time I felt loved in years and then drink more clear acid, waiting for life to take me away.
“Hey, Jason,” Ellie says with a wave, her normal condescension nowhere to be found. She usually bickers with me like an old fish wife, but today, it’s like she’s giving me compassion. Or it’s just been that long since my wife has touched me. That could be it, too.
“Nora,” I gripe, my mood no better than before.
“She’s out like a light,” Ellie ignores my nickname. She’s always hated it.
I nod at her, not knowing what to say. It’s not like we’re best friends. Our relationship goes up and down like the fucking Dow Jones. It’s never been perfect, but it’s been better since the funerals. It’s almost like she cares about me and wants to help me feel better.
She sits next to me on the couch, her jean-clad thighs hitting mine, like they did that night at the drive-in so long ago.
“The kids?” I ask. That’s the only question I really care about, and even then, it’s futile. It’s not like I spend time with them. If anything, I avoid them, knowing I’m a shit father.
“With Millie. She picked them up earlier.”
I’ve been at work all day. I wasn’t even aware.
She sidles closer to me, her hand brushing my thigh. I should tell her to stop, but I don’t. Her fingers trace swirls across my slacks, not straying from the one spot, but touching something that isn’t hers to touch.
“How are you, Jason?”
When my eyes meet hers, I can see the affection there. She’s not asking just to ask. She’s doing it because she wants to know.
“Not good,” I admit.
It’s been nearly three years since they both passed away. It’s been almost two since we’ve had sex, and it’s been six months since Lo has been present. She hasn’t had a day of clarity in so long. It’s like she’s here but she’s not, a zombie with a heart who doesn’t know how to use it.
“Anything I can do?” she asks almost soundlessly, her voice even softer, breathier, and gentler, if that’s at all possible.
I meet her gaze, seeing the same teenager who wanted my dick more times than I could recall, the same one who did everything to be with me but eventually moved on to Francis.
If he could see her now.
Maybe he’d be proud. She’s grown a lot, changed, adapted, and has been here for me for quite some time.
“Just sit here with me,” I comment, not wanting to ask her for what I really want—can you just hold me while I fall apart?
“I can do that,” she says with a small smile. “How about we watch Jane the Virgin?”
Chuckling softly, I nod. It’s an addicting show, even if it’s not my usual cup of tea.
She puts on the episode where Jane finds out Rogelio is her dad. We’re in fits of laughter during one part, and I bring her to my shoulder as she cries during another.
Eventually, I’m stroking her hair, loving the human contact while hating myself for having it with her and not her best friend. She still holds my thigh, rubbing extremely slow circles. Her hand is higher than earlier, almost like she wants something I can’t give, but it could be an accident.
After I fall asleep with her in my arms, I forget why I was sad in the first place.
I wake up remembering that night like a dream, and my head pounds, forcing my eyes to shut from the pressure alone.
That was the first real line I crossed, just by cuddling with another woman, wanting her, craving her warmth. If I could see what that started, maybe I would have walked away. The problem is, just like high school, Ellie has always been beautiful. But not like Lo. Lo is the kind of gorgeous that’s subtle and sexy. Ellie is the dark kind of beautiful, the one everyone sees, and she uses it to her advantage.
I thought I loved her.
I really did.
But these few weeks I’ve had to process things alone, I realize it wasn’t love. It was a temporary comfort, something I needed, but it was built on lies and moments.
I care about her. I do. I have since she lost Francis. I’ve cared about what happens to her and how she survives, but we took it too far. She shouldn’t have pushed, but she did. She wanted me from the start—wants me still—and pushes for more.
After moping for another five minutes, I brush my rank teeth to rid myself of the booze on my breath and then shower. Popping a couple of Tylenol, I pray they kick in soon.
Texting Ellie could only end in one way—disaster.
But I do it anyway. We need to talk. Heading over.
Her response is immediate. That’s what I’ve been trying to do for weeks, Jason. Talk. I love you.
Instead of responding to her, I put my phone away and get ready to start an even larger war.
She’s waiting on the porch when my car pulls up. Her face is wary but still filled with hope. It’s not something I want her to have. This ends now.
I’m silent as she leads me in her house. Soon, we’re sitting on the couch with a deafening silence. Is Gray here? I need to tell her, too. Just nicer. Less painfully.
“I missed you,” she starts, her face crumples with the admission.
Unable to offer a smile, I grind my molars. “I’m going to start with I love my wife. It’s not news to you.”
I pause, gauging her for any reactions. Her eyes are slivers, narrowed and hateful.
“You love me,” she demands, her voice hollow yet so emotional that I’m forming a lump in my throat.
“I care about you,” I argue softly, because I do. I probably always will. “But I’m in love with her. I want her, to be with her, to move forward with her.”
She stares at me with shock and betrayal. “I was there for you!” she yells, her tone higher and strained.
Tears trickle down her face, making me feel shittier. I can’t comfort her, though. The walls are back up, the barriers stronger than ever.
“You were,” I agree, my words thick with guilt, praying this ends better than I imagine it will. “You healed me, or, at least, started the process of healing for me.”
“I did more than that, Jason. I loved you, supported you. I gave you my heart and body and everything else I had to offer!”
Rubbing a palm down my face, I try not to raise my voice. “It’s over, Nora.”
And with those words, I feel at ease. That name she used to hate became the only name she wanted tumbling from my lips.
“Please,” she pleads once more, coming closer to me. “I’ll do anything, Jason.” I move away, keeping the distance between us, something I should have done long ago.
“Where’s Gray?” I deflect, needing a distraction.
“Not here,” she mumbles angrily, like her daughter is her last priority. Something I never really put any merit onto until this moment.
“I need to tell her goodbye,” I say, standing and heading toward the door. I’ll have to call her instead.
“Don’t,” she barks, her face full of anger. “You’ve already given her and I both hope of happiness, having it stripped away like that isn’t fair.”
I nod, then walk away. Wishing I’d done it years ago.