Chapter 22
Then
As I sat and cried, I thought of my mother and how she cared for my father, even when he was selfish and self-consumed.
My father would apologize in his way, and life would go on as usual.
Sometimes, I would overhear my father telling his friends he’d be nothing without her.
And at times, he would confess this to her: Is this how it worked? Was it my responsibility to take the brunt of things and focus on his happiness? Someday, Michael would say he couldn’t live without me.
I took a deep breath, swallowed back my tears, and went back to the bedroom where Michael lay naked, passed out in his vomit.
As I looked at him, it was a disgusting sight, and I could no longer see the beautiful Michael I fell in love with.
I had said a vow, though, for better or for worse.
I didn’t think it would start like this on my wedding night.
“Michael,”
I whispered.
He moaned, and I lightly shook his shoulder.
“Come on, Michael, let’s get you into the shower.
He didn’t fight me as I walked him to the bathroom.
He was heavy, and I struggled to hold him up as I stepped into the shower. He leaned on me, his head on my shoulder, and I let the water run over us both. “Michael, can you lean against the wall? I’m going to wash you now.”
His eyes strained to open as he peered at me through bloodshot slits.
“Jill?”
he mumbled, and I wasn’t sure he knew where we were.
I leaned him against the shower wall and lathered his body with soap.
Before I could finish washing him, he slid down and sat on the shower floor.
“Come, Michael.
Stand up.
Let’s rinse you.”
I couldn’t get him back up, so I unhooked the portable shower head.
I sat on my knees and washed my husband like a pet—lifting his arms and rubbing his hair.
He would try to speak a few times, and I couldn’t tell if he was grateful or becoming more annoyed.
I pulled him from the shower and walked him to bed, but I needed to change the sheets.
I leaned him against the wall, where he slid to the floor, sat while I put new sheets on the bed, and threw the soiled ones into the wash.
Pulling him up, he fell to the bed, and I covered him with a clean blanket.
Would he remember this in the morning and be grateful?
. . . . .
I needed to be at school at 8:00 a.m., and Michael was still passed out in bed.
I had already showered, blow-dried my hair, and stood over my husband, contemplating how to wake him.
I was still furious but desperate for his love.
He was not only my husband now but the father of my unborn baby.
And despite what happened last night, I wanted us to work.
I bent down and kissed his cheek.
“Good morning.
I know you don’t feel like it, but you must eat to feel better.”
When Scott came home a little hungover, he would beg me to fix him greasy food and pancakes.
He said it helped with nausea.
After that, I would make him pay me or tell Mom and Dad.
“Are you going to work today? I can’t miss class again.
I have a test.”
His eyes cracked open, and he looked at me like a stranger.
“Jill? You’re here?”
Did he remember and was surprised I stayed? Or did he forget we were husband and wife?
“Yes, Michael.
I have your breakfast ready.
Can you get up and eat before I leave for school?”
He rubbed his face and moaned.
“Oh, God…I feel like shit.”
Was it from what he did to me? Or just the hangover? “But something smells good.”
“Yes, it’s your pancakes.
Come and eat, so you’ll feel better.”
There was a long pause as we stared into each other’s eyes.
Mine was full of sadness, his bloodshot.
Despite all he had said and done, I wanted to kiss him.
I wanted him to know that I still loved him.
And so, I gently kissed his lips. As I moved away, his look was sorrowful.
I left the bedroom and waited in the kitchen.
I was gathering my books when Michael came walking out, wearing only a pair of shorts.
I looked up from my bag and waited for him to speak first.
I wanted to hear he was sorry.
I wanted to hear he loved me.
I pointed to his plate, and he moved slowly and took his seat.
After packing my bag, I poured him a large glass of milk and set it in front of him.
He looked up, and I waited.
But nothing ever came, and he began eating.
I went to the medicine cabinet, grabbed a packet of Alka-Seltzer, poured a glass of water, and took it to him.
Again, he just looked at me, and I wanted us to talk.
But I didn’t know how.
Dating was fun.
Hanging out was fun. Why was this so hard? Because I had learned that, all this time, I was the only one falling in love while Michael was only having fun. But it was me taking care of Michael, and it wasn’t fun like it had been. Would it ever be again?
I started to walk out the door when he finally spoke.
“Jill…I’m very sorry for last night.
It will never happen again.”
I began to cry, and so much emotion came over me.
I did the right thing last night.
I stayed and helped him.
I was a good wife, and I wanted him to know it.
“Do you have a few minutes before you have to leave?”
I closed the door and went to sit next to him.
I didn’t care at that point if I did miss class.
My husband needed us to talk.
“I’ve been thinking about us,”
he said, and I waited.
“It’s not exactly what we wanted.
I get that.”
I did want to be married to him, but I didn’t want it to be like this.
“After you graduate, I want you to enroll in college and get your nursing degree—like you said you wanted.
I will stick by you and make sure you graduate.
After that, we’ll go our separate ways—divorce.
And people will think we couldn’t make it work. I owe you that much.”
My heart broke in two, and I felt the bile rising in my throat.
My hands shook to the extreme, and I felt like a giant hole had opened.
I was falling into it.
What would life be like for us if he was only sticking around until I graduated college? What about our baby? Had he even thought about our baby?
“You’ll have your degree, able to support yourself.
And I will pay the required child support.
It’s not what I wanted.
It will set my goals back, but I won’t have people saying I never paid my child support.
People get divorced every day, and no one looks down on that. Not paying child support is a different story. That is my arrangement for us.”
Arrangement.
Our baby and I were an arrangement.
He couldn’t even say his child; he said his child support.
He had no attachment to me or our baby.
We were something that sidetracked him from his goals, which was what the sorrowful look in his eyes was for. It wasn’t for raping me. It was because his goals were set back. And I wasn’t one of them. What about my goals? Maybe I should have told him how much I loved him before I finally said it. Perhaps I should have never told him I wanted to be a nurse. He couldn’t love me, so he would help me become a nurse—our arrangement.
I was in shock.
I couldn’t say anything and got up to leave for school.
I got to the door and stopped.
I went back, kissed Michael on the cheek, and said goodbye.
“That’s in case I never see you again.”
Something my mother always did when she left the house—just in case she was killed in a car wreck.
But I didn’t think it would matter much to Michael.
But I did it anyway.
. . . . .
The looks I received at school felt degrading and shameful.
I went from goody-two-shoe-Jill to whore of the month.
It didn’t matter that Michael was my only and that I was married.
I was no better than the girls who gave blowjobs on the fan bus.
I could hear the whispers as I walked through the halls, and even some teachers would roll their eyes in disgust instead of congratulating me on my special day. In the past, I walked these halls with pride and my love for Michael elevating my day. I was confused about how everyone was okay with sex, but as soon as they found out you’re pregnant, it was a big taboo. Hello, people—that’s where babies come from. And everyone only talked about the girl. No one ever talked about the guy who got the girl pregnant. His social status remained untainted.
Tammy stayed close to me all day, deterring any remarks, and would speak up.
I wanted to tell her about last night, but sadly, I didn’t want her to think ill of Michael.
Given my earlier thought of the guy and his untainted status, I was just as much a hypocrite.
I tried to keep Michael’s good image.
But what about me—had what I’d done been so terrible? Was it wrong to love Michael and want to have a life with him? I didn’t trap him.
I just stupidly got pregnant.
And when I thought of it that way, I felt I would be a terrible mother.
I became confused between love and sacrifice.
Was I sacrificing myself to love Michael and our baby? Or was Michael sacrificing his goals for us? Were they the same? I began to look at my parents differently and wonder what we had. Did they want that?
I did love Michael.
I knew this because it hurt so much.
And I was confused about whether it was the love that hurt or the love he would never have for me.
My eyes stung with tears, and as one ran down my cheek, I realized the answer. Both.
. . . . .
The principal gave the last announcement, ending the day.
Now, it was time to go home and be a wife.
Before, it was a school-girl fantasy, but now it felt differently.
Part of me was happy.
I was going home to Michael—my husband. But knowing he wasn’t having the same feelings weighed on my happiness. No more would he walk through the door with a smile, and I would jump into his arms as he spun me around. Would I ever hear: I couldn’t wait to get home?
I pulled out of the school parking lot, remembering the smile on my face when I was going to Michael’s.
Now, it all felt different.
It was home, and I was married to a man who didn’t love me.
I was going to have his baby.
Oh, how does the fantasy feel much different from reality?
Once I was home, I decided.
I would fight for Michael—for us.
I would show him my undying love if he were willing to put me through college.
I wouldn’t use the excuse that we were an arrangement.
We were real—and could be real. It would be like it once was. There was no reason why he couldn’t be happy and love me. And once our baby came, he would love our child, too.
I would make chicken cacciatore for dinner and hoped it would spark the fun we had our first night together.
We would make love and talk about names for our baby.
I wouldn’t mention what happened last night, so he would never have to feel bad.
He would see me as his wife who loved him unconditionally.
Maybe he had a note waiting for me at home, telling me how much he wanted to try, and we were more than an arrangement. With these thoughts, I hit the gas with anticipation and eager to get home and make my marriage work.
A note awaited me, and I smiled, knowing my wish had come true.
Jill,
Don’t think you must be here when I get home.
Our arrangement goes both ways.
If you want to hang with your school friends, I won’t object.
I won’t take away your freedom, so I don’t expect you to take away mine.
You’re free to come and go. I don’t know when I’ll be home, so don’t wait up. Or, stay with your friend Tammy. And what happened last night will never happen again.
Love, Michael
I dropped to the floor and cried.
Did Michael not know the severity of what happened last night? Did he think we just had sex, and he meant he never wanted to have sex with me—ever?
At seventeen, I wasn’t in a marriage.
I was in…an arrangement.
And no one ever prepares you for that.