Chapter Thirty-Nine
Now
Avery
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck . I can’t believe what I’m about to do. I thought about it constantly all night. Sleep was not going to happen, so I just gave up, spending the entire night staring at my dark ceiling and listening to the air conditioner hum when it turned on and off.
When I left the girls yesterday at the wedding dress studio, they had more than enough questions to make my head spin.
To appease them, I said I needed time and would speak with them in a few days.
But knowing my friends, they’ll be banging on my front door soon.
I can’t tell them what I’m about to do. I need to do it fully on my own.
“Hello, my bride.” Dave answers on the first ring.
“Hey.” I nervously scratch my forehead. “Are you free for dinner?”
“Uh, yeah. It’s not our night, though.” The running water is in the background, and the distant sound of his voice tells me he’s still at work.
A bit of our relationship the girls always give me a hard time about. They’ve never been comfortable with Dave wanting to be alone twice a week. It never bothered me because I never had that need always to want to be with Dave. The more I thought about it, the more I realized it was strange.
“I know, but I need to talk to you about something,” I say straight out. It’s no use being cryptic.
He sighs, pausing briefly before responding, “What is it now?”
“Can we meet at the pizza parlor down the street from my building?” I ask, understanding his frustration but choosing not to bring attention to it.
“You’re not going to tell me?” he presses, his voice clearer this time. Maybe he stepped away from one of the patient rooms and into his office.
“I’d rather just talk about it in person,” I say, anxious that he’ll continue to push back.
“I can come by your place when I get off work,” he offers. I’d rather be in a public place. Not because I’m scared of Dave but because I want to keep things clean cut and to the point.
I think of something on the spot. “It’s a new restaurant, and I’ve been wanting to try it for some time.” Not completely a lie. “I figured this would be a good opportunity.”
“That’s fine,” he replies with a clipped tone.
I don’t blame him for his feelings. I’d feel discontented as well. I’ve put him through a lot in the last few weeks. Hopefully, getting what I need off my chest will comfort us both. I’m ready to move on from the previous eight years, and my patience is growing thin.
“Thanks, Dave.”
“I’m just finishing up with my last patient, and then I’ll head over there,” he tells me.
“Okay, see you—” Dave instantly cut off my words by hanging up the call. I squeeze my eyes shut and fall back onto my couch, not bothering to call him back.
Over the next hour, I drift in and out of sleep, passing the time before I’m sure Dave has left his clinic.
I peel myself off the couch and head directly into the kitchen.
Taking a sharp left and turning toward the wet bar, I grab a bottle of bourbon.
Forgoing a glass, I take a swig right from the top.
The warmth rolls down my throat, eventually coating my stomach.
“That’s better,” I whisper to myself, smiling down at it as I would an old friend.
With extra courage, I slip on my shoes, swipe my keys off the counter, and head out the door.
As soon as I round the corner in front of the pizza parlor, I see Dave leaning against the hedge next to the entrance. We make eye contact. He nods quickly and pulls me in for a stiff hug. He suspects something is up.
“Thank you for meeting me,” I say, brushing off the nervousness whirling in my stomach.
“Yeah, sure,” he murmurs, leading me into the restaurant.
The hostess escorts us to a corner table by a window.
Dave and I take the seats on opposite sides.
“Thank you,” I say taking the menu from her.
Dave opens it and closes it quickly. “I guess I’ll be getting pizza.”
I chuckle uncomfortably at his sarcasm. Dave isn’t an informal guy. He would feel more comfortable sitting in a dress-coded, white table linen establishment.
“I think I’ll start with the salad and then get a personal cheese pizza,” I tell him, making small talk.
He nods silently and doesn’t speak until the server comes over to take our order. When Dave and I are alone, he places his elbows on the table and clasps his hands beneath his chin.
“Okay, let’s get this over with,” he says. “What’s going on now?”
I practiced explaining everything to him at least a dozen times in my bathroom mirror, yet in this moment, I find myself at an utter loss for words.
Suddenly, I’m second-guessing how to tell him and if I should say anything.
Does it benefit to know more details, or is it better to be straight to the point?
I suck in a heavy breath. “I want you to know, I think you’re a great guy and—”
He jerks his head away, pushing back in his seat. “Oh my god. Where is this going?”
Maybe not the best way to approach this conversation—very cliche, but it’s not like I have much experience with this. Speaking from an honest place is all I can do.
I curb my patience, reminding myself he’ll need time to process what I’m about to say. “Can I finish?”
“Continue.” He waves a hand in my direction.
I take in a breath and start again. “I’ve been thinking lately that I want to take some time for myself.”
“What does that mean?”
He’s going to make me say it. “I don’t think we should get—”
“Are you actually doing this?” He cuts off my thought.
“Look, Dave—”
His palms fly into the air between us. “Save it, Avery.”
“Can you just let me talk?” I snap, sitting straighter.
“I already know what you’re going to say.”
“Well, if you already do, it shouldn’t shock you,” I reply.
He crosses his arms at his chest, taking a defensive posture. “Are you just trying to call off the wedding, or are you breaking up with me?”
Rubbing my lips together, I glance around the room. My eyes darted from one couple in love to the other. It looks like they can’t get enough of each other, with most sitting close and even cuddling in this romantically lit restaurant.
I’ve never felt that way with Dave.
“I think both,” I grimace.
“Both?” He scoffs, arrogance taking over his expression. “My mother was right about you.”
Wait. What?
I can’t engage with her unkind comments. We’ll lose track of what I’m trying to do. “I’m sorry she was right about me,” I offer, trying to keep our conversation civil. “I just—”
“So, what’s wrong? What happened?” he asks more like a statement rather than seeking to understand.
Here’s my time, to be honest. Tell him everything. Deep breaths.
“The thing is, Dave, I’ve never been able to give my heart to you fully.” I pause to gulp a generous sip of my old-fashioned that was just placed on the table. “You did nothing wrong. It’s not you.”
“Then what is it?” he pressures.
“We both deserve to be able to give our whole heart to someone, ya know?”
“That’s what I thought we did.” His eyes soften slightly. “I care for you, Avery.”
“But are we really in love?” I ask. “Or has it been just something easy?”
“That’s what I need,” he replies matter-of-factly.
“I need a wife who wants her own space and isn’t overly emotional about things.
You’re never bothered when I work late or if I’m grabbing a beer with my friends.
” He goes on to attempt to list my positive qualities, but they only act as a reminder that I’ve never been completely invested in this relationship.
“Aren’t couples supposed to want to spend a lot of time together?
” I challenge. A brief silence settles between us as our food arrives.
We both take a few bites before I decide to continue.
“It’s not fair of me to marry you, knowing I don’t feel that palpable tension and desperation to be with you. You as well, apparently.”
He tosses his napkin into his lap. “People aren’t really like that. Marriage is transactional. It’s a partnership in life and not about that romantic stuff you see in movies and TV.” This is Dave. A perfect summation of his view on life and love. But I know marriage can be so much more.
I ignore his condescending comment. “Dave, I want to be madly in love with the man I’m married to, and I want him to be madly in love with me.”
“At some point, maybe we will?”
What? No. That’s not how love should be. I’m getting nowhere with these points because none of them would be deal-breakers for him. I need to be more honest than I want to be.
“I can’t marry you because my heart already belongs to someone else.” Even with the confidence I try to elude, my words still appear insecure and small. Shoving my hands underneath my legs, I wait for his response.
Dave stiffens. His jaw clenches, and he leans forward as if not hearing me clearly the first time. “Fuck, Avery.”
The emotional weight of the past eight years crushes my chest, forcing a breath. “I gave my heart away long ago, and he’s never given it back.”
“Does this have to do with your trip to California?” he accuses, the vein on his left temple being more pronounced than before.
I promised myself I’d tell him the truth. Some details will stay with me, but he deserves to know the rest. I’d want to.
“Yes.” I nod, swallowing hard. “So, the reason why I had to fly out there was because I’m already married.”
The color drains from Dave’s face. “What?”
“I got married when I was eighteen. Right after my parents died.”
“And you’ve been married this whole time?”
“Yes,” I admit but quickly explain more. “But we haven’t been together or even spoken with each other since then.”
Dave’s head falls back as his hands come up to cover his face. “Don’t you think this is something you should have said a year ago when we started dating?”
Valid question. “Yes. But we were just casual most of the time when we were together. It only just recently became serious—”
“After I proposed?”
Nodding, I rub my lips together. “Yeah.”
“I don’t even know what to say right now,” I say, dropping his fork into the salad bowl. “I need to get out of here. I need to process this.”
My chest is tight. Despite my feelings toward Dave, this is a very difficult and emotional situation for both of us. “I’m so sorry.”
“It’s fine,” he rushes out, trying to maintain his composure. “Can I have my ring back?”
“Yes,” I say. A tear of sadness rolls down my cheek. I bring my arm up to the table to remove it, but from the corner of my eye, I catch Dave’s arm extending. He clasps my hand in his. Staring down at the beautiful pear-cut diamond on my finger, a flash of sorrow changes his expression.
“This is a beautiful ring,” he mumbles, slipping it off my finger.
I smile. “It really is.”
A bit of sadness moves through me as Dave takes his ring back.
It’s a bittersweet feeling. The possibility of a loveless, secure future is still difficult to pass on.
I’m sure for other women, it would be a clear decision, but a broken heart changes the way a person thinks and acts—especially how they view the world.
Society places this invisible barrier on kids in love. We’re taught to believe it can’t be real until you’ve reached some ambiguous number and are deemed ready to be in love.
I know without a doubt that what I experienced with Jasper that summer on the beach was love. We made memories by the shore that changed who I was.
I loved him then as I do now.