The Private Serials Box Set(5)

**See you there.**



Years ago, Samantha and I had found a tiny little coffee shop equidistant between our houses, and we’d started meeting there for coffee weekly, or whenever one of us called upon the other. It was nice, all those years, to have something steady and reliable to hang on to – something to look forward to. Sometimes, we didn’t have anything new or exciting to talk about and we just reminisced, laughing about things that happened in college or since. Other times, I held her hand as she told me about her break-ups, or we listened to each other’s work problems, trying to ease the anxiety of navigating the working world as young and independent women.

I met Samantha when we’d been assigned as dorm roommates our freshman year of college. She and I couldn’t have been any more different. She was outgoing, brave, and brought energy with her wherever she went. Her vitality was contagious, and as soon as we met, I felt the fever she carried with her for life. I had spent my entire life protected from the adventurous spirit she exuded, and when I got a taste of it, I grabbed ahold of her and never let her get away. She taught me how to let go, how to feel free even if I really wasn’t. When I was with her, I could sometimes pretend I didn’t have my father to answer to, or a life waiting for me that I wasn’t sure I wanted to live.

When I was twenty-four, my father passed away suddenly, and even though I was internally conflicted over my feelings toward his death, she was there for me every step of the way. I didn’t have to explain to her that I was devastated my father was dead, but relieved that I no longer had to worry about living up to his standards for me. His death saddened and freed me all in the same moment. She knew it, understood, and never judged me. Not once.

Samantha had spent many hours listening to me talk about my marriage. She knew everything about it – the good and the bad. She also had very strong feelings about it.

She hated Derrek.

It hadn’t always been that way; he hadn’t always been the spawn of Satan in her eyes. All through college, Derrek and Sam got along really well. We spent countless Saturday nights at his frat house and the two of them never had one argument. She was my maid of honor in our wedding. She was so happy for us – so supportive. However, when the marriage began to change, began to fall into the dark place it seemed to reside in now, she always questioned why I stayed with him.

I hated complaining to her about him or our relationship, because it did nothing but further tarnish him in her eyes, but I had no one else to turn to. In my family, we didn’t talk about problems. It was understood that you were to always keep up appearances. If you had an issue, you resolved it quietly. You didn’t bring attention to it. You swept it under the rug. I had been trained my whole life to stay silent, until Sam.

It was comforting to walk in to our usual coffee shop and see her sitting at a table waiting for me. I went straight for her. She stood when she saw me and opened her arms for me without question, knowing I’d be here with bad news instead of good.

“What happened, Lena?”

I let myself take the comfort from her, allowed her arms to pull out some of my anxiety. I sighed into her shoulder, trying to keep the tears at bay. I didn’t want to cry anymore.

“I don’t know, Sam.” I pulled away and sat in the chair opposite her, giving a sad smile to the cup waiting for me. If Sam made it to the coffee shop first, she always bought my drink, and vice versa. “Thank you for the coffee.” She smiled at me, but said nothing. “I made the dinner, put on the dress, and was all ready for him when he came home from work.” I dove right into the story. I knew Sam wasn’t going to stand for pleasantries and chit chat.

“Did he appreciate it?” she asked, not even blinking.

“No. Actually, he seemed put out by it. Like having dinner with me was an inconvenience to his evening schedule.”

“That bastard.”

“It gets worse.”

“I’m not surprised.” She raised her eyebrows, waiting for me to continue.

“When I mentioned I wanted to work on our marriage, that I wanted to get back to the happy couple we had been when we got married, he basically told me our marriage was over and that I should get used to the status quo. He said that our marriage fell apart a long time ago and that it was too late to fix it.” Samantha said nothing, but I could tell she was holding her rage inside for my benefit. She knew what I had been hoping for, knew I wanted my husband back. So, out of love for me, she was reining in all the expletives I knew she wanted to unleash, because she knew it wouldn’t help me, wouldn’t make me feel any better. I loved her even more for it.

I looked down at my coffee cup, slowly twisting it around and around, watching it circle in my fingers, while I continued.

“He wants to hold up the fa?ade of our marriage, you know, still make appearances together in public, but pretty much indicated he was done with me in private.” My voice faltered on the last few words, my throat constricting with that painful pinch that was always followed by tears, aching. But I pushed it back. I wouldn’t cry any more. “He only wants to be my husband when other people can see us.”

Sam was quiet for a few moments more, and then she adjusted in her seat and tilted her head to the side. “Why would any man want to continue a marriage without the benefits of marriage? I mean, let’s be real. He’s a man. I can understand him wanting to stay in the marriage if you were going to try and fix it and work on the intimacy, or I can understand him cutting his losses and wanting out in order to find that intimacy in other places. But what hot-blooded man chooses to stay in a sexless marriage and wants it to remain that way?”