F*ck Marriage(16)

She hesitates. I wonder if she wants me to comment on their vacation.

“Um ... well, I’ve got the dates. Anything else?”

“No. That’s all.” She reluctantly heads for the door.

“Pearl…”

She turns expectantly.

“Why Portugal?”

The self-satisfied look on her face informs me that I’ve asked the question she’s been wanting to answer.

“Woods said he’s always wanted to take the love of his life there.” Now that she’s dropped her bomb, the rest of her steps out of my office have more spring.





Chapter Nine





“Why are you avoiding me?”

I look up from my computer, surprised. I hadn’t heard Woods come in.

“Because I have a super big crush on you and you’re already engaged.” I meant it as a joke, but when I look up his expression says he doesn’t know that.

“Is this uncomfortable for you?” he asks. “Are you all right?”

“Woods…” I push away from my desk and cross my legs ceremoniously. My sigh echoes around the room. “First of all, I was joking. And don’t try to act all concerned about me now, not after what you did.”

He nods slowly, absorbing what I said. “I just ... this is…”

“Hard…” I finish for him.

“Yeah.”

I scratch my head. “It’ll get less so as we move along,” I say. I don’t believe that for a second, but Woods seems encouraged. I uncross my legs and slide my chair back toward my desk, hoping he’ll leave. I wonder why I can still separate the smell of his skin from everything else in the room, why it’s still so familiar after all this time.

“Is Pearl being weird with you?”

My fingers hover over the keyboard. I think of Zoe, and Portugal, and the baby discussion in the break room.

“No,” I say. “She’s being a bitch.”

He laughs. I lean back, stretching my arms over my head.

“I’ll talk to her…”

“Don’t bother. Honestly, Woods…”

“Billie, you don’t deserve that. Not after ... what we did. So, I’ll talk to her. And I’m sorry.”

I’m shocked into silence, during which time Woods heads for the door. I watch his retreating back. He sounded ... genuine. An almost apology, I think.

I understand that he’s moved on with his life, and that I’m supposed to too, but the fact that he’s taking Pearl to Portugal feels like one of the sharpest blows since the divorce. Portugal? Really, you piece of shit? The place we had an entire folder dedicated to? We’d both add articles, restaurant reviews, and the occasional hundred-dollar bill for spending money. Portugal was ours, along with our plans for a sheltie puppy that we were going to name Annie, and the house we’d build with a winding metal staircase that led to our bedroom. We’d made plans that had been specific and special to us as a couple, or at least I thought so. What I am now realizing is that those plans had been Woods’ all along, they weren’t for me specifically. He made me feel special, but I hadn’t been. I was an enhancement to the life he wanted, not the partner with whom he wanted to weather any storm in life; a side dish rather than the entrée.



My jealousy is consuming; I’m ashamed to say that it’s eating at me. Woods notices the difference. He’s always watching me, and I know he’s wondering what’s going on in my head. When he finally asks about it I’m leaving the office for the day. He catches me near the elevator. I can smell him before I see him; the familiar cologne and Woods’ smell, tinged around the edges with the faint sweetness of Juicy Fruit. I roll my eyes, mainly because I know I’m cornered.

“Billie.” He tries to make his voice sound surprised. Like he ran into me rather than chasing me down.

“Oh hey,” I say casually. A yawn arrives at the perfect time and I make a show of covering it up.

“How’ve you been?” he asks as soon as we’re both in the elevator. “I feel like you’re a million miles away.”

“I’m a million miles away from you,” I say without looking at him.

“Ouch. What did I do now?”

I sigh. I really don’t want to get into it. It’s been a long week. We’re reaching our quarterly deadline, and the work to get everything up and ready has nearly wiped me out. Rhubarb is three times the size of what it used to be and I’m not even working for myself anymore. It feels a little like I’m putting quarters in Woods’ and Satcher’s piggy bank, but unless you own your own company that’s generally what the workforce is like.

“It’s fine, Woods. Nothing new.”

He’s quiet until the doors to the elevator slide open, and right as I’m about to step out, he speaks. “I’m sorry. For whatever it is.”

I turn and glare at him sharply. Apologies are annoying when you want to be mad.

“No, you’re not. That’s the worst part.”

“God, Billie. I’m a fuck-up, but that doesn’t mean I enjoy hurting people.”

One corner of my mouth lifts into my cheek. I was so sure of my anger, but Woods’ specialty has always been making me feel like shit for thinking he’s shit.