F*ck Marriage(78)

“I’m just a stupid man, Billie. You always had too much faith in me.”

It was true ... maybe. But it wasn’t Woods I put my faith in, it was love. I believed it to be the ultimate redeemer, never considering that when something so perfect was handed to the imperfect, it was misused.

“I meant it when I said forever. But I overshot my ability to fulfill that promise. And I’m sorry.”

My heart swelled with hurt and flowed into my chest. I let myself feel it rather than pushing it away like I normally did.

“Do you love her?“ I asked.

“Yes.”

“Good,” I said. “Treat her better.”

This time my feet didn’t drag when they walked away.





Chapter Thirty-Seven





That’s how we left it and that’s how I think it is going to stay.

I spend a magical and unexpected Christmas with Satcher, during which my heart swells to three times its size. I barely remember that I’m an emotional cripple, that I have abandonment issues, or that I’m in New York for revenge. I’m just Billie, happy Billie ... fun Billie ... witty Billie. Some people have a way about them. They make you feel like ... an unencumbered version of yourself. An alternate reality Billie.

Two days after Christmas, I’m on Satcher’s couch in my pajamas working on some last-minute things for the blog. Satcher left before I was awake, so I’m alone with my foot propped up when the knock sounds on his door. I frown at the disturbance, wondering if I should get up or just pretend no one’s home. Since no one buzzed up, it’s probably a neighbor. I decide to ignore it, settling back into the couch, but then the knock comes again, harder this time.

Cursing, I struggle off the couch and hobble over, just as the intensity of the knocking increases. Whoever is on the other side of that door is about to get a mouthful from me. I fling open the door without looking through the peephole and find myself face-to-face with Woods. I gasp, and it’s sort of funny. Who gasps in real life? He has about four days’ worth of stubble along his jaw and he’s wearing glasses instead of his contacts. I think back to the last time I saw Woods wear glasses, college maybe.

“What are you doing here?” It sounds more aggressive than I intended, but I square my jaw and stare him down.

My place in New York is changing, my feet finally finding solid ground. I may have moved back for the wrong reasons, but I am going to make a life here for the right ones.

“We need to talk,” he says.

My stomach drops. The very words he said to me the night he told me about Pearl.

“We’ve already done that. We’re supposed to be moving forward with our lives.”

“Five minutes,” he says.

There’s something on his face that makes me step aside and let him in. He wanders into Satcher’s place and looks around like he’s seeing it for the first time. His eyes sweep the room, lingering on my nightgown, which is tossed across the back of a barstool.

“Where do you sleep?” he asks.

“In the bed.”

I pretend not to notice the look on his face. He clears his throat and then reaches up to take off his glasses.

“I ended things with Pearl.” Woods rubs his eyes.

I stare at him, frozen in disbelief. “What?”

One stubby little sentence and my insides are churning. I drift toward the window, my fist clutching the neck of my shirt, and stare out at the passing traffic.

I feel like I need time to process, but Woods is waiting for me to say something.

“Why?”

He takes a step toward me. “After our conversation—”

I hold his gaze waiting for him to finish.

“After our conversation, I did a lot of thinking ... about myself ... you.”

Thinking? Now you’re thinking? Years too late.

“Okay…”

I picture him skulking around Pearl and her parents on Christmas day, merely picking at his food. It’s a sad thing to imagine until you include the fact that he was thinking about me, maybe even wanting to be with me rather than his soon-to-be family. This news is still settling over me when Woods says his next words. I brace myself because the look in his eyes tells me something is coming.

“I’m still in love with you, Billie.”

His words hit me like cold water over the head. My shoulders jar with the impact of them.

“Don’t freak out on me, okay, Billie?”

He’s watching my face carefully, looking for approval. He’s still scared of me, I realize. His jaw used to lock up like that when he was afraid of my reaction. I let nothing show, and it’s not like I really have to try not to—my body has seized up in anticipation.

“Okay,” Woods says. “This is…” He rubs a hand along his face, his mouth dropping open when his fingers reach his chin. “I tried to replace you with a woman who wouldn’t question me, challenge me, fight with me. Because it made me feel,” he looks away while he searches for the word and then comes back with, “—bigger.”

Everything feels cold: my hands, my face, my heart. I don’t say anything because I don’t trust myself to speak.

“I was just looking for an easier version of you. But that’s not what I want. I want the full version, the version that scared the shit out of me before.”