Chapter 25
CHAPTER
TWENTY-FIVE
JULIE
I've started taking the long way home from work.
It's not conscious at first. I just find myself turning left instead of right, taking the scenic route through Bellevue instead of the direct path.
The drive takes an extra fifteen minutes, sometimes twenty if I hit traffic.
But those extra minutes feel like borrowed time.
A buffer between the version of myself that exists at the shop and the version that has to walk through my own front door and pretend everything is fine.
Jamie notices on Thursday when I'm reorganizing the storage room for the second time this week. "You don't want to go home," she says simply.
I stop counting bottles of lemon verbena body wash. "I'm just trying to stay on top of things."
"We did inventory on Monday. You've stayed late four times this week." She leans against the doorframe. "You're avoiding."
I don't answer because she's right.
"Things are just tense right now," I finally say. "With Devon adjusting to being home all the time."
"Is Asher helping?"
"He's there all the time."
"That's not what I asked."
I pick up the clipboard again. "He's doing what he thinks is best for her."
"And who's supporting you?"
The question lands like a stone in my chest. I don't have an answer. Jamie doesn't push. She just leaves me alone in the storage room. I stay another hour, reorganizing things that don't need to be reorganized.
Ryan stops by the shop one afternoon. He's picking up a gift basket for his mom's birthday. I'm at the counter wrapping it when he leans against the display case and studies my face.
"You look tired," he says.
"Thanks. That's exactly what every woman wants to hear."
"I'm serious. Are you okay?"
I tie the ribbon around the basket with more force than necessary. "Things are just hard right now. At home. With Devon adjusting to online school."
"How's Asher handling it?"
"He's very focused on making sure she's okay."
Ryan's jaw tightens. "And what about you?"
I hand him the basket. "It's just an adjustment period. We'll figure it out."
He lingers for another moment, like he wants to say more. But then he just nods and leaves. I watch him go and feel the weight of everything I'm shoving down inside of me pressing down on my chest.
I’ve been pushing myself so hard that I’m not even a little bit surprised when I feel the start of a migraine. A sharp pain behind my right eye that spreads across my temple and down my neck. The fluorescent lights in the shop suddenly feel too bright. Every sound is too loud.
I try to tough it out, to keep it from being obvious. I know I’ve failed when my sister pulls me aside. "You need to go home."
"I'm fine."
"You're pale and you keep squinting. Go home and rest. That’s not even a request. It’s an order."
I grab my bag and keys and drive home, grateful for the quiet of the car.
By the time I pull into the garage, my stomach is in a knot.
It gets worse when I see Asher's car. I stare at it for a moment, confused.
It's one in the afternoon. He should be at work.
I walk into the house and hear voices upstairs. His voice. Devon's voice. Laughter.
I climb the stairs slowly, my head pounding with every step. When I reach the top, I see them in the living room. Asher is on the couch. Devon is sitting beside him, close, her laptop open on the coffee table. They're looking at something on the screen together.
"Hey," I say. They both look up. Asher's expression shifts from relaxed to guarded in an instant.
"What are you doing here?" he asks.
Here. Like it's some random building as opposed to my home. "I have a migraine. What are you doing home?"
"I took the day off."
"You didn't tell me."
He rolls his eyes. "I was unaware our vows included an agreement for me to report my every move to you."
My eyebrows go up so fast I'm shocked they don't wind up on the ceiling.
Devon closes her laptop and stands. "I guess I'll give you guys some space." She walks past me without making eye contact and disappears into her room.
I look at Asher. "The eye roll was a nice touch.
Thanks for that, and for being a prick to me in front of Devon.
What the fuck, Asher? We talked about this.
But here you are, making decisions about our household without including me.
Again. If she can't be left alone, we should be looking into a new therapist or a nurse to sit with her during the day.
Not you hiding that you're not going to work so you can stay home with her. "
He stands, his jaw tight, and looks at me like he loathes me. "Can we not do this right now?"
"Talk about our home? Our lives? The shit you’re doing?"
"Jesus, this is why I didn't tell you. The level of suspicion from you is unfuckingreal. You just want to fight."
"I'm not trying to fight," I hiss. "I'm trying to understand why you haven't told me her anxiety is escalating so much that you need to stay home."
"Because I knew you'd make it into a thing!”
"A thing?"
"Yes. A thing. Like you always fucking do. Like you're doing right now."
My head is pounding so hard I can barely think. "I'm bringing up a legitimate concern and asking simple questions."
"And I answered it. I stayed home because Devon needed me. That's it. There's no conspiracy here, Julie."
"I didn't say there was a conspiracy," I answer harshly.
"Then what's the problem?"
"The problem is that you're making decisions without me. You're shutting me out. And when I try to talk to you about it, you act like I'm being unreasonable."
"Because you are being unreasonable."
"How?"
"By being like this over something that isn't even a problem! I stayed home to help Devon. That's what you wanted, right? For me to be more involved? To support her?"
"That's not what I?—"
"Then what do you want, Julie? Because I can't keep up with your goddamn rules anymore."
I open my mouth to respond but he cuts me off.
"You know what? Enough. You're being a bitch. Devon can hear you and she's already upset. She doesn't need you on a tear about something that isn't even a problem. You're supposed to be a fucking adult, not a needy teenage brat who needs constant attention. Stop being an asshole."
The words hit me like a slap. My head is pounding. My vision is blurring at the edges. And I'm tired. So tired of fighting and being made to feel like I'm the problem. "Fine. I'll stop."
I turn and walk into our bedroom. I close the door. I pull the blackout curtains shut and lie down on the bed in the dark. And I don't come out or speak for the rest of the night.
The flowers arrive at the shop the next afternoon. They're beautiful. A massive arrangement of white roses and peonies in a crystal vase. The card is tucked inside.
I'm sorry about yesterday. I love you. Dinner reservations for our anniversary —A
Jamie sees them when she comes in and raises an eyebrow. "Those are pretty."
"They're from Asher."
"What's the occasion?"
"An apology."
She freezes. "For what?"
"For being an asshole."
"Do you want to talk about whatever happened to lead to this?”
I shake my head. "No. I need normal right now."
"Okay. Did he actually apologize or did he just send flowers?"
I look at the card again. "Both, I guess."
"And you believe him?"
The answer is no, I don't. I'm just not ready to have that conversation yet. Instead, I shrug. "The card says he made reservations for our anniversary," I say.
“Is that good?”
"I don't know."
Jamie sits down beside me. "Julie."
"What?"
"Do you even want to celebrate your anniversary?"
Last night changed things for me though. He was abusive. Not physically. But mentally, absolutely. And it isn’t the first time.
When he aggressively goes after me in the way that he does, I see my dad. It's the worst fucking pain I've ever felt. I promised myself I'd never marry a man like him. Yet here I am. "I don't know," I admit. "I guess I'll see how it goes."
"And if it doesn't go well?"
I look at the flowers. At the card. At the carefully written words that feel more like damage control than genuine remorse. “Then I’ll go from there.”
Jamie doesn't say anything. She just puts her hand on mine and squeezes. I spend the rest of the day staring at the flowers. They're beautiful. Expensive. Perfectly arranged. And I feel absolutely nothing.
That night, I drive home the long way again. And when I walk through the door, Asher is in the kitchen making dinner. Devon is at the table doing schoolwork. They both look up and smile.
"Hey," Asher says. "Did you get the flowers?"
"I did. Thank you."
"I meant what I said. I'm sorry."
"Okay."
He waits for me to say more. But I don't. I just set my bag down and go upstairs to change. We tiptoe around each other for the rest of the night. Once we’re in bed, I roll on my side and think about the anniversary dinner.
Part of me wonders whether he'll actually show up.
And if he does, how long it will take for something to ruin the evening.
I hate that these are thoughts I now have to have because his behavior has trained me not to trust him anymore.
And once the trust is gone, what’s left?