Chapter 2
Those Devastating Words in Winter
Erin
“No.”
I said that? Me? And without hesitating for even a second to think it through! I almost floated on the adrenaline. Refusing Jeremy’s ridiculous suggestion had been so much easier than I thought.
Proud of myself, I lifted my chin higher. “I don’t want an open marriage.”
The leather creaked as Jeremy eased back in the chair. His face remained blank except for the slight twitch of his mouth in the corner. That wasn’t the answer he’d hoped for.
I said, “What if we try counseling—”
“You expect me to sit in front of some quack therapist so we can talk about our feelings? I’m a fucking psychiatrist, Erin!”
With my hand pressed over my thumping heart, I glanced at the couple beside us. The woman’s spoon hovered near her mouth. She was listening. My gaze shifted to the couple on the other side. No. Everyone was listening.
I inched closer to Jeremy. “I’m not minimizing what you do.” I dropped my voice even lower. “You’re an excellent doctor. Everyone says so. But I think someone who doesn’t know us might help us to—”
“Give you free rein to complain?”
“No, that’s not—”
“Completely disregard what I need from our relationship?”
I sighed. Why didn’t he ever let me finish speaking? “Jeremy, it’s not like I haven’t noticed something’s changed between us. A therapist could help us talk about what we both need.”
He barked a laugh at the ceiling. “This is unbelievable.”
“You didn’t realize I’m unhappy?”
“What reason do you have to be unhappy? Please. Enlighten me.”
“You’re working such long hours.” Cautiously, I reached out, my fingers settling in a gentle squeeze around his thigh. “I miss you. I thought you might’ve noticed all my little gestures… even if I’m not as good at showing you how much I care in other ways…”
“Juvenile notes left on my dinner in the fridge?”
My hand fell away. His comment stung. A handwritten “I love you” stuck to the plastic wrap over another dinner he’d missed seemed thoughtful to me.
“I’d eat with you if you came home earlier…” I said. “Jeremy… Is this really a conversation about how to fix us?”
“Of course it is.”
“Or… maybe… You already found someone else?”
“What the hell are you suggesting?”
My throat tight, the words almost too thick to push out, somehow, I asked, “Who called you before?”
Jeremy’s chair screeched on the wooden floor. He lurched to his feet, his wallet ripped out of his pocket, and with a careless flick, he torpedoed his credit card at me.
“Fuck this,” he spat.
I could only stare, eyes wide, my mouth falling open, as he shouldered his way past the waiter.
Jeremy made his living helping people through complex emotional turmoil, and he behaved…
like that? Worse than our toddler! The last of my strength crumbled, and I slumped on the chair.
How had the night veered from my nervous excitement of dressing up for a date night to… this?
“Ma’am.” The waiter appeared beside me with a simpering smile. “Would you like the check?”
Would I?
I could shed the last of my dignity, chase Jeremy, and indulge him in another pointless argument where I never got to complete a full sentence for the enjoyment of everyone rushing past.
Or…
I glanced down. My gown was perfect for a rare dinner free from plastic placemats and toddler-sized bowls and cutlery. The babysitter was booked until midnight, and even if Jeremy didn’t seem to think so, I’d earned a night off.
No, I would not like the check.
I smiled at the waiter. “I’d love to try a glass of the Riesling, please. And for my main course, I’d like the chicken…”
The house was quiet.
I nudged Matilda’s door open and peeked through the gap.
The fairy nightlight was only a blush of pink on shadowed walls, but it was enough to see the tiny girl with the splatter of dark curls sprawled on top of the sheets.
A rumpled pajama leg was bunched above her knee, and her thumb dangled from her mouth.
My fingers slipped off the edge of the door, and I backed away. One less thing to worry about. I headed for the bedroom. What waited for me there? Another argument?
Jeremy was right—we couldn’t keep spinning helplessly in the same tired circles.
But would we be happier living as roommates, only coming together to raise our daughter, and pursuing our own interests at night?
A separate existence wasn’t the marriage I’d signed up for—or the one I wanted.
For better or worse. I’d meant my vows when I’d said them. Had he?
“Jeremy?”
Steam curled from the gap in the bathroom door.
I peeked around the corner. Jeremy’s back was to me, oblivious that I was home, a comb raking through his wet hair, and a black towel riding low on his hips.
The scent of soap hung in the fog, and when my foot landed on the marble tiles, I saw nothing but the water trickling down long, lean muscles sculpted by hours of tennis.
Gorgeous.
Had I forgotten Jeremy like he’d said? I’d stared at him last night after his shower too, a tight, restless ache settling in my stomach. And the night before. But he rarely offered me a suggestive smirk.
Jeremy didn’t hear the breath I sucked in for one final boost of courage. I stroked teasing fingers down his spine and pressed a kiss to his tanned shoulder. Instead of leaning into my touch, he froze, his back straightening until he stood in a tall, rigid line.
“Til’s asleep,” I murmured, but before my hand could edge under his towel, he sidestepped out of my reach.
“Erin, what the hell?”
My eyes darted everywhere. I didn’t know what to do with my hands.
I found a safe place to keep them busy in the satin folds of my dress.
“I’m sorry if I’ve been distant,” I blurted out.
“I never meant to be. For the last few weeks, I feel like I’ve tried everything to be close to you…
” I bit down too hard on my bottom lip. “Maybe tonight…we could…”
I refused to say something as trite as “Be intimate,” and the mood was too tense to drawl out a sexy “Wanna get dirty?” even though I vaguely remembered being confident and flirty when I’d first caught Jeremy’s eye across a crowded bar.
He gaped down at me, horrified, as if I’d suggested he run into a burning building to rescue my growing collection of cast-iron cookware.
I shrank away. “You don’t want to?”
“Listen, it’s just...” He exhaled slowly, shaking his head. “We’ve already said too much tonight.”
I held back a laugh. Too much? We hadn’t talked at all. He’d been angry. I’d been confused. And once he’d grown tired of cutting me off, he’d stormed out.
Frustration bit into my voice. “We need to talk about what’s going on between us.”
“I don’t want to hurt you.”
“Be honest for once.”
His lips thinned.
“Please.”
Jeremy took a deep breath and said, “I’m not attracted to you anymore.”
My stomach twisted so tight I doubled over. I’d asked for honesty, but I wasn’t prepared for how much those words would hurt.
“O-oh,” I said, taking a step back to put more distance between us. “I… I wish you’d admitted that from the start…”
“It’s not an easy thing to say.”
It was even worse to hear it. And what could I say to my husband after he’d made this declaration?
Should I cry? Scream? My fingers dug into the plump roll of my hip.
I fit into all my old clothes, but my body felt different since having Matilda—rounder, softer.
I was a stranger in my own skin. Should I promise Jeremy I’d make more of an effort to get in shape? I was desperate. I’d promise.
“I’ll try harder.” I forced an unconvincing smile. “What about if I join a gym? Or take up Pilates?” All the other doctors’ wives did Pilates. It was basically a prerequisite for acceptance, along with the Range Rover and the oversized designer tote bag they all had slung over their shoulders.
“I don’t think you want to do that, and look, maybe you don’t have to. Monogamy is an outdated concept. This is your chance to explore more, too. If we open up our marriage, I’m not proposing I’d be the only one to play—”
“Play?”
Jeremy rummaged in the drawer for his face cream. “It’s an expression,” he mumbled.
“If we can agree on one thing tonight, I hope it’s that you never use that expression to describe what you’re suggesting ever again.”
Eyes narrowing, his fist tightened around the cream. “Erin—”
“Monogamy might be an outdated concept for you, but I could never sleep with someone else.”
“I just wanted to be clear that this is an option for both of us.”
“You want options?” I held up my index finger. “Counseling.” My middle finger popped up next. “Scheduling time together for sex.”
I was about to wiggle my ring finger in his face with another suggestion, but he threw the tube of cream into the sink. His glare was enough for me to plaster my spine to the wall.
“I’m not booking an appointment to fuck my wife!” he snapped.
“It wouldn’t be like that. It’s about prioritizing time together. We need to put as much effort into our relationship as we do with everything else going on in our lives.”
“No.”
“Nothing will change unless we try something.”
“We have something to try.”
“An open marriage is not an option!”
“We can set rules.”
I snorted a laugh. “Here’s rule number one: no.”
“Erin, for once, can you at least try not to act so fucking crazy? You’re not even bothering to listen to my side.”
“Your side of this argument is cheating on me!”
“It’s not cheating.”
“Why? Because you’ve evolved beyond the outdated concept of marriage? Because there are rules? I don’t want rules. I don’t want to know anything! Nothing at all!”
“Keep your damn voice down.”
“No! I won’t! Listen to me for once! If you want an open marriage, the only thing I want is never to know a single detail about what happens when you’re with someone else. I want to erase the fact that you even mentioned this horrible fucking idea from my head! I hate it!”
“Erin—”
“Fuck you!”
I slammed the bathroom door behind me. Unsteady, I raced on wobbling legs through the bedroom, my shoulder smacking into the wall, my knees shaking, until I hurled myself into the safety of the walk-in closet. I’d lost my temper. I’d shouted. I never shouted.
Anger didn’t feel natural surging through me.
It was hot and uncomfortable, and I couldn’t stop my hands from yanking at my dress, tugging at the zipper, and tossing the delicate satin to the floor to get it away from me.
Next off was the lace underwear that had no business being on my body.
Stripped naked, it only took a shove for the lingerie to disappear under a pile of sweatpants, never to see the light of day again.
I crumpled to the carpet in a broken heap.
Now what?
My husband didn’t want me. If I dug down to the deep, dark truth, I knew Jeremy hadn’t chosen to marry me because of my sharp intellect or my impressive career.
I was pretty. I gave—if I do say so myself—incredible blow jobs and took pleasure in making his life easier in small ways.
I’d taught myself to be a decent cook. I kept a beautiful home.
What else did I offer? Not much. Word puzzles hardly put me on his level.
And that was the problem, wasn’t it? He was bored with me.
Plenty of pretty faces with bodies unscarred by motherhood would be interested in my husband.
If he had an affair with another doctor, they could dissect the latest boring article they’d read in some medical journal over dinner before screwing for hours while I played house and didn’t ask questions like a good little wife.
My marriage was about to collapse.
And there was no one I could talk to about it.
My best friend was gone. The mums at Matilda’s playgroup were friendly enough, but the wives of doctors circling in the same waters as Jeremy could never be confidantes for my marriage troubles. Callan was the only person left in my corner.
My phone shook in my hand as I tapped a word. Lonely. I scrambled it and hit send before I could change my mind. Too many breaths passed before dots flashed on the screen.
Callan
Missing Lila?
Erin
And you.
I’m here.
Anytime you want to talk. ROHELL.
I couldn’t help but smile. Holler. Like me, Callan rarely raised his voice, but that didn’t mean his house was quiet when we were growing up.
You’d have to yell to be heard above the arguing—and the laughing.
Did anyone still laugh? Lila had been gone for three years.
Surely some joy had crept back into the sad, lifeless walls that had suffocated us all in the days after her funeral…
Callan
I mean it. You can talk to me about anything. Except maybe shoes. I own three pairs. But anything else. Ok?
Erin
K xo
If only my problems were as easy to figure out as shoes… and I could talk to Callan about them. This topic was off-limits—his girlfriends, my marriage—we never went there. My way out of this mess was to figure it out on my own.
And I had no idea what the hell I was going to do.