F*ck Marriage(45)

“I’m not forgetting about it,” he says. “I don’t want to.”

“Fine,” I say, standing up. “I’ll forget about it and you can remember it fondly while you fuck my roommate.”

I know it’s hurtful, but I want to hurt him. It seems that I can’t get it right no matter what I do. There’s always another woman—a better woman to take my place.

I don’t know where I’m going, but I march out of my office to get away from Satcher. Loren has arrived to her desk, her bicycle helmet still on her head. She’s unpacking her book bag. I watch as she unloads a can of soup, a beat-up S’well bottle, and a stack of file folders. She jumps when she sees me. “What the—”

“Sorry,” I say.

Out of the corner of my eye I see Satcher leave my office. He looks my way, but I keep my eyes glued to Loren.

“Trouble in paradise?” Her eyes drift between Satcher and me.

I wave her question away, the corner of my mouth tucked in.

“Hey!” I say brightly. “Do you have the numbers ready for next quarter?”

She buys into my change of subject, unhooking the helmet from under her chin while rifling through the folders on her desk with her free hand. Once I have the budget under my arm, I circle back to my office. Empty. I shut the door behind me and hope everyone leaves me alone for a few hours.



I get home that night to find Jules pacing the hall. It looks like she hasn’t bothered to shower or get dressed for the day. Her hair is in a messy braid, pieces pulling free from the rest in little tails; a day’s worth of mascara is flecked and smudged beneath her eyes.

I drop the bags of groceries I carried in and go to her.

“What is it?” I ask. “Has something happened?”

“I think I made a mistake. He doesn’t want me. I shouldn’t have come back.” A sob escapes her throat.

Career-oriented, driven Jules, crying over a man. I’ve never seen her like this. I falter, not sure how to comfort her. For the boy-crazy friend: He was a douche! You’ll meet someone better! But I can guarantee Jules has never felt this way before, so the normal pep talk won’t count.

“Is this the first time you’ve been in love?”

I see the answer in her eyes when she looks at me, and I feel a fresh wave of guilt for not telling her the truth. Most of us, by the time we are Jules’ age, have weathered through several heartbreaks. We become old pros at hurt. Our breakup playlists are saved to Spotify, and we know exactly where to find our comfort ice cream in the freezer section.

“I thought I was being so romantic, coming back here like things would just pick up where we left off…” Her nose is pink. “I’m so stupid.”

“You’re not stupid,” I say. “You’re beautiful and you did a brave thing.”

“Yeah, well, lot of good it did me…”

My own feelings pushed to the side, I want to shake Satcher. How could he let a girl like Jules get away? I shake my head at her. Reaching for her braid, I pull out the hair tie and begin untangling it, running my fingers through the dirty blonde waves. I’m dabbing at her eyes with my sleeve when the intercom buzzes. Jules reaches over to press the button.

“Jules, open up. It’s me.” We both freeze at the sound of Satcher’s voice.

“He’s here? Oh my God.” She jumps up from the stool, staring down in horror at her bathrobe. There is a sizeable coffee stain down the front. She looks from me to the door in panic.

“Go,” I say. “I’ll keep him busy.”

She smiles at me gratefully then runs for the bathroom. I take a moment to steel myself before swinging the door open.

He doesn’t look surprised to see me. He’s wearing old Levis, ripped in the knee, and a Yankees T-shirt on top. I can make out the outline of the muscles I was fondling just days ago. I close my eyes against the memories.

“Can we talk?”

I glance over my shoulder at the bathroom door. I can hear the shower running. “You have ten minutes.”

He follows me into the living room. I take the armchair. Folding my legs under me, I hug a pillow to my chest and stare at him expectantly. I might cry, huge possibility.

“I have feelings for you—” he starts.

I want to shove my hands against his mouth so he can’t say any more, but I sit still, biting down so hard my jaw aches.

“—I don’t want to stop seeing you, Billie.”

I stare at the hair on his arms, at the bright white tennis shoes he never took off. He always takes his shoes off when he comes over.

“Before she left ... before I came back, did you think you could fall in love with her?”

My ears strain to hear the shower, but it’s been replaced with the sound of the blow dryer.

“Yes…” He pauses. “But that was before. Things have changed.”

“Nothing’s changed,” I say. “I can’t hurt my friend, Satcher. She’s all I have left.”

“You have me.”

I swallow. I can hear his hurt. He’s my ex-husband’s best friend; my best friend is in love with him. It doesn’t matter what I feel.

“It’s over, okay? It just ... can’t happen.”

He stares at me, not saying anything, his eyes dark with anger…regret…? I don’t know. I stand up. I need to leave the room before he sees me cry.