The Words We Leave Unspoken(36)
He moves closer to me and I take a step back.
“I think you should go,” I say stoically, even though my emotions are welling up inside, tears threatening to exist.
“Charley, I’m not trying to pressure you. Just take some time to explore what you really feel for me. But don’t push me away. Not like this.” He pulls me into his arms and I straighten, every muscle in my body stiff as a board but I take a moment to breath him in. I can’t let go of the anger though; it floods every part of me, drowning all other senses. I’m angry at Grey for making decisions for me, for redefining the simple arrangement we had, for wanting more from me when he knows I have nothing more to give. I’m angry that he thinks he knows me and a small part of me is scared that maybe he’s right. I feel too much, as if I’m going to explode. I put my hands on his firm chest and push him back, hard.
“Go,” I shout. “Just go.” My lip is trembling and I feel like I might fall apart right in front of him.
He gives me one last glance, with defeat written all over his face as if he already knows he’ll never win this battle and then he lets himself out. I quickly lock the door and move to my bedroom where I curl up in a ball on my bed and replay the entire night in my mind right up to the moment when I knew that it was time to let him go. A predictable conclusion and yet, I feel like my heart has shattered into a million pieces and I’m not sure why. And this uncertainty is possibly the most heartbreaking part of all.
Chapter 21
Gwen
It’s early. Way too early on a Sunday morning for Charley to be knocking on my door, but she’s here nonetheless. She called me late last night to tell me she was coming today, and I suspected that she was upset. A visit at eight o’clock in the morning tells me that my suspicions are correct.
I open the door, still in my pajamas, and Charley practically throws herself at me, wrapping her arms around my neck. “Hey Gwen,” she whispers.
“Hi Charley. Good morning,” I say, patting her on the back. She pulls back and I notice the dark circles under her eyes. Her hair is pulled back in a haphazard ponytail, strands falling out all around her face. “Coffee?” I ask her. She looks like she needs it even more than I do, as if she got less sleep than I did, which is saying something.
“Please.” She steps all the way into the foyer and hangs her huge, puffy down jacket on the coat rack and then follows me into the kitchen.
“It’s so quiet in here. Where is everyone?” she asks.
“John and the kids just left on a donut run. It’s kind of their thing on Sunday mornings and I get to have a few minutes to myself,” I say as I fill two mugs with steaming hot coffee, adding a hint of half and half to Charley’s cup, just the way she likes it, and hand it to her.
She takes a sip and leans her hip against the counter. “You make the best coffee,” she mumbles and then says, “It’s colder then a witch’s titty outside.”
I shake my head at her, “God, you’re so crude.”
“Well it is. It’s literally freezing outside. I had to scrape my windows this morning. You’re so lucky you have a garage.”
Her head snaps up and she looks at me apologetically as we both dwell on her word choice. Lucky. I’m anything but lucky. Charley is just making normal conversation but it’s like everything she says takes on a new meaning.
“How are you feeling?” she asks.
“I’m fine,” I say, with a shrug of my shoulder. What else is there to say? I’m not great, I’m not a mess – at least not this morning. I’m tired. I feel nauseous most days, like I did when I was pregnant with Olivia. A subtle sensation that neither has me throwing up nor sustaining a healthy appetite, just a gnawing ill feeling. Dr. Sheldan warned me about the side effects of the medication. He also reminded me that it could be worse.
“Have you talked to John?” she asks.
I shake my head and take a sip of coffee, averting my eyes to the dark liquid in my cup.
“Gwen,” she says and I look up only to see the pity in her eyes. She sets her mug down on the counter and steps toward me. “Do you want me to take the kids out today so you two can talk?”
I just shake my head again. I can’t even formulate words at this point. The guilt is eating away at me but still I can’t tell him. He has asked several times if everything is okay, giving me the opening that I need. A chance to come clean. But I always brush it off, using the kids as an excuse. I’m just tired or I feel like I’m coming down with something. I can tell that he wants to push the issue. I can feel his hesitation, but he always backs down with a smile, massaging the tension in my shoulders, or kissing my cheek. Playing the supportive husband, a role that he does so well, and adding to the mountain of guilt I feel inside, a summit so high I may never rise above it. Tears fill my eyes and drip down my cheeks.
Charley embraces me and I lean my head against her shoulder, careful not to spill my coffee. And I am so grateful that she’s here. I didn’t realize how much I need her, how much I just need her here with me. It’s funny how you spend your whole life holding someone’s hand, walking them through life only to look up and realize that they’ve been holding you up just the same.
I hear the garage door open and I quickly pull myself out of Charley’s arms and wipe the tears from my face. Charley wipes her eyes as well and reaches for her coffee cup.