One True Loves(71)

Me and Blair Books and my cats and Sam.

I close my eyes and breathe in.

It’s a good life, the one he never imagined for me.

It’s a great life.

I miss it.

Sam knows I can’t eat cheese. And he knows that I never want to change my last name from Blair again. He knows how important the store is to me. He likes to read. He likes to talk about books and he has interesting thoughts about them. He never drives without a license. He never attracts police officers. He drives safely in bad weather. Sam knows me, the real me. And he has loved me exactly as I am, always, especially as the person I am today.

“Em?” Jesse says. “Did you want the shampoo?”

“Oh,” I say, snapping out of it. “Yeah, thanks.”

Jesse hands me the bottle and I squeeze it into my palm. I lather it through my hair.

And suddenly, it takes everything I have not to dissolve into a puddle of tears and go down the drain with the soapy water.

I miss Sam.

And I’m scared I’ve pushed him away forever.

Jesse notices. I try to hide it. I smile even though the smile doesn’t live anywhere beyond my lips. Jesse stands behind me, putting his arms around me, his chest against my back. He nestles his chin into my shoulder and he says, “How are you?”

There is nothing like a well-timed “How are you?” to reduce you to weeping.

I have no words. I just close my eyes and give myself permission to cry. I let Jesse hold me. I lean into him, collapse onto him. Neither of us says anything. The air grows so hot and oppressive that eventually breathing takes more effort than it should. Jesse turns off the steam, turns down the temperature of the faucets, and lets the lukewarm water run over us.

“It’s Sam, right? That’s his name?”

I had split my world into two, but by simply uttering Sam’s name, Jesse has just sewn the halves back together.

“Yeah,” I say, nodding. “Sam Kemper.” I want to pull away from Jesse right now. I want him to go stand on the other side of the shower. I want to use the water and the soap to clean my body and I want to go home.

But I don’t do any of that. Instead, I freeze in place—in some way hoping that by standing still I can stop the world from spinning for just a moment, that I can put off what I know is eventually going to happen.

I watch as Jesse places the name.

“Sam Kemper?” he asks. “From high school?”

I nod.

“The guy that used to work at your parents’ store?”

There’s no reason for Jesse to dislike Sam other than the fact that I love Sam. But I watch as Jesse’s face grows to show contempt. I should never have said Sam’s full name. It was better when Sam was an abstract. I’ve done a stupid thing by giving him a face to match. I might as well have stabbed Jesse in the ribs. He bristles and then gets hold of himself. “You love him?” Jesse asks.

I nod but what I want to do is tell him about what Marie said, that she told me this isn’t about who I love but rather who I am. I want to tell him that I’ve been asking myself that question over and over and it’s starting to seem glaringly obvious that I am different from the person Jesse loves.

I am not her. Not anymore. No matter how easy it is for me to pretend that I am.

But instead of saying any of that, I just say, “Sam is a good man.”

And Jesse leaves it there.

He turns off the water and I’m instantly cold. He hands me a towel and the moment I wrap it around myself, I realize how naked I feel.

We dry ourselves off, not speaking.

I’m suddenly so hungry that I feel ill. I throw some clothes on and head downstairs. I start brewing coffee and put bread in the toaster. Jesse comes down shortly after, in fresh clothes.

The mood has shifted. You can feel it in the air between us. Everything we’ve been pretending isn’t true is about to come tumbling out of us, in shouts and tears.

“I started making coffee,” I say. I try to make my voice sound light and carefree but it’s not working. I know it’s not working. I know that my inner turmoil isn’t so inner, that trying to cover it up is like brushing a thin coat of white paint over a red wall. It’s seeping out. It’s clear as day what I’m trying to hide.

“I’m starting to think you don’t want to be here,” Jesse says.

I look up at him. “It’s complicated,” I say.

Jesse nods, not in agreement with me but as if he’s heard this all before. “You know what? I gotta tell ya. I don’t think it’s that complicated.”

“Of course it is,” I say, sitting down on the sofa.

“Not really,” Jesse says, following suit, sitting down opposite me. His voice is growing less patient by the second. “You and I are married. We have been together, have loved each other, forever. We belong together.”

“Jesse—”

“No!” he says. “Why do I feel like I have to convince you to be with me? This isn’t . . . You should never have done what you did. How could you agree to marry this guy?”

“You don’t—”

“You’re my wife, Emma. We stood in front of a hundred people right down the road at that goddamn lighthouse and promised to love each other for the rest of our lives. I lost you once and I did everything I could to get back to you. Now I’m here, I’m back, and I’m in danger of losing you all over again? This is supposed to be the happy part. Now that we’re here together. This is all supposed to be the easy stuff.”