Chapter Three Three Weeks Later
Three
Three weeks later
“That’s still going on, huh?” Win says, her eyes held on the door to the garage as it shuts behind Caleb, who leaves without so much as a goodbye. Every other Friday night Caleb goes to Win’s place to play Dungeons and Dragons with Bo and their friends, and she comes here for a telenovela marathon with me. “The silent treatment?”
“Yep…” I pour this evening’s second helping of merlot. “Since the fundraiser.” I take a large sip, let the wine rest in the back of my throat, then gulp. Setting my glass down, I look to see my best friend, biting at her thumbnail as her eyes slide nervously between me and the door to the garage. “It’ll be fine,” I say, attempting to set her at ease. “We’ll be fine,” I reiterate.
Honestly, I’m beginning to wonder if that’s true. Caleb’s never been this upset with me before. For the entirety of our marriage, our longest fight prior to this one lasted only two days. And it was me moving around our place like some sort of petulant poltergeist—with the slamming of doors, cupboards left ajar, and laundry piles the only evidence of my presence—not Caleb. He’s always been the calm one. There’s no experience to help predict how long this could go on for. Or, if it will ever end.
Maybe this is it. Maybe he’s finally had enough of my bullshit. I wouldn’t blame him.
“It’s been almost a month,” Win says, delicately picking up her glass with her smaller right hand to carry a bowl of popcorn in her left toward the living room and my cozy, white L-shaped couch that awaits us. “This is you and Caleb we’re talking about; you guys don’t fight. Not like this.”
“I don’t know…” I follow Win, balancing a tray carrying several bowls filled with candy and my multiple beverages. One for hydration, one for fun, and one for comfort—water, diet Coke, and wine—just as Aunt June taught me. I set the tray on my marble coffee table and throw myself back onto the couch, shuffling into the corner seat. “I think maybe that’s the issue. We’ve been letting shit pile up for years, ignoring it like the bills on our moms’ kitchen table. But now they’re all past due and we’re too tired to deal with it all.”
“If I didn’t know better,” Win says, placing a pillow in her lap and hugging it, “it would seem like you’re giving up.”
“Would that be so bad?” I ask, throwing a handful of popcorn into my mouth. “I mean…” I say, voice muffled by half-chewed-up kernels before I swallow. “How many people do you know who got married as teenagers stay married into their thirties? Statistically couples who get married before twenty are fifty percent more likely to get divorced and divorce rates are already high to begin with.”
Win inhales sharply, causing me to turn my gaze toward her, my hand filled with popcorn freezing in midair. The expression on her face is one of offense mixed with blatant confusion. As if my blasé attitude uninvitedly slapped her ass at the bar before asking for a donation to the Girl Scouts.
“You googled it?” she asks, her voice slow. “You googled divorce rates?”
“Yeah…I—” I can’t bring myself to look at her. I nearly apologize, feeling the discomfort seeping out of her. “Yeah.”
“You and Caleb are not a statistic, Sarah,” she says, in a way that feels like I’m required to agree with her. “You two were fine just a few months ago, right? More than fine, I thought. Help me understand…”
I drop my fistful of popcorn back into the bowl between us and brush my hands free of crumbs. “I don’t know, Win. Just, lately, I’ve been questioning everything.” I look up to find her eyes on me, gentle but visibly concerned. I want her to relax, to not worry about me, but I also need to get this off my chest.
“I’ve been thinking a lot about Mom lately and I’ve been questioning over and over and over again: What do I have to show for the last decade of my life? Who am I? And so much of that answer is wrapped up in Caleb. I mean, we started dating when I was fourteen.” I suck in a breath, having failed to breathe for quite some time. “I’ve been Caleb’s other half for more than half of my life. I honestly am starting to wonder if I’m some sort of…NPC or something.”
Win blinks, her eyelashes fluttering rapidly. She opens her mouth to speak, shuts it, then shakes her head. “Wait—what’s an NPC?”
“A non-player character,” I answer. She’s still confused, open mouth staring at me. “Like from a video game? The characters who exist the moment the main player needs them to and then, presumably, disappear when offscreen—existing in some empty void. Caleb explained this to me years ago, but I suppose you’re still relatively new to the whole married-to-a-nerd gig.”
“You think you’re a background character?” Win asks, her tone far more concerned than I’d like it to be.
I hide my face from her, plucking lint off the couch cushion next to me. “On the night of the fundraiser I asked Caleb to name one thing I should be proud of. Something that’s just my own. Do you know what he said?” I keep my face pointed away but sheepishly look toward her.
Win’s frown deepens but her eyes narrow and harden with determination. “Your generosity? Your thoughtfulness? Your humor? Your banging bod? Your—”
“Winnifred,” I interrupt, shaking my head softly. Her chest raises on a deep breath, sensing what comes next, I presume. “He said nothing.” I shrug one shoulder, tugging my lips between my teeth as I watch her look away, visibly disappointed. “Caleb couldn’t think of a single thing.”
“He’s never been good under pressure,” Win says. “You know that.”
“Would we call that pressure?” I ask, swallowing back my hurt.
The corner of her lip twitches further downward. “I guess not but—”
“How would you feel if Bo couldn’t name a single accomplishment of yours? If he couldn’t point to one thing and say You did that, look how amazing you are, after over a decade of marriage? Hell, after the two-ish years you two have been together.”
“Awful,” she answers, resigned. Deep down I know I shouldn’t feel accomplished having gotten her to see how dire the situation truly is, but I do. “I’d feel awful,” she repeats, quieter.
“Right,” I say, leaning back into the couch cushions, straightening my posture. “Now take the men out of the picture—imagine you couldn’t find a single thing to be proud of yourself for, either.”
“Sarah…”
“I need a change, Win. Something has to give. And, maybe, that thing is Caleb. Maybe I need to survive on my own. And, maybe, he’d be better off.” I sigh. “Maybe he’s finally seeing what his parents have thought all along. I’m a loser.”
“Sarah Abilene Linwood, you are not a loser,” Win says decisively.
“I’m not a winner,” I reply, reaching for both my diet Coke and wine and taking back-to-back sips.
“You’re in a funk. This is a funk. An early-thirties crisis. We can find something that’s just yours.” She reaches for my knee and pats it forcefully. “You could go back to school, you could take up pottery, you could become an astronaut for all I care…But you’ll find something.” She hesitates, then squeezes my leg. “You know, Mom always thought you’d eventually write some books of your own. We all did.”
Yep, I know. Tried that and failed, thank you so much for the reminder. “It’s fucked up, right?” I attempt to divert the conversation. “That I have all this time, good health, and resources at my disposal, and I do nothing with it, but Mom—”
“What you’ve got to do first is stop comparing yourself to Marcie.” Win drops her hand as she raises an eyebrow at me. “Because that won’t help you figure your shit out and it sure as hell won’t help save your marriage.”
The words save your marriage send a cool shiver down my spine. “Damn, Winnie…You switched up your tone fast.”
“I took a moment, gathered intel, and figured out what you needed. I decided it’s tough love. You’ve got to talk to Caleb, Sar. Tonight. You cannot throw your whole life away because one event didn’t go as planned. You cannot just call yourself a loser and will it into existence by giving up. You deserve far better than that. You are better than that.”
Really? Am I? Doubt it.
“What if it all unravels?” I ask.
“Unravels?” Win repeats, her brows pinching.
I place both of my drinks onto the coffee table then stare at the cuff of my cardigan. “What if Caleb and I are like a nice, cozy sweater. A favorite sweater. The one you cannot wait to pull out as soon as the weather turns. The one that you’ve worn through your highest highs and your lowest lows. Comfortable. Dependable. But one day, you notice a broken stitch and tug on the thread a little too hard. Then, you keep tugging and tugging trying to find the end of the loose thread. But instead, the whole thing falls apart and you’re left wearing nothing—your tits out to the wind—with a pile of yarn at your feet.”
“Then, I guess, you’d pick up the yarn and knit another sweater.”
“But it’ll never be the same,” I say, looking at her, allowing her to see the fear behind my eyes that I’ve tried so hard to hide from her for so long.
“Well… is that such a bad thing ?” She throws the phrase back at me with a coy smile. “You want a change, right?” She pushes on my knee with a teasing force. “You and Caleb have made a beautiful sweater together, babe. But it’s been over a decade and clothes wear out over time. Maybe it wasn’t made well enough to begin with, considering all that you were going through when it was first put together and how young you both were. But now, you have the chance to make something new. Something that will last. And the yarn is good.”
“This analogy is getting tired,” I mumble, picking lint off my sleeve.
Win presses her foot into my leg, until I look back at her. “Pull on your thread and unravel your sweater, then wind up a new ball of yarn and begin again.”
I look at her with exaggerated disgust. “I may choose to strangle myself with the yarn if you keep going.”
“Well then, perhaps you should make yourself a nice scarf instead.” Win reaches toward the coffee table to throw a gummy bear in her mouth. “Hmm,” she mumbles, chewing as her eyes dart side to side. “You remember my old lifeguarding manager? Helen? From Westcliff Point?”
I look at her suspiciously. “I guess. Why?”
“Helen, married to Yvonne? I worked with her for four summers….”
I glance up to the ceiling with my palms presented as if to say, help me please. “How did our conversation get here from my marriage-crisis sweater? Do Helen and Yvonne knit? Did Helen strangle Yvonne with a scarf? What is the context? Take me along on your thought process here.”
Win rolls her eyes, smirking. “It’s annoying you can’t read my mind by now.” She finishes chewing her candy, then swallows hard. “Helen and Yvonne run this camping trip every year for couples. They invited Bo and me, but we can’t make it, given that it’s only a few weeks before Cando’s opening and, you know, our Velcro-kid…. It’s seven nights away at the end of June.”
“End of June…as in just over a week from now?”
“According to the Gregorian calendar, yes.”
“Okay? And?”
“It’s called Reignite. ”
“Reignite,” I repeat incredulously.
“Yes,” Win replies in a snarky tone, tossing a lace of licorice at me. I pick it up off my chest and bite into it, tugging it away from my mouth until it breaks. “Yvonne is a counselor and Helen is an outdoor and recreation therapist. She said that the couples they help come back closer and better off than ever before.”
“But it’s outdoors?” I can’t help but show my distaste.
“If I had to put money on it? I’d think the hiking and camping excursion is outdoors; yes.”
“Caleb and I are not outdoorsy people, Win. You know that.”
“Didn’t you just say you needed a change?”
“Well, yeah but—”
“To try something new?”
“Yes, however—”
“I think this could be good for you. Seven days, no distractions, a little bit of couples counseling in the great outdoors. Might give you some time to think. To talk. To dream about what you want out of life. What’s the worst that could happen?”
“I squat to take a shit in the woods and my vagina grazes poison ivy.”
She blinks at me, stunned. “Wow, your mind didn’t even hesitate to come up with that scenario.”
“We both know how sensitive she is,” I say, looking down at my lap. “I’ll be nursing her back to health for the rest of my days. Now that wouldn’t be good for my marriage.”
“We’ll get you a collapsible bucket to shit into,” Win says, reaching for her drink. She uses her tongue to fetch her straw, takes a long, drawn-out sip and then sets it back down. “Ooh, and one of those lady urinal things.”
“So according to you,” I hold up both hands to perform air-quotes, “to save my marriage, ” I drop my hands into my lap, “I have to shit in the woods? Or piss into a funnel?”
“People have done a lot more work for a lot less reward.”
“I’d have to convince Caleb to take the time off work.”
“Something tells me that won’t be so difficult.”
I scoff. “He’s not Bo.”
Win turns her body to face me, her bent knee touching mine. Her glacial-blue eyes drift off to the left as my uncomfortable remark fills the space between us. I don’t typically compare our husbands, out loud or otherwise. It’s just, they are different. One man is possessed with a type of love that seems to command his every thought and action and the other man…less so. But maybe Caleb was like that in the beginning too. I can barely remember itnow.
“Listen, Sar. I love you more than anybody on this planet. You’re my top three with my husband and my little girl. But…I’ve also had seventeen years to love and learn Caleb’s ways. That man loves you—whether he’s always great at showing it or not. I think if you tell him you want to try and go fix this weirdness between you, he’ll be on board. I think if you explain to him how you’ve been feeling, he’ll want to do this for you both.”
I nod slowly, thinking it over. I can at least approach him with the idea, right? “Do they have a website?”
Win pulls out her phone, types into her browser, then scoots closer on the couch to show me. The first photograph on the website is a group picture. Ten or so hikers, covered in varying amounts of dirt and grime, all smiling brightly. Below the photograph reads, “ Spend some much-needed time with yourself, nature, and your partner during our one-week wilderness retreat. We’ve all been guilty of getting caught up in the daily routines of life. We’re here to help you and your partner reflect, reconnect, and reignite your spark. ”
“So…” she says after a few minutes of scrolling. “What do you think?”
“I do like it…” I let the but die on my tongue. Win’s right, Caleb and I need something different. Something to help us out of our rut and comfort zones. Something to remind us of who we were before so many years together buried us under.
“So?”
“It’s Caleb,” I say, in a cautious way that translates to: “I should just ask him, right?”
“It’s Caleb,” Win repeats, in an assured way that translates to: “Absolutely.”