In the Stillness(72)

“Okay.” His voice doesn’t even sound like him right now. It sounds distant.

Shit. It sounds like “gone” Ryker.

“Bye.” I quickly end the call and face Tosha. “That was mortifying.”

“What?” She shrugs. “Did he say he wouldn’t come?”

“No, he said he’d think about it.”

“Oh,” she scrunches up her nose, “ouch.”

“Yeah.”

About an hour later, as our talk about how Tosha’s summer is dying down, I decide to revamp the awkward vibes in the room.

“Tosh?”

“Yeah, Honey?”

“Why didn’t you ever like Eric?”

In a rare move, Tosha sets her wine glass down and crosses her arms in front of her.

“Well,” she starts with a sigh, “my reasons sort of evolved over the years.”

I smile a little. “I get that . . .”

“I mean, at first it was because he was so openly pretentious and just knew he was hot shit. And, I promise you, that has nothing to do with me being a lesbian. He simply irritated me. But, you two were f*cking hot together, and he made you happy . . . you made sense, you know? He grew on me, don’t get me wrong, but I never saw a long-term spark. I figured once you started traveling for your doctoral research that you guys would kind of fade out.”

Swallowing the rest of my wine, along with the hopes of that research, I nod along.

“Anyway, when you got pregnant and he suddenly became a self-appointed spokesperson for “Focus on the Family” . . . ” she fakes a shiver, “I’m not saying I would have driven you to the abortion clinic without question or whatever, but, it was like you had no choice at all. He wouldn’t even hear it. Then the marriage,” she rolls her eyes and refills her wine glass, “how he made that big proposal production in front of your family at your birthday dinner? God, it was like he was forcing you to say yes.”

I have to laugh, now that it’s all over. He really did make a production out of it. My birthday that year, shortly after finding out I was pregnant—with twins no less—we had a quiet dinner at Eric’s parents’ house. My parents and brother came up to help me move my things into Eric’s apartment and celebrate with us. The bastard got down on one knee in the middle of everyone, and professed that he wanted to spend eternity with me and our children.

I suppose it would have been a TV-worthy moment had we even discussed marriage—at all—before that very moment. Instead, our mothers hugged and cried, and sighed relief, while I gave a shocked “of course.” Of course. Seriously? Tosha stared at me like I was on fire for the entire night, while my dad gave me a long hug. I knew what he meant.

“Why don’t you like Eric?” she prompts.

It’s an important word choice of hers, and I don’t let it go unnoticed to myself. Like. It’s clear that love faded—or jumped off a cliff—long ago. But like. No, I guess I don’t like him after all.

“Aside from the affair?” I snort. “For a while, honestly, most of what I didn’t like about him turned out to be things I was mad about in myself. I didn’t like him because he got to keep going in his Ph.D. program. On paper it made perfect sense. He was already further along than I was and would finish sooner and wouldn’t have to travel. I hated how happy he looked when he came home from a long day in the lab . . . hated.”

“What was going on last year . . . when he said the affair started? Like, what was going on with you guys?”

“Well, that was the end of my second year being fully stay-at-home by myself, and the start of his last year at school . . . I don’t know, the pressure? He was in the lab all the time, around her more than me . . . and I was just so tired and, honestly, depressed, I didn’t notice . . . or care to notice.” For the last several weeks I’ve been scrolling through every memory I can muster from the last year, searching for clues or signs of my husband’s infidelity and . . . nothing.

Tosha seems to hesitate before asking her next question. “Do you think you would have ever left him if it wasn’t for the affair? I mean, you’d talked about it with me a lot, but . . .”

I sigh and rock my head back onto the couch. “I don’t know. I’d like to think I would have, because we were really starting to bring out the worst in each other. But, I don’t know if I could have shouldered that kind of guilt. There’s enough of it floating around for everyone as it is, but the affair just makes it a little easier for me, you know?”

“Yeah. I do.”

My phone dings with a text message, interrupting our sudden silence.

“Oh great, it’s Ryker,” I groan, still feeling slightly embarrassed about our phone call.

“What’s it say?”

Ryker: Hey. I don’t want to leave you hanging and picking at your fingernails till Wednesday. I’ll be there.

“He’s going to come to my therapy session.” Tears forming, I set my phone down and wipe under my eyes.

“Why are you crying? Isn’t that a good thing?”

I nod, my jaw clenching around the need deep inside me to cut rather than admit it. “I’m just scared.”

Panic rushes through my nerves as I struggle to breathe under the full weight of the things I know Dr. Greene is going to have me discuss with Ryker. On Wednesday. In her office. Just the three of us.