Chapter 9
Now
My head pounds as I attempt to crack open one eye.
Oh, God.
I think I’m going to puke.
I’m in bed and don’t know how or who put me here.
What did I do last night? Monica! Did I ruin the wedding? What the hell happened?
I try to sit up and immediately regret it.
The room spins, my mouth fills with saliva, and I fall back onto the bed.
When I slowly open my eyes again, I spot my dress and bra neatly folded and laid across the chair in the corner.
Indeed, if I were that incapacitated, wouldn’t my clothes be strewn across the floor? Picking up the covers, I see I’m in a T-shirt.
One I remember but never slept in. Why would I put this on?
I breathe a massive sigh and bring one arm across my face, shutting out any light and focus on last night.
Monica walking down the aisle with Michael.
Check.
The reception and Michael’s toast.
Check. The dance with Jerry: Don’t stop until You Get Enough—check. The dance with Michael—You’re Still the One. (Ha). Check. Fight with Michael. Check. Michael grabbing the mic and announcing to the entire wedding party that he is to blame for our failed marriage. Big…check. After that…three, maybe four bourbons? I’m not sure. Oh God. I don’t even remember Monica and Jordan leaving. We were going to light lanterns and throw rice as they drove away to the airport. Was I there? I need to call Monica and see if she’s okay. Did they make it to the airport? To Paris? Shit! I deserve this for allowing Michael to come to his daughter’s wedding. Why didn’t I listen?
Taking a deep breath, I notice the smell coming from the kitchen.
“What is that?”
My voice cracks, and my mouth is dry as cotton.
Yep, at least four bourbons.
I roll cautiously out of bed.
What time is it? I search for my phone, which is always next to the bed on the nightstand, and find it’s not there.
However, a glass of water and a packet of Alka-Seltzer is.
Shit! I don’t even know where my purse is, let alone my phone.
God! Please. Please let it be on the table, and let my phone be inside. But what about my car? Did I drive home last night? Focus, Jill.
I place my feet on the floor and challenge myself to stand.
I’m weak and shaky, but I must find my purse and phone.
Okay, I’m up.
Now, I walk across the room and open the door.
Easier said than done. But, at a snail’s pace, I make it and, with caution, open the door when the smell hits me. Pancakes? Is someone making pancakes in my kitchen? Mom. Yes, Mom is here, and before she lectures me about whatever I did last night, she is first preparing me breakfast.
Stepping out of the room, I mentally prepare my defense but come up with nothing.
I’ll accept my punishment; hopefully, life will go as usual.
“Look, Mom.
I’m sorry about…”
I stop when I find Michael standing shirtless over the stove, holding a spatula.
This has got to be a bad dream.
Maybe I should go back to bed.
He’s not here, is he?
“Hey, good morning, Jill.
I’ve got you some greasy food prepared.
How are you feeling?”
I’m speechless and try to form words.
“Michael…what are you doing here?”
“I’m here to help you recover this morning.
Lord knows you’ve helped my sorry drunk ass many times.
I left a glass of water and a packet of Alka-Seltzer on your nightstand.
Have you taken it?”
“Ahh…no.
I…why are you here?”
I ask again and then remember I’m only in a T-shirt.
Standing in front of Michael.
Michael, making pancakes and…shirtless.
“Here, let me get it for you,”
he says, moving past me to the bedroom.
When he returns, I watch him open the packet and drop both pills in the water.
“Here you go.
Drink up.”
Taking the glass from his hand, I bring it to my mouth and feel the cold bubbles burst up my nostrils.
Oh, God.
This is real.
This is happening.
I get about six swallows down and set it on the counter.
“Nope.
The whole glass, Jill,” he says.
“I…”
Before I can protest, he presses the glass to my mouth and forces me to finish the Alka-Seltzer.
“That’s a good girl,”
he says, rinsing the sink glass.
“Do you feel good enough to eat here, or do you want me to bring you breakfast in bed?”
Now I know I am dreaming.
Michael would never make me breakfast in bed.
Not in a million years.
Let alone take care of me if I were sick.
So, I walk out of the kitchen and back to my bedroom. “So, in bed then,”
I hear him say.
He’s not here.
It’s all a dream.
I pull back the comforter, crawl into bed, and cover my head.
The seltzer begins its job, and I burp a few times, allowing my stomach a little reprieve and closing my eyes.
But it wasn’t Michael who made it for me.
Right? And that wasn’t Michael standing in my kitchen, shirtless.
Right? And why would he be shirtless? Why am I in this T-shirt, and who folded my clothes neatly? Mom did. I was having delusions of Michael.
“Here you go, Princess.”
And Michael would never call me princess.
Who the hell is here? I throw off the comforter and see Michael standing over me with a food tray.
I press my eyes tightly shut.
Open.
Nope, he’s still there, and I close them again. “You feel good enough to sit up?”
Opening and closing my eyes does not make the image of Michael disappear.
“Michael, why are you here?”
I ask, pushing myself up.
As he leans over, setting the tray of pancakes and sausage links down on the nightstand, a necklace dangling from his neck catches my eye.
It looks like the necklace I bought him in high school.
“Here, lean forward,”
he says, grabbing the other pillow, and I have no choice but to let him place the pillows behind my back.
“How’s that?”
“Ah…okay, I guess.”
He then sets the food tray over my lap and smiles at me.
“Alka-Seltzer working?”
“Somewhat.
Michael, what happened?”
“Jill, just eat first, and then we can talk,”
he says, heading to my bathroom.
He returns with a washcloth and presses it to my face.
“Why are you doing this?”
“Because I want to take care of you, Jill.”
“Now, stop it,”
I force out, having had enough of this nonsense.
“Jill, whatever you’re thinking, everything that happened in the past.
Just put it on hold for a few minutes and eat so you’ll feel better.
Then…we’ll talk.”
That sincereness is again in his eyes—the look I didn’t recognize from the wedding.
So, I look away from his pleading face and slowly pick up the fork.
“You want orange juice or milk?”
he says, walking toward the door.
Now, with a mouth full of pancakes, I answer, “Milk, please.”
He walks out, and I wrap my head around what happened.
My purse and phone! He returns with a glass of milk, and I ask.
“Where’s my purse?”
“Do you need it? It’s on the kitchen table.”
“No, just making sure I had it.”
I take a few more bites of the food and drink down the milk.
It’s cold when it hits my stomach, and I immediately feel better.
I can only handle one bite of the sausage.
Michael sits in a chair in the corner of the room and watches me.
I study his physics and think about him twenty years younger.
He is a little thinner, his chest hairs glisten with silver, and his middle is a little softer than I remember.
Gravity does not discriminate as I think about my own body and then remember the T-shirt I’m wearing.
“Who took my clothes?”
I matter-of-factly state.
“I did, Jill.”
“What?”
“Jill, it’s not like I’ve never seen you naked.
I’m impressed.”
“Michael…”
He was impressed? I roll my eyes and attempt the sausage, now that the milk has helped my stomach, and avoid his stare.
Why is he staring at me? “Where’s your shirt? We didn’t…”
“No, Jill, we didn’t.
I’ll tell you about my shirt when you’re finished eating.”
Wanting to know the truth, I pick up the tray and hand it toward him.
“I’m finished. Talk.”
He gets up from his chair and takes the tray.
“You’re sure?”
“Yes. Talk.”
“Let me take this to the kitchen, and then we’ll talk.”
He walks out with the tray, and I dash out of bed and into the bathroom.
I pee, flush, and then look at myself in the mirror.
Oh, good Lord.
Definitely five bourbons.
I think and then wash my hands and face. Grabbing the bathrobe hanging on the back of the door, I throw it on and fluff my hair—stupid. I rush out to find Michael, smacking into him at the doorway.
“Let’s talk out here,”
I say, looking up to him.
“Okay,”
he says and does not attempt to move.
So, I have no choice but to brush against his chest, walking out of my bedroom and into the living room, where I sit on the couch.
Tucking my legs and covering my knees, I tighten the robe around me.
He then walks over to the fireplace and runs his hands lightly over the portrait hanging above.
Monica’s senior picture in high school—one with her and I hugging in a field, sunbeams in the background. One of my favorites.
“That was one of her senior pictures,”
I say, wondering if the portrait that hung there twenty years ago comes to his mind.
And even though I have forced myself not to think about that night, I do.
“I love this one.
I have a copy of it,”
Michael says.
“What? How?”
He pulls out his phone and shows me his screen saver.
It’s the same picture.
“I saved it from her Facebook.
I have many more, too,”
he says, scrolling through some of his photographs.
I can see what he’s thinking from his gestures, smiling warmly and nodding as he periodically shows me a picture.
It’s not like he’s traveling down memory lane because none of those are his memories.
They’re ours—Monica and me.
“Why would you save pictures of Monica and me when we are not part of your life, Michael?”
It’s more of a reprimand than a question.
“Because that’s why.
I missed out on a life with you and her.”
As much as I want to boast, I bite the inside of my lip.
“That was your choice, Michael.
Please don’t accuse me of being one of those exes who never sent you school pictures or other life events.
And this is not what I want to talk about.
How did you and I end up here in my house?”
He puts the phone back into his back pocket and takes a deep breath.
Next, he comes and sits next to me on the couch.
I pull myself in and wrap the robe tighter under my legs.
“You were drinking…a lot.”
“Because of you,” I defend.
“Yes.
Like I said, it’s all my fault.”
“Michael cut the shit.
What did I do, and how did we end up together?”
“After my speech, I stopped counting the number of times you went to the bar.
I tried to talk to you.
But after you began yelling, I backed off—not wanting to cause another scene for you.”
I close my eyes and cover my face.
“You didn’t…you just...disappeared.”
“Where did I go?”
“Out.
I followed you outside.
You went and sat on a bench next to the creek, and I stood next to a tree so you couldn’t see me.”
“So, I didn’t dance naked or throw stuff at you?”
He chuckles.
“No, you didn’t.”
“Oh, thank God.
Then what?”
“You began crying hysterically.
That’s when I came and sat next to you.
But you yelled at me and started to walk away.
I pulled you back, afraid you might hurt yourself, and sat you back down.
I told you that I would leave you in peace. But I only stayed near, watching out for you. Later, I followed you to your car, where you fell asleep. You never noticed me climbing into the passenger side. When I saw Monica and Jordan come running out, I woke you and helped you out of the car.”
“I kind of remember that part.”
“Yeah, I wiped your face with my handkerchief and said, ‘Come on.
You don’t want to miss this.’ I grabbed a lantern, lit it, and we both held it until it floated away.
I helped you walk to the wedding car, where you kissed Monica and Jordan goodbye.
I held you around the waist as we waved our goodbyes.
She called this morning. They arrived safely in Paris around nine this morning.”
“Oh, good.”
“I helped you back to your car where you thought you would drive home.
After you punched me a few times, you passed out, and I put you in the back seat, found your keys, and drove you home.”
Of course, he knows where I live.
We used to live in this house—before he walked out.
“Your cell was ringing this morning.
It was your mother.
I answered and let her know you were sleeping it off.”
“What!”
“Should I not have done that?”
“Ah…Michael…never mind.
Did she sound mad?”
“No.
Your mother wanted to see if you were alright.”
“So, you drove my car, unlocked my door, and…took off my clothes, put on the T-shirt, and put me to bed?”
“And put you in the shower.”
“What? Oh, God.”
“You puked all over the sidewalk, Jill.
You missed your dress but covered my shirt.
I put it in the wash if you don’t mind.”
Taking a deep breath and mentally recalling the image of what he just said, I pull up my knees and drop my head.
“What happened after I showered?”
“After we showered…”
“We?”
“Jill, you puked all over me.
And you were too drunk to stand up.
I didn’t want you to fall through the glass door.”
The image of Meg Ryan in “When a Man Loves a Woman”
comes to mind.
“You leaned against me.
I washed you while holding you with one arm to wash myself.
Found that T-shirt and put you to bed.”
“Where did you sleep?”
He hesitates and reaches for my face, gently laying a finger under my chin.
“Next to you.”
I look into his eyes.
That look is back again.
“We slept, Jill.
That’s all.”
“I can’t believe this.
I’ve ruined Monica’s wedding.”
“No, you didn’t.
Everything was perfect, just like she wanted it to be.
I made sure you didn’t do anything to embarrass her or you.
I promise, Jill.”
I drop my head again and start to cry.
Michael pulls me to him, but I push away.
“Michael, just go away.
Thanks for bringing me home…and…and taking care of me.
But I need you to leave.”
“I don’t think you need to be alone right now.”
And that’s all it takes.
“What the hell do you know about being alone? It never seemed to bother you before.
You couldn’t wait to run out that door.”
“I know.
I’m so sorry, Jill.”
“Sorry?”
I jump up and pace back and forth.
No.
No.
Don’t let him get to you, Jill.
“Michael, I was wrong about letting you come here for my daughter’s wedding. I should have listened to Scott and Dad. But I didn’t. I thought I could handle this. But obviously, I can’t. For years I have fought against the shit you put me through, and now it’s back.”
“Jill, please,”
he says, standing and trying to comfort me in his arms.
“Stop it,”
I yell and break from his embrace.
“You know, the night you left, I stood at this window until the sun rose, waiting for your headlights to pull into the drive.
I was hoping that, by some miracle, you’d come back.
Maybe you’d changed your mind about wanting Monica and me in your life.
But as the sun rose, shining on my face, I knew you never would. You told me that you never planned to marry the day you married me. So, what did I expect? And in some ways, it was a relief. I should have been glad it was finally over. Like death is a blessing as cancer is slowly rotting away life.”
I wipe my face and turn to look at him.
His eyes are full of sorrow, tears, and pain.
Somehow, it’s lifting—something I’ve always needed to say to him.
It’s a bit of a closure.
“Thank you for bringing me home and caring for me, but I want you to go now.”
I turn to walk back to my bedroom and stop at the doorway.
“Thank you for finally leaving us,”
I say and close the door.
I sit on the bed and pull a tissue from its box on the nightstand.
I cry in silence and hope Michael doesn’t walk through that door.
The sound of the hall closet opens where the washer and dryer are kept, and I hear the dryer door slam shut.
He must be getting his shirt.
I then listen to him talking in the living room. He must be on his phone. A few minutes go by when there is a light tap on the door.
“Jill, I’ve called an Uber to take me to get my car.
Please tell me you’re okay.”
Shit! Of course, I’m not okay.
He just conjured up the last twenty years of my hell.
“I’m fine. Goodbye.”
I hear the front door shut and wait a few minutes before exiting the bedroom.
Cracking open the door, I see Michael is indeed gone.
My feet step on something, and I bend down, picking up a piece of paper on the floor.
It’s a note.
Dear Jill,
I know I didn’t deserve to walk our daughter down the aisle.
And you are right about me never being a part of her life.
I know the pain that I have caused you all these years, and sorry will never fix it.
My coming here was not to hurt you again; it was a chance to see you, see our daughter, and see what I have missed.
In some ways, it was punishment for myself, and in the process, I hurt you again. There’s a lot I would like to tell you, Jill. Please see me again so we can talk. I have no plans to return to Seattle, and I currently rent a house here in town. Here is my number. Please call me. I need to talk to you.
847-555-1415
You are still gorgeous.
Thank you so much for allowing me to participate in our daughter’s day.
Love, Michael