3. Clay
Clay
I stare at the text I just sent to Abby and wonder why I did that. I can’t even blame the alcohol because I only had a few drinks hours ago. I don’t see the little dots in return, but I know she’s up. She was always my little night owl, working away on her computer endless hours into the night.
Abby Nichols is my kryptonite. In reality, I should get used to saying Abby Morris because that’s her name again.
She’s back to her maiden name, and it about kills me that’s our reality.
She’s back to her previous life, a life I never thought she’d return to.
She spent our entire relationship telling me how hard she worked to start a life away from California, only to walk right back to it when things got hard between us.
It stings to feel like she threw out everything we had between us the moment things got hard.
I’ve heard it time and time again from couples trying to conceive that relationships can crumble.
I’ve listened to it and quickly ignored it.
I never imagined we wouldn’t last and believed we were invincible.
I ignored so many forums that talked about the difficulties other families faced when they constantly dealt with infertility month after month.
As much as I wanted a baby, I wanted Abby more, and I’ll admit that’s still the case. I think what hurts is that the longer I live without her, the truth remains that Abby wanted a baby more than she wanted me. I wasn’t enough for her. I was not the piece to her puzzle in the end.
She thought she knew what was best for me and made a huge decision about our marriage alone. And I’m more pissed about that the longer I’m left to simmer with that information.
How can I still love someone and nearly hate them at the same time? That’s the emotional turmoil I’m faced with in this divorce. I constantly walk this line of anger and love when I think of my ex-wife. She is someone I wish I could spend forever with and forget about all in the same breath.
I’m about to click out of the text thread when I see the three dots appear:
Abby
How was the wedding?
I feel like an absolute loser that I respond without waiting even an entire minute, betraying how desperate I am to speak to her. I also decide this is not the time to tell her about Samara and Ashton’s baby news.
Perfect. The way I would expect Samara’s wedding to look. Ash’s smile was constant. You were missed.
Abby
I miss everyone too. Glad it was a nice time. I bet they are both really happy. Did Kennedy trip your brother down the aisle?
No, thank goodness. I swear I thought she was going to poison his drink at one point. The way they both push each other’s buttons, I’m not sure they’re going to take each other out or go at it like rabbits.
Abby
Ha! Yeah, I could see that. Well, it’s raining like crazy here. It never rains in California, and the one day I make plans, it’s a nightmare for my hair.
Oh yeah? Hot date?
I’m a glutton for punishment. We haven’t spoken in months, and I’m torturing myself with this line of texting.
Abby
Yeah. Hot double date with Marissa and my hair. You should have seen the looks we got. It was impressive. LOL.
How’s my favorite lawyer?
Abby
Good. She’s dating someone new now. She seems happy.
That’s good to hear. How about you, Abby? Did you find your happiness out there?
I’m pushing her. I know I am, but I can’t help it.
I need to hear her say it’s better for her out there than it would be here.
She left me, and deep down, I know she’s better off with me.
We are meant to be together, and I don’t know what it’s going to take for her to realize it, but I need her to open her eyes.
Abby
I’m as happy as I’m going to be, Clay.
What does that even mean, Abby?
Abby
It means I’m giving you a chance to find a better future. You know this. We’ve talked about this already.
No. You talked, and I had no choice. There’s a difference. You didn’t give me a choice. I chose you. I still do.
Abby
Well, I choose to give you a better future, and that doesn’t include me.
That’s bullshit, and you know it.
I decide calling her is a better option and ditch the texting.
“Clay, I don’t want to fight.” She sighs into my ear. The moment I hear her voice, even if she’s exasperated by this conversation, relief washes over me.
“I’m not fighting. I’m having a conversation, Abby. That’s what couples do.”
“Well, we aren’t a couple anymore. We haven’t been for some time now. I think the divorce papers prove that.”
I don’t know why she has to remind me we’re divorced. Maybe she does it to keep herself in check. I don’t need her to bring it up because I’m well aware of our situation. The lack of the ring on my finger is a constant reminder of what I’m missing in my life. She’s a daily missing piece for me.
“Yeah, I think you’ve done a good job solidifying that fact. Thanks, Abby.” I let irritation lace my tone.
When I looked around tonight, I felt her absence in every fabric of the wedding. She should have been there. Every moment, I wanted to share a memory or a significance with her. I’m close to my brother and Ashton, but the way I felt a pull to Abby was next level.
“Clay, listen, I don’t think this is healthy.” Abby sounds exasperated as she talks to me.
“What?”
“Us talking to one another,” she responds as if we talk on the daily.
I haven’t heard her voice since she walked out on me. And hearing it is instantly soothing my racing heart. I hate to admit it, but she feels like a comfort after a race. I still want to hold her in my arms when I feel overwhelmed by the difficulties this life has to offer.
But she left when things got hard. We never spoke again when she left our home that day, and it took everything in me not to pick up the phone so I could talk to her again. I gave her space, all communication coming in the form of texts or through our lawyers.
I thought she’d come running back. She never did. Each day turned into a week. Then a month turned into six. Now, a year later, and here we are, in a phone call, and I’m wishing I could hold her again.
Many describe marriage as signing one’s life away, but getting a divorce felt more like it held that sentiment for me.
I don’t recognize the existence I’m living today.
I’m constantly mourning the married life I lived versus embracing the divorced one I have ahead.
It sounds pathetic, but the life of a bachelor is absolutely daunting to me.
“When did this happen to us? When did I become someone you couldn’t stand being around, Abby?
I remember when we couldn’t keep our hands off one another.
Now even hearing my voice is too much?” I feel a lump in my throat forming with the thought that I might be so repulsive to her that she can’t handle a simple conversation with me.
“Clay, don’t do this. You’re putting me in an impossible position.” She sighs. I can imagine her throwing her head back and rubbing the bridge of her nose like she’s done a thousand times when irritated.
“I’m putting you in an impossible position?
Fine, maybe this should just be it then,” I throw back.
“You know what? Let me leave you with this, then. You made a mistake, Abby. Maybe I should have flown out to California the moment you cooled off a bit. Maybe I should have dragged you home and told you to stop your tantrum and get your ass back where you belong. Maybe I should have just not signed the damn papers and told you no. I loved you, and I let you just leave. Shame on me. I loved you, and I still love you. I miss you. I missed you tonight. I miss you every night. So there, I said it. I am not ashamed to admit it. Maybe this was a bad idea. But I seem to be full of bad ideas. Fuck it. Have a good night. Sleep well.”
I hang up. I’m breathing heavily, and I begin pacing my room.
I can’t believe I let her get me this upset.
I have allowed all this irritation to fester for so long.
I wanted to chase her when she left me and go after her.
But I also know how much her mom doesn’t approve of me, and I let that hinder me.
I let that poison she was fed hold me back, and I stayed put.
And now this is our life. This is our fate.
We are apart, and we are living our lives separately. It’s painful, but it’s our truth.
I decide to grab my running shoes and change into my gym clothes. It’s late, but maybe their gym is open twenty-four hours. I check with the front desk, and I’m in luck. I’m grabbing my things to leave the room when my phone chimes, and I look down to see Abby sent a text:
Abby
I’m sorry.
I throw my phone to the bed and head out. I’m going to have to find a way to lock the door to the past, but she’s holding the damn key.