The Empty Jar(5)

Three

Take Back the Night

Lena



“And I brought this one for a night out on the streets of gay Paris,” Nissa says with a flourish, holding up a red sheath that fastens over one shoulder, leaving the other one bare.

“Will that be warm enough? According to Google, September temperatures over there can get pretty chilly at night. ”

I don’t mention that I’ve Googled information about the countries we’ll be visiting at least a dozen times and can never seem to retain what I’ve read. My mind always drifts back to our somber reality.

“That’s why I brought this to go with it,” she explains, her smile proud and satisfied as she holds the dress in place with one hand and reaches behind her with the other. From the pile of clothes on the bed, Nissa produces a red silk shawl with a fine silver thread running through it. It’s beautiful. A beautiful shawl for a beautiful dress to be worn in a beautiful place. “And the clutch and shoes that match.”

I take the wispy drape from her, letting the slippery material run slither across my palm. “I never thought it would be like this.” My whisper is unintentional, the words out before I can stop them. They weigh so heavily on my heart, it’s as though my tongue is a flap too flimsy to hold them inside.

Of all the times I’ve fantasized about a romantic trip to Europe with Nate, I’ve never once considered that it might be under these circumstances. I guess no one plans for disaster. Not really.

“Be like what?” Nissa asks.

Startled, I glance up guiltily from my perch on the bed. “I-I just meant that I never really thought I’d get to go. I mean, Europe! After all this time. Finally!” I add the last with as much dramatic flair as possible, smiling widely to better sell my lie.

Nissa’s sharp blue eyes narrow on me, our friendship too old, our relationship too close for her to miss the slip and believe the lie. “Is something else going on?”

“Of course not.” I shake my head and frown, my expression clearly accusing her of being silly.

At least I hope it is.

Nissa lets the red dress drop over her folded arm then pushes the pile of dresses and blouses and lingerie out of the way so she can sit on the bed to face me. “Are you sure? Because you can tell me. Do you think something is going on with him? Him and…and someone else maybe?”

I stare at my friend, noticing for the first time that she appears to be ill at ease. Nervous almost. But why? What does she have to be nervous about?

As I study her, Nissa begins to worry her bottom lip with the point of one tooth, something she often does when she’s uncomfortable. I think back to the past few weeks, to all the times she’s seemed about to say something and then suddenly made an excuse to leave, or when she’s abruptly changed the subject to one of random unimportance. Behavior like that isn’t entirely out of character for my bubbly, eccentric friend, so I’ve never suspected that it really meant anything. But now, in retrospect…

Fear knots my stomach and questions fly through my mind.

What is this about?

What’s going on?

The longer we sit watching each other, the more uncomfortable my oldest friend seems to become.

I finally prompt her when she seems hesitant to continue. “Nissa?”

Nissa tucks a strand of blonde hair behind her ear, her gaze sinking to her lap where her trembling fingers are fiddling with the red material puddled there. She clears her throat before she begins. My heart pounds with dread “Lena, I…”

She seems to quickly lose her courage, and when she stops again, my palms grow damp with increasing anxiety. What could be this bad? What could she have so much trouble telling me?

“I think Nate might be…might be seeing someone.”

In the space of a few seconds, a reel of memories from the past plays across the screen of my mind. Millions of happy moments that I’ve shared with Nate race by in a flash. Tropical trips and glamorous parties, erotic showers and quiet dinners, heartfelt truths and teasing lies—it’s all there, stored in the ridges and valleys of my cerebral cortex. But more importantly, they’re stored in my heart, right alongside the knowledge that my husband has and will always be faithful.

Yes, there were some tense times in our past—fights I wasn’t sure we’d make it through, arguments that had seemed unending. But never once did I ever consider that Nate might cheat on me.

We have our differences, just like everybody else. And we have our faults. I’m stubborn as hell and Nate has a temper if he gets poked the right way. But we love each other. Deeply. Truly.

We share the kind of love that picks you up when you stumble, the kind of love that catches you when you fall, the kind of love that rescues you when you need saving.

The real kind of love.

And I believe that it will last long after the door of life closes on one of us. I believe that more than I believe anything else.

What I can’t, what I won’t believe is that my husband is capable of risking all that for a fling. It’s not part of the Nate I know. And I know Nate.

Nate is my “in sickness and in health”.

Nate is my “until death do us part”.

Nate is the staying kind.

He proved that beyond the shadow of a doubt when he quit his job so we could spend the next three months together living out one of our dreams. He gave up everything so we could have this one last big adventure. Those aren’t the actions of a man who isn’t fully committed.