Chapter Twenty-Nine
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
NOW
ELIZABETH LIES IN BED with a book I’ve never seen before. Its cover is reminiscent of one of those cutesy cartoon romances I’ve seen walking through the store. Blue-gray tortoiseshell reading glasses sit on the end of her nose, and her eyes roam across the page. I climb into my side of the bed with my copy of Atlas Shrugged , opening to where I left off about halfway through the book. I can’t even comprehend the growing chaos and economic collapse of the country due to Galt’s strike because I’m too damn focused on the woman next to me. If my brain was run by little workers, then they’re jumping ship just like the individuals who have joined the strike, leaving me behind to function without their contributions.
I’m done waiting for you to wake the fuck up and realize everything you could’ve had and lost.
Her words still bouncing around my mind, and I analyze every bit of them. What does she mean?
Closing my book, I turn toward her and wait for her to acknowledge me, but she doesn’t. Her eyes continue to flick across the pages but never look too far to the right so she doesn’t accidentally catch a glimpse of me.
“Are we doing the right thing?” I ask, and she scoffs but still doesn’t look at me. “I’m serious. I don’t—”
“Of course we’re doing the right thing.” Elizabeth cuts me off, finally turning to look at me. She pushes her glasses to the top of her head and rubs her eyes with the heels of her palms. “Soon enough, you’ll be free to go to Wichita as much as you want. Hell, you could move there if you wanted.”
“Would you just forget Wichita for one fucking second?” I take one of her hands in mine. Her eyes drop to them and I’m almost certain she feels that same warmth bloom under her skin that I do. I reach up to cradle the side of her face, letting my thumb graze the delicate skin of her cheek, and her eyes flutter closed. “I just want you to be happy, Sugar. Whatever that means. If that means signing the papers in May…Fine. I’ll do it. But only if you can tell me with one hundred percent certainty that this is what you want.”
She doesn’t say anything, swallowing the words she had mentally prepared to throw my way. And when her eyes flutter open to meet mine, I can see the questions swimming through her mind.
“Elizabeth, I’m sorry for lying to you. There is no excuse, but I had to. You were so adamant that you didn’t want me to go out there. There’s obviously a reason Juliet reached out after all of this time.”
“It doesn’t matter, Josh.”
“Of course it matters! How you feel matters to me. You’re hurt that I didn’t tell you and I’m sorry. But Elizabeth,”—I pull her gaze to mine—“please believe me when I say that nothing happened. Juliet never even showed up.”
“Well, I’m sure you can find a way to get ahold of her if you really want to.”
“I don’t want to,” I say. “You’re the one who ended things the last time, Elizabeth. Why did you care so much if I went to Wichita or not? Weren’t you even the least bit curious what she wanted to tell me?”
“It’s not hard to guess if you read that damn letter.”
Without another word, Elizabeth turns back to her book. She can’t focus on it; I can see it in the way her eyes gloss over the same sentence over and over and over again. She sighs. “Josh, just do what you came here to do, okay? We’re not here to try and fix things.”
“I’m just trying to—”
Elizabeth slams her book and glares at me. “Is that what you thought this weekend was about? I’m in a relationship, Josh!”
“Right, how could I forget.” I scoff. “You know something I’m curious about…When did you and Ryan start dating?”
She doesn’t answer, but that’s answer enough.
“Where’d you meet?”
Her eyes narrow behind her glasses. “That’s none of your concern.”
“It is my concern when you’re still my wife , Elizabeth. In case you’ve forgotten, we are still legally married until we sign those papers on May 22nd. You are still m—”
“Ryan wants to work things out,” she cuts me off.
“He wants to fix things? If he wants to ‘fix’ things, why isn’t he here with you this weekend?”
If Ryan wanted to work things out, why didn’t he come with her this weekend? I guess the better question is, why didn’t she invite him? Why am I still here instead?
“You know what I think?” I try to catch her gaze. “I think you’re scared.”
“Scared?” She scoffs. “Scared of what?”
“Moving on.”
“You can’t move on from something that was never there to begin with.” Her words are like a punch to the gut. Why though? It’s the truth. Everything we had was just a way to pass the time we were required to spend together. This was just part of the plan.
“Spew your bullshit to them.” Elizabeth motions toward the door, toward her friends. “But we both know your ‘feelings’ for me weren’t real. They were a product of being forced to spend time together. That’s not real, Josh. It’s not genuine. Anything we felt was artificial.”
Maybe that’s what we’ve been telling ourselves, but the longing in my bones is anything but artificial.
“Let’s just get through the rest of this weekend, okay? Then we can move on with our lives.”
“Why do you care so much about what your friends think? It’s not like any of them are living picture-perfect lives. Yet, you can’t even be honest with them about your own issues.”
“It’s none of their business.”
“None of their business?” I scrub my hand down my face. She cannot be serious. These are supposed to be some of her closest friends. Why wouldn’t she want to go to them for support? “Elizabeth, what happens when you show up next year with some guy who isn’t me? There isn’t a post-divorce Last Hoorah Clause . You’re going to have to tell them.”
Without giving me a response, she reaches over to shut off the lamp before turning her back to me.