F*ck Marriage(27)

Almost as if she’s reading my mind, she sends a follow-up text.

Pearl doesn’t have to know…

I can’t suppress my smile. That seals the deal because I text back and tell her I’d love to meet. We decide on an early dinner, and I set down my phone with a sinking dread. This is what I had wanted just a few months ago. To prove to Woods that marrying someone else is a terrible idea. But now that my plan is unraveling in just the way I wanted it to, it feels ... dirty.



On Tuesday I’m heading out of the office an hour earlier than usual to meet up with Denise when I bump into Woods on the stairwell. I don’t normally take the stairs, but there is an Out of Order sign on the elevator doors.

“Still have that shirt, huh?” I eye the T-shirt he’s wearing. The lettering is faded, but you can still make out the words.

“It’s my favorite.”

“Band or shirt?” I ask.

“Both.”

I bought the shirt for Woods at a concert we went to on one of our first dates. I can still remember the way his skin smelled when he leaned in to kiss me, the beer on his breath and the way his thumbs rubbed circles on my lower back as his tongue made its way into my mouth.

“Want to grab something to eat?” he asks.

There is scruff on his face and the tender skin around his eyes looks grey, like he hasn’t slept in a week. I imagine this is all taking a toll on him.

“Can’t.” I smile. “Maybe another time…”

“Come on,” he says. “I need you.”

At first his words hit me in that sore, insecure place where I keep the things that I pretend not to care about: Daddy issues, Mommy issues, Woods’ issues…

I need you. He used to say that to me while his lips kissed a line down my neck, fingers roving over my body. I feel heat climb to my face at the memory.

I think about all the times I needed him, like when our marriage was on the rocks and I was stretched as thin as membrane, and he stuck his dick in someone else instead of keeping his vows to me.

“Not today, Woods,” I say glibly. I take two more steps, cursing the broken elevator.

“Why not?”

I hesitate. Should I just tell him? I don’t want to be cruel when his life is already hard, but he’ll find out about it eventually.

“I’m on my way to see your mom.”

He squeezes one eye closed while scratching the back of his head. “That’s awkward.”

“No more than you asking me to lunch when your fiancée is at home recovering from a miscarriage.”

He grins. “What a pair we are.”

“Were,” I say, trotting down the stairs. “What a pair we were.”

“Pessimist!” he calls after me. His voice echoes.

It feels good to walk away from him. I wonder if this is how things started with Pearl: the occasional flirtatious exchange in the stairwell, trips out to lunch when I was too busy to notice.

I don’t have time to think about it; I’m already late.



Denise has just returned from a cruise. When I hug her, I swear I can still smell suntan lotion on her skin. She holds on to me for a few extra seconds.

“You’re glowing,” I tell her when she lets me go.

“Oh. You don’t glow at my age. I just got a little sun, that’s all.” She takes her seat delicately, folding her napkin across her lap.

But she is, she’s glowing.

“Robert cheated on me,” she says.

The server who was just approaching the table hears her comment and makes a wide arc to give us some time.

I smile at him apologetically before I turn to Denise and say—“What?”

“Don’t look so surprised. Where do you think Woods learned his bad behavior?”

“I figured it was from his dick.”

“Touché…”

I shake my head, trying to take it all in. Woods is already an established cheater. I decide to start the questions with my ex-father-in-law. “He’s done it before?”

“Yes. Started our third year of marriage, and it’s been on and off since. Sometimes we have a good five years with no cheating, but he always starts it up again.”

“And you ... stay with him?”

Denise lifts her menu, pursing her lips; I watch her eyes scan something before she sets it down on the table and slides it away. I’ve always viewed Denise as a feminist: independent, nonplussed by opinions, taker of no shit. Reconciling what she is saying with the woman I always thought she was leaves a lump in my throat. I wait for her to speak since I don’t know what to say anyway.

“He’s always so sorry. He comes back, he cries, we take a vacation, he upgrades my ring.”

Over the eight years Woods and I were together, I recall Denise getting a new ring every few years, the diamond growing in size. I glance at her finger now, feeling ill. Why is she telling me this?

“You’re wondering why I’m telling you all this now?”

“Yes, actually.”

She folds her hands on the table, her upper body leaning toward me. She’s so willowy she reminds me of a branch bending in the wind.

“My son is still very much in love with you,” she says. It’s like someone just stuck my finger in a light socket; every part of me lights up in shock. “This thing with Pearl,” she makes a dismissive sweep with her hand, “it’s not real, nor is it sustainable.”