“I’m not sure that the right thing was on your mind when you were giving it to your secretary.” I sat forward in my chair. “Did you really think you’d just show up unannounced, smile at me, and things would be just peachy? You slept with another woman! Several of them! I have no idea how many!”
“I realize that,” he said calmly. “But if we could just—”
“If we could just nothing! I saw you having sex with another woman, Daniel! You think I can ever get that image out of my brain? You think that I can just sit across from you at dinner, or open a birthday present, or sing Christmas carols with our parents, and not constantly be thinking about the image burned into my brain of you having sex with another woman?” I crossed my leg so hard I might have sprained it. “What the hell is wrong with you? What circuit has come undone inside your mind that made you think I’d be able to get past that?”
“I’m so sorry, baby. I’m so sorry,” he said, getting up to kneel in front of me, taking my hands in his. “I’m so sorry. I can’t imagine what that must have been like for you.”
He was in pain. He felt bad, I knew he did.
“What if you walked in on me? Hmm?” I volleyed, fuming that I was forced to think about it again. To rehash it all when I finally smothered the image of them together.
“Think about it, if you saw my legs over the landscaper’s shoulders, how would you feel? Maybe my trainer was bending me over the free weights. No, I know, maybe I finally let your boss up my skirt. What do you think about that?”
“Avery, this isn’t fair.” His fists were clenched at his sides. Good. I wanted him to have the visual.
“When I walked into that office and saw what was going on, do you know the first thing that came to my mind?” I asked quietly. “It wasn’t anger, or hatred, or fear. It was sadness.”
“I’m so sorry.”
“Sadness because I couldn’t remember the last time you fucked me like that.”
“I’m so, so . . . what?”
“Then the sadness changed to . . . static. Like white noise. I watched you plow into that girl with such passion and fire and excitement and good old-fashioned dirty, raw sex . . . and I felt nothing.” I took his confused face into my hands. “Because I didn’t care.”
“But the baseball bat, you tried to—”
“Well, sure—then I was pissed,” I replied, with a smile he looked afraid of. “Because then embarrassment kicked in, and the shame of what was to come.”
“I’m really trying hard to understand what’s happening here,” he said, and for the first time, I actually felt a little bit sorry for the guy. The guy, my husband.
“I know you are,” I said, smoothing his hair back from his forehead, then taking the time to slap him twice, lightly. “I don’t love you anymore.”
His face deflated, looked a little lost. “You don’t love me anymore?” he echoed quietly.
“Daniel, do you love me anymore? And don’t say what you think I want to hear right now. Really and truly think about this. Do you really, truly, love me? Are you in love with me?”
He thought. He opened his mouth to speak, then closed it again. Then he did that again.
“No,” he said, blinking. “No, I don’t.” He stood up. “I really don’t think I do. Of course I love you, but I’m not in love with you anymore. But that doesn’t mean we have to divorce, does it?”
Unbelievable. I scrubbed my face with my hands, trying to figure out what I could say to make him see this, to make him understand. “Don’t you want more? Don’t we both deserve more?”
“I want you.”
“You don’t.”
“I do.”
“No,” I finally snapped, “you don’t. A man in love with his wife doesn’t do what you did.”
“Actually, several of my friends have, and they’re still married.”
I started for the door. “You should go.”
“Wait, no—let’s talk about this.”
“There’s nothing more to talk about.”
He followed me through the apartment. “Do you have any idea how many of our friends are in marriage counseling, going through the same thing we are, and they’re all sticking it out? Staying together. Figuring out how to make their marriage work—how can that be a bad thing?”
I whirled around. “You just said you’re not in love with me anymore! How could we possibly stay married? I don’t love you, you don’t love me. I won’t apologize for wanting that from my husband.” I pushed my curls back from my face. “Don’t you see, Daniel? This is bad. And it’d be much worse if we don’t get out now.”
“But I don’t want to be that guy—divorced guy.”
“I say this with all the love I once had for you, Daniel. I just don’t care.” I shook my head. “Besides, you wouldn’t want me back now. I’ve changed over here, and you wouldn’t like this Avery. I’ve got something pretty great going here, and I’m staying in Rome for I don’t know how long, but it’s exciting as shit and I love it!”
I took a deep breath and continued. “And it wouldn’t be fair to you, either. You need to really think about what you want—because if you’re really honest with yourself, it’s not me.”
I watched as the realization came over his face and the reality of what this meant, what this might mean to us, began to dawn. He looked old and young all at the same time, and actually quite vulnerable.
“I need to ask you something, Daniel. And you need to really listen.”
He nodded, still looking a bit stunned at what had just transpired.
“If I hadn’t gotten pregnant would you have married me?” I let my question hang in the air. The question, the one that had plagued me for years. The question that crept in late at night, twisting and turning into the darkest part of my mind, the part that questioned everything and always wondered what if, what would have, what could I . . . had things been different.
“I can’t answer that,” he said, twisting his hands in his lap.
I shook my head, unwilling to let this go unanswered for another minute of our lives, especially since our life was essentially over and I might never get another chance. “You have to answer, Daniel, if you ever felt anything for me, I need to know.”
“I don’t . . . Christ, Avery, I don’t know if . . .” He looked at me with the strangest eyes. “You seemed so different after.”
“I was different after, Daniel. When Hannah died, I felt lost, too, and I know you did. You can say it, Daniel. I think this is part of the problem. We never talked about her.”
When I looked up at him, he was pale, ashen. He’d gone through hell, too. “But how do you talk about something like that? I couldn’t, I mean, how could I talk about . . . she was my daughter.”
I reeled backward, struck by the strength of these memories, memories that were so tied up and tucked away like so much of my young life had been. Fresh tears sprung to my eyes as I felt them all rushing back.
“Neither one of us dealt with it, Daniel. Not the way we should have. Not together. We have to face the fact that once Hannah was gone, there wasn’t much holding us together as a couple. And whatever we did have just kind of . . . dissolved.”
Taking his hand, I sandwiched it between mine. His ring was still on, the gold glinting in the lamplight. I spun it around his finger once and then covered it with my hand. “We should have focused on the memories that you and I made together before her instead of losing her. If we’d leaned on each other maybe things would have been different.”
He nodded, wiping his eyes on his jacket sleeve. “I wish I could go back. Fix things.”
I shook my head to clear it, to find Daniel, still sitting in front of me, still not able to answer my question. If I hadn’t gotten pregnant, would he have married me?
I answered it for him. “I don’t think we would have gotten married. I think if I hadn’t gotten pregnant, everything would be so different. It changed us so much afterward that we should have realized then that this wouldn?
??t work forever,” I said, wiping a tear away. “That part of us, those incredible months we had with her, with our family, that’s the most precious time of my life, but ever since then? Oh, Daniel . . . we were just a mess. A pretty, polished, looks-great-on-the-surface mess, but a mess.”
I was having a Moment, and I was also Having a Moment inside of a Moment—and while that should have been really confusing, it was actually affording me perfect clarity. A moment like when I missed a chair in Rome and fell at the feet of the one who got away. I was being given a second chance.
“We deserve to be happy, Daniel,” I said, wiping my nose with the back of my hand, gaining strength once more. “You just have to admit that it isn’t with each other.”
He gave a great sigh that sounded like it should have come from someone much older. “You really won’t come home with me?”
Bless his heart. “No, Daniel. I really won’t.” I shook my head sadly at him.
He nodded, all the fight seeming to have drained out of him. “So there’s no point in trying to get you to—”
“That’s just it. There’s no point in trying to get me.” And with that, he got it. He finally got it. “I think at this point, it’s best to let the lawyers handle it, don’t you?” The tiniest sob of sadness tugged at the back of my throat, making my voice catch a bit.
He nodded once more, agreeing with me. His face looked as resigned as I felt, and he turned for the door.
As he shrugged into his jacket, I placed my hand on the middle of his back, between his shoulder blades. There was a birthmark there about the size of a dime. In the right light, it looked vaguely like a heart.
He turned back to face me with sad eyes. “You really have changed haven’t you?”
“I have.” I should have a long time ago.
“It’s good,” he said, and I believed him.
“Good-bye, Daniel,” I said, my voice cracking. This part of my life was ending. Sure, there’d be paperwork and phone calls, emails and maybe even another face-to-face meeting when it came time to divide everything up. It might get ugly; it might get heated. But in the end, I hoped that one day I’d see him on the Boston Common, walking with his new wife, perhaps with his children. And we’d both smile.
He turned back to me and hugged me close. “Bye, Avery.”
And then he left.
And I cried. Because this was one of the big decisions, the ones about responsibility and tough choices and living with them.
Part of me would always look fondly on my time with Daniel. Maybe even wonder a bit about what could have been had things not gone south. The years with him made me who I was, and you could only learn from that and hope not to make the same mistakes again. After all, that lesson had brought me here.
Marcello called a few hours later. He missed me. He wanted me. Could he come over?
No, not tonight. I needed to be alone, to really and truly grieve what had finally ended, and actually let myself feel it.
When I went to bed, the sliver of the moon was high, bright white, and smiling through my open window. The warm summer breeze floated in, dancing over the thin sheet like a kiss. I turned, listening to the quiet chirps from the crickets below.
I didn’t know what else Italy had in store for me, but I knew this was exactly where I was supposed to be.
REALLY GREAT WORK, AVERY,” Maria commented, checking off items on her list. “The organic microemulsion solution you used was brilliant.”
I beamed, rocking back and forth on my heels. “Thank you, that means a lot. But I can’t take all the credit. Baglioni created it. I just adopted it to get rid of that awful polymer that someone in the sixties slapped over it.”
She laughed, making a final check before moving on to speak with the supervisor about the other aspects of my working there.
While she was preoccupied with his conversation, I took one more admiring lap around the home. There were still a few laborers on the premises, but most had filed out to make room for the interior designers and the landscapers.
Fabrics were draped over the ornately carved wooden banisters, rugs were piled high on the slate floor, in an effort to find the perfect shade of basil to highlight the owner’s office color.
Maria found me admiring the tumbled tile bathroom. “I must say, Avery. Finding you couldn’t have come at a better time.”
My cheeks pinked from the praise. “Thank you. This was a tremendous leap of faith on your part, and I can’t thank you enough for the opportunity.”
“Tell me something,” she began, sifting through her satchel. “How long do you plan on staying in Italy?”
“It’s open-ended; I haven’t set any date.”
“What if I told you I had another job for you?” She held up a sheet of paper. “It’s strictly volunteer again, but the experience would be above and beyond any salary we could give you. I’ll leave this plan with you and you can let me know on Monday. Does that sound all right?”
“Yes!” I exclaimed, quickly reading over the project info.
“Great, I’ll talk to you then,” she said.
“I mean yes, I’ll take it! I don’t need time to think.”
“Wonderful! Stop by Monday and we’ll figure out the paperwork.”
We shook hands and after she left, I couldn’t turn off the smile or figure out how to make my legs move. I sat at the edge of the tub, staring out into the city, and sighed the happiest sigh I could.
I called Marcello, but it went straight to voice mail. Same with Daisy. Leaving the villa, I said good-bye to those I wouldn’t likely see on the next project and headed home, floating on air.
* * *
WHEN I ARRIVED AT HOME, the postman was just dropping off the mail. With a smile, he handed me a stack of tiny white envelopes that were dwarfed by the giant manila one on the bottom. Without even checking the return address label, I knew what it was.
Since his visit to Rome, Daniel had been surprisingly as anxious as I was to get the divorce handled quickly. Which I appreciated. But while I wanted it done, I wasn’t going to rush through the division of assets.
I was conflicted. I had barely worked outside the home since we’d been married, but I’d worked my ass off to support his career. I didn’t want tons, but I wanted my due. Enough to not have to worry for a while, and to continue taking volunteer jobs to pad my newly resurrected résumé. Enough to make sure that I could make smart choices about the way I wanted to live my life . . . and where I wanted to live it. His way of life could be greatly attributed to my ensuring the smooth veneer of the happiest of couples, where dinner parties went swimmingly, the wallpaper was interesting but not intrusive, and my nether regions never sported more than a half-inch-wide landing strip, all other hair banished from the kingdom.
Things had certainly changed in that area, too; Marcello liked things a bit more . . . au naturel. I couldn’t help laughing out loud.
Daisy’s bedroom door swung open, and there she was. “You’re cackling to yourself? What the hell happened to you while I was in Amsterdam?”
“I finally lost it,” I shouted.
“You lost it in college, I remember. Daniel walked around campus with an enormous grin for a week,” she shot back.
“I remember. I couldn’t knock that smile off his face.”
“So you sat on it.”
I rolled my eyes. “Heavens no, he never liked that.”
Placing her hand upon her chest, she mimed a cardiac episode. “Thank God you’re divorcing him.”
“You just said a mouthful.”
“Speaking of a mouthful, I assume Marcello is the kind of guy who likes to—”
“Can I welcome you home before you start asking me about whether or not he likes to anything?” I laughed. “If you’d shut up for thirty seconds, I could hug you.”
She held open her arms. “Jesus, it’s like a Disney movie. Can you feel the love?”
“Oh shush, welcome home! When did you get in?” I asked, setting my tote d
own and heading into the kitchen. She followed along.
“An hour or so ago. The place looks really great, though suspiciously clean.” She raised her eyebrow when I turned back to smile.
“You said Clorox. I obeyed. Tell me about Amsterdam.”
“Later, tell me everything that’s been going on here—and don’t you dare leave out a detail.”
She’s very bossy, my best friend. But I told her about Lake Como, Daniel’s visit, how I reacted afterward—everything.
“And now there’s an envelope,” she said, motioning to it. “Is it bad?”
“It’s just the papers from the lawyers to get the ball rolling. I won’t know for a little bit yet.”
And she was supportive, as always. “You’re doing the right thing. You’re getting a second chance here; how many people would kill for a second chance? Don’t waste it.”
Sound advice.
* * *
MARCELLO CALLED BACK while I was explaining to Daisy which surfaces in her home we defiled. She would never look at her kitchen island the same way again.
“You have good news?” he asked before I even had the chance to say hello.
“I do.”
“Are you going to share it with me?” He laughed, and I heard it coming from just outside the apartment.
I jumped off the couch and ran to the front door, swinging it wide open. “What a nice surprise!”
He pushed the phone into his back pocket and stepped inside, eyes hungrily moving over me. Capturing my lips quickly, he pushed us up against the door, giving the pedestrians outside a bit of a show.
They hooted and hollered, but Marcello wasn’t deterred. Until a bucket of ice water named Daisy breezed into the living room, dousing us thoroughly.
“Please do me a favor next time you sexually maul my best friend. Close the door so the neighborhood kids aren’t scarred for life,” she teased, whacking him on the rear with her clutch.
He looked just the tiniest bit embarrassed but snapped out of it quickly. Following up a quick kiss with a pat on my ass, he pulled me over to the chair, where he sat and indicated for me to drop into his lap.