F*ck Marriage(46)

“She’s in there scrambling to get ready... ” I pause. “I suggest you take her out for a nice dinner. She’s a good person…” My voice trails off.

Satcher looks away. “I know that.”

“Good. Don’t hurt her.”

I pass Jules in the kitchen as she walks toward the living room where I left Satcher just a moment ago. She smiles at me excitedly and does a little spin so I can check her outfit: tight jeans and a simple white top. Her hair is still a little damp, hanging in soft tendrils around her face. She’s only put on a little mascara and some lip gloss, but she looks effortlessly beautiful. I give her the thumbs-up, my smile immediately dropping as soon as she can’t see my face.

I hear him greet her, the deep timbre of his voice making my heart ache. Oh well, I think. It could have been good, but now we’ll never know…

In the bathroom I lean my forehead against the mirror, which is still fogged over from Jules’ shower. With my eyes closed, I roll my head from side to side, my fingers pressed to the wall. I feel like I’m being dramatic but also that I have a right to be. Five minutes of drama and then I’ll sort myself out, I promise myself.

“I’m okay, I’m okay, I’m okay... ” I say to no one.

No one would believe me anyway.





Chapter Twenty-Four





For the next two weeks I excel in avoidance. If there were trophies for dodging two people, it would belong to me. My stomach feels continuously volatile: acid and anxiety. To distract myself, I take long walks, staring up at the skyscrapers that shoot from the ground pistonlike. I stay out late after work frequenting the same dive Woods and I ended up in on our first date. After a week, the bartender raises one meaty finger in the air to acknowledge that he’s seen me then brings over a lemon drop without me having to ask.

“I like your face tattoo,” I say.

The only acknowledgment that he’s heard me is the slight raising of his eyebrows. He walks back behind the bar without a word. I suck at making friends.

On weekends, I get up early, sneaking out before Jules can ask where I’m going. When she comments one day that she’s hardly seen me, I lie and tell her that I’ve started dating again. The excitement on her face breaks my heart. She genuinely wants me to be happy. I’m lucky to have a friend like her, which makes the fact that I’ve slept with the man she’s in love with even worse. I buy pot from a guy in Central Park with four fingers on his right hand, and I smoke on Jules’ fire escape, flushing the nubs of joints down the toilet.

I come home late one night after an exhausting day of work, sure that they won’t be there, but when I close the door, I see his shoes parked neatly next to Jules’—tennis, which means he probably stopped here after the gym. Music is playing in the kitchen, Billie Holiday. I back up a step, planning my escape, an excuse ready on my lips if either of them catches me.

“Billie!”

I turn slowly toward the kitchen, my face neutral. Jules stands in the space between the kitchen and the small dining room, a spatula in hand. She’s wearing a side pony and knee socks and I can’t help but smile.

“I’m making dinner,” she says. “You have to eat it or my feelings will be hurt. I won’t take no for an answer. We can smoke some of your pot after dinner.” She smirks.

I feel my face growing warm. She knew all along. I almost sniff my clothes to see if that’s how she caught me.

“You’re not the only one who enjoys the marijuana, Billie,” she says, rolling her eyes.

I only hesitate for a moment before kicking off my heels and following her cautiously into the kitchen. Satcher is seated on a barstool still in his workout gear. When he sees me, he stands. Such a gentleman, I think. I want to roll my eyes, but my chest hurts.

He’s looking at me with too much familiarity, too much softness. Are the corners of his mouth tucked in like he’s forcing normalcy, or is that my imagination? I stare longingly at my bedroom door wondering what excuse I can come up with to disappear behind it.

“How’ve you been?” he asks this softly as Jules bangs around at the stove.

Sad. Pathetic. Mopey.

“Great.”

“Good.” He looks at me carefully like he’s trying to uncover some truth I’m not saying.

I suppose he’s right to think that.

“No one's ever gone to such great lengths to avoid me,” he says.

It’s not a complaint; there’s some amusement in his voice.

“It’s because you suck in bed,” I say before I can stop myself.

Satcher chortles and Jules turns from the stove, alarmed.

“She’s funny.” He dips his head toward me and Jules carries on cooking.

I don’t feel like bantering with him so I look away. Jules dances around the kitchen unaware. She’s in an exceptionally good mood. They probably just had sex, which makes me want to vomit.

“Satcher, can you make us drinks?” Jules asks. “Anything you like. I’ll even drink one of those nasty Manhattans you love.”

I watch as he walks to her little bar, lifting glass bottles to examine what she has. She takes a break in cooking to go over and kiss him. Satcher tenses up at first and then bends to kiss her back. I look away.

“Soooo, you gonna tell us about this guy you’ve been seeing?” Jules eyes me through a haze of steam as she empties vegetables into a colander. From the corner of my eye, I see Satcher’s head turn—just a fraction so that his ear faces us.