Chapter 21 #2
“You said that already.” She purses her lips. “Look, if you don’t want me to do it, I won’t. I know it’ll suck being apart, but it’s only for three months. We can do that.”
But…can we? I’ve felt her slipping through my fingers for a while now, way longer than three months, and I’ve done nothing but hold on tight. Maybe it was too tight, though. Maybe…maybe she needs to do this, and maybe I need to let her.
“I want you to do it,” I tell her, and she relaxes instantly, which doesn’t make me feel any better. Did she really think I wouldn’t support her? Wouldn’t sacrifice for her like she’s done for me so many times before? Is that how she views our relationship?
“Are you sure?”
“Yes, I’m sure. Come here.”
I pull her to me, holding her close, and it’s not just for her. It’s for me too. I need it. I need this. I need her.
“I’m sorry I didn’t say anything before. I was just…nervous. But I’m excited now. It’s a really amazing program, and I swear I’m not going to go over there and squander this chance I’m getting.”
I don’t care if she goes over there and tap-dances in the streets. I just want her to be happy, whatever that means.
“The three months will be up before we know it,” she says.
“Yeah, it’ll be like a blip in time. No big deal.”
Three months. Ninety days. I can do that. We can do it.
I’m certain of it.
Chloe has been gone for almost three months, and my life feels so fucking empty that not even hockey is filling the hole she left behind.
I was traded to the Seattle Serpents a month and a half after she left, and I thought it might fix things, thought maybe it was just Chicago she hated and she would be elated to come back to a new city and we’d start fresh.
But considering we haven’t spoken in days, I’m not so sure that’s the case anymore.
“Clover? Are you there?”
“Hello? Callum?” She sighs when someone shouts something in the background. “Sorry, the pub is loud. Let me step outside a moment.”
A moment? I haven’t talked to her on the phone in three days, and she wants a moment with me? I push down the anger that courses through me.
“Sorry,” she says again, and it’s much quieter now.
“It’s all good. I just wanted to check in with you. It feels like it’s been ages since we talked.”
“We’ve texted.”
We have, but that’s not what I mean, and she knows it, which tells me she’s okay with us not talking.
Maybe that is for the best. We’ve been attached at the hip since we were in college.
We can manage a few days without talking.
Who knows? Maybe it could bring back that spark that’s been missing for so long.
“How are things going?” I ask, not wanting to get into it now. “How’s the writing?”
“It’s…” She sighs dreamily. “It’s amazing, Callum. I can’t remember the last time I had so much fun working. It’s like every day is a new one, and there’s always something new to learn. I feel so…refreshed.”
The giddiness in her voice is almost infectious, and I find myself smiling as I stare out of my apartment window. It’s some fancy place another teammate suggested. I’m sure it’s not where I’ll end up staying whenever Chloe comes back, but it’ll be fine in the interim.
“You sound happy, Clover.”
“I am. I really, really am.”
Then she’s quiet. Too quiet. I try not to read too much into it, but it’s nearly impossible because that’s all I have these days—silence.
Our texting has been sporadic at best, and whenever I do get a message, it feels half-baked and without any real substance.
I’ve gotten the sense she’s avoiding me, but I can’t seem to figure out why.
“So, are you getting excited about coming home? Seattle is great. You’re going to love the weather here. And the apartment. The tub is massive, and I know you love a good bath.”
“I do love a bath.”
But there’s next to no emotion behind her words. It’s like she’s a robot I’m trying to form a connection with, and nothing is going as planned.
“Listen, Callum…” she says, but I don’t want to listen at all. Her tone is off. It’s wrong. And there is no doubt in my mind I’m not going to like what comes next.
“I was thinking of staying a little longer.”
“S-Staying?” I hate how shaky the word comes out. “In London?”
“Yes. At least for a while. I just need…I don’t know. I need more time, I think. There’s still so much I want to learn.”
“Oh.”
It’s a stupid thing to say, but it’s all I have because I don’t know what else to do in this situation. She wants to stay? Thousands of miles away? Hours and hours of time difference? An entire fucking continent? And for how long? Weeks? Another month? A year?
An ache I’ve never felt before forms in my chest, and I rub at the spot that burns as if I’ve eaten way too much red sauce.
“Uh, how long were you thinking of staying?”
“I’m not sure.”
“Are you sure about anything?”
I say it before I can think about the consequences of the words, and they fall heavily between us, like a bomb dropping from the sky. What’s even more devastating is her silence. It’s fucking deafening, and I wish more than anything I could rewind the last thirty seconds and take it all back.
“No,” she finally says after what feels like years. “I’m not.”
I squeeze my eyes shut. Not even the picturesque view of the city can save me now.
“What does that mean, Clover?”
“I…”
But she doesn’t finish her thought, and it pisses me off. I’ve been sitting around waiting for her for three months now. I’ve given her the space she obviously wanted. I’ve stepped back in so many ways. But if she won’t tell me what she wants, what the hell am I supposed to do next?
“Do you mean with your career or…us?”
“Us.” She whispers it, but it certainly doesn’t feel like she does. “I’m not sure about us anymore. I think we should separate.”
She…wants to separate? Isn’t that what we’re doing right now? There’s a fucking ocean and more between us—we are separated, in more ways than one.
“Do you mean…a divorce?”
“What?” She sounds panicked. “No, no. I just mean taking some time apart. Like, trying to live on our own for a while, you know? You do your thing, and I do mine. But we stay married.”
I want to tell her she sounds selfish, like she’s trying to have her cake and eat it too, but I’m too fucking stunned by what I’m hearing to say it at all.
“Look, it’s late, and I’ve had a few beers.”
I wish I had a fucking beer right about now.
“Maybe I don’t know what I’m talking about. Can we…can we talk later? Maybe tomorrow? Or the next day? Please, Callum?”
“Yeah,” I say, my voice scratchy. I clear my throat. “Yeah, tomorrow is fine.”
“Or the next day,” she says.
I grit my teeth. “Or the next day. Just call me whenever you get the chance, okay? If I don’t answer, I’ll call back as soon as I can, all right? Just keep trying.”
“Okay.” But she doesn’t sound okay.
“I love you, Clover.”
A pause.
“You too, Callum.”
We disconnect the call, and I throw my phone right into the glass window I was staring out. It doesn’t shatter, but I wish it would. It would be so fitting for how I feel right now. My wife just asked me for a separation, and even though I don’t want it, I think I might give it to her.
It just might be the only way to save our marriage.