Clara
CLARA
Theo’s always been handsome to me.
As he unpacks the last of the boxes, strong hands ripping at the tape, I think about the first time I ever saw him in that light. We’d known each other our entire lives, but it wasn’t until middle school that we actually became friends. I realized how sweet and kind he was and how his awkward nervousness made others think he was weaker than he really was.
To me, he was a quiet soul, genuine, safe .
How wrong I was.
I take the welcome sign in my hands and walk outside of the townhome we’re renting, humming to myself as I hang it right beside the door, messing with it until it’s straight. I have a long list of little things like this I want to get done around the house, and since it’s summer break for me, I have all the time in the world. Theo, on the other hand, starts work tomorrow. We were lucky enough to find him a job on such short notice, but his old boss Jerry knew a guy who connected him with a steady position in insurance sales.
I think about maybe helping him pick out an outfit, perhaps packing him lunch with a sweet little note wishing him good luck on his first day back at work. I don’t know. It seems silly, but I want to give him something to remind him of me, and how thankful I am that we took this plunge.
Cheyenne is going to be good for us.
As I walk back into the house and look at him again, busying himself with hanging one of my favorite pictures on the wall, my stomach twists in knots. The pain I’ve tried to ignore comes rushing back to the surface, reminding me that my sweet, kind, safe husband betrayed my trust.
He cheated on me.
It still sounds so weird. I never in a million years thought Theo would ever do something like that to me. I tried to ignore the signs at first—him pulling away, the vague answers to questions, the way he never seemed to be home—but then it became impossible.
He smelled like sex.
I think I know the first time he slept with Father Matteo. He came home way past the time he normally would, and when he crawled into bed with me, I could just tell. There was something about the air around him—hot and sticky—and the lingering scent that after ten years together I knew didn’t belong to him.
I thought about it, cried about it, and wondered just how far he and this woman had gone. I tried to tell myself I was crazy, I was paranoid, I was reading into a situation that didn’t merit a second look.
I followed him anyway.
And I can still vividly feel the way my heart shattered the first time I saw him kiss our priest.
I stopped by his office for lunch, hoping to spend some time with him, but Jerry said he was out. It was by complete accident I happened to stumble across them. Instead of taking Main Street straight to Cherry, I turned on the road with the church. It would have been impossible to see them had a gopher not caught my attention.
I saw him kiss Father Matteo.
Theo was smiling, head thrown back in a beautiful arch I hadn’t seen in such a long time. Father Matteo said something to which Theo responded by reaching out, dragging him close to his chest, and pressing a kiss to his lips. It wasn’t a sweet and gentle kiss either. It was hungry, lasted far too long, and involved groping places I never wanted to see my priest touch.
I ran home and cried. I screamed at the top of my lungs, breaking the dish that had the casserole I made for him, looking around at our living room full of pictures of us, wondering where it all went wrong.
It was my fault, wasn’t it? I was the reason he went and found someone else, not only a man but a priest for fuck’s sake. I wasn’t good enough, beautiful enough, or clever enough. He needed more than me, and the thought broke me.
I almost confessed that I knew that very day but for some reason, I didn’t.
I pick up my fake porcelain turtle and step out the front door again, placing it on the pretty blue porch.
Has he always liked men? We were each other’s first everything. First kiss, first time, first love. Did I ever give him a chance to explore his sexuality? Was I just… contentment and security? Were all the passionate nights we spent wrapped in each other’s arms lackluster for him?
I shake my head, adjusting the turtle so it’s facing the street.
No. Theo was genuinely happy with me once, so he can be again. We both just need to put in time and effort into our marriage and do everything in our power to remember the reasons we fell in love.
I don’t think he fully understands the extent to which the loss of his parents affected him. They were his entire world, his very best friends, and one day they were just taken from him. Without warning, without a proper goodbye, they were just gone. It took months to see him smile after they died and a year until he laughed.
He was a shell of himself when Mom and Dad took him in. He didn’t know how to cook, how to pay bills, or how to do anything really without his parents. So, we helped. Dad got him a job with Jerry. Mom showed him what a checkbook was. They helped him sort out his parents’ life insurance and taught him what a co-payment was.
He needed us.
He wanders out of the townhouse, two rocking chairs in his arms that he settles by the door. He smiles softly as he sets them down, gesturing for me to sit in one.
Why doesn’t he look happy? He’s smiling, but it’s not quite meeting his eyes, not the way it used to.
I sit down as he does, sighing deeply as I take his hand in mine.
This is going to work. It must work. I know I can make him happy. I just need to remind him of that, right? That’s all it’s going to take. Just a little work and everything will be okay.
“Hey,” I whisper, squeezing his hand. “Love you, honey.”
“Yeah,” he mumbles, the side of his lip quirking up as he squeezes me back. “Love you too, .”
And one day I know those words will mean what they’re supposed to.