Chapter 9
Chapter Nine
I watch him as he studies the menu, his brow furrowed in concentration. It’s been so long since we’ve done this—dressed up, gone out, just the two of us. The weight of expectations sits heavily on my shoulders.
“What are you thinking of getting?” I ask, desperate to break the silence that’s settled between us.
He looks up, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Probably the chicken parm. You know me, creature of habit.”
I nod, returning his smile. “Some things never change.”
The familiarity of it all—his predictable order, the way he absently fiddles with his napkin—sends a pang through my chest. It’s comforting and painful all at once, a reminder of what we once were and what we’re struggling to be again.
Our waiter appears, a young man with a cheerful demeanor that feels almost out of place in our bubble of tentative reconnection. We place our orders, and as he walks away, I reach for my water glass, needing something to do with my hands.
“So,” he starts, clearing his throat. “How’s your art coming along? You mentioned you were working on some new pieces.”
The question catches me off guard. It’s been months since he’s asked about my work. “It’s… going well.” I didn’t want to tell him I’ve been struggling with my art.
He nods, seeming genuinely interested. “That’s great, Lex. I noticed you’ve not been in your office lately and was kind of worried.”
Using my nickname, so casual and intimate, makes my heart skip a beat. But what he doesn’t realize is I haven’t been in there much because our relationship has been draining down the toilet for a year.
As he opens his mouth to respond, a familiar voice cuts through the restaurant’s ambient noise.
“Alexis? Jeremy? What a surprise!”
I turn to see Lilly approaching our table, Zeke in tow. My stomach drops. This was supposed to be our night, a chance to reconnect without any outside interference. But here’s Lilly, beaming at us like she’s stumbled upon a delightful surprise.
“Lilly, Zeke, hi,” I manage, forcing a smile. “What brings you here?”
“Oh, just a little date night,” Lilly says, waving her hand dismissively. “Mind if we join you for a minute?”
Before either Jeremy or I can respond, Lilly’s pulling up a chair, Zeke following suit with an apologetic shrug.
“So, tell me everything,” Lilly says, leaning in conspiratorially. “How’s life at home? Are you two still doing that dinner thing you talked about?”
I feel Jeremy tense beside me, his posture stiffening. “We’re working on it,” he says, his voice tight.
Her eyes narrow slightly, darting between us. “And how about your weekends? Any fun plans coming up?”
The rapid-fire questions feel like an interrogation. I glance at Jeremy, seeing the same discomfort I feel reflected in his eyes.
“We’re taking things day by day,” I say, trying to keep my tone light. “Actually, we were thinking of going for a hike next sunday.”
“A hike?” Lilly’s eyebrows shoot up. “That’s… different for you two.”
I feel a flash of irritation at her surprise. “We used to hike all the time,” I say, perhaps a bit more defensively than necessary.
An awkward silence falls over the table. I can see Jeremy retreating into himself, his gaze fixed on the tablecloth. Zeke, bless him, seems to sense the tension.
“Well, we should let you two enjoy your dinner,” he says, standing up. “It was great running into you.”
Lilly looks like she wants to protest, but Zeke’s hand on her shoulder seems to make her think better of it. “Right, of course. Enjoy your evening!”
As they walk away, I let out a sigh. I turn to Jeremy, ready to laugh off the awkward encounter, but the words die in my throat. His expression is closed off, distant in a way that’s become all too familiar lately.
“Jeremy?” I reach out, my fingers brushing against his hand. He pulls away, almost imperceptibly, but the small movement feels like a chasm opening between us.
“I’m fine,” he says, not meeting my eyes. “Just… not very hungry anymore.”
The rest of the dinner passes in a haze of stilted conversation and long silences. By the time we’re in the car, heading home, the tentative hope I’d felt earlier has all but evaporated.
He stares straight ahead as he drives, his knuckles white on the steering wheel. I want to reach out, to bridge this sudden gap between us, but something holds me back. The silence in the car is oppressive, filled with all the things we’re not saying.
As we pull into our driveway, I can’t take it anymore. “Talk to me. What’s going on?”
He sighs, running a hand through his hair. “Nothing. I’m just tired.”
“Bullshit,” I say, surprising myself with the vehemence in my voice. “This isn’t about being tired. What happened back there?”
His jaw clenches. “Can we not do this right now? Please?”
The plea in his voice makes me pause. I study his profile in the dim light of the car, seeing the exhaustion etched in the lines of his face. Whatever’s going on, pushing him now won’t help.
“Okay,” I say softly. “But we need to talk about this. Soon.”
He nods, a quick, jerky motion, before getting out of the car. I follow him into the house, watching as he heads straight for the bedroom without another word.
As I hear the bedroom door close, I’m left standing in our living room, surrounded by the echoes of our failed date night. The house feels colder somehow, emptier. I wrap my arms around myself.
One step forward, two steps back. The phrase echoes in my mind as I sink onto the couch, the weight of disappointment settling heavy on my shoulders. As I stare at the closed bedroom door, I can’t help but wonder if we’re fighting for something that’s already lost.
The brush glides across the canvas, leaving a streak of crimson in its wake. I step back, squinting at the painting before me. It’s abstract, a swirl of dark colors punctuated by bursts of fiery reds and oranges. I’m not sure what it means, but it feels right. It feels like the chaos in my head made visible.
I’ve been painting for hours, losing myself in the rhythmic strokes and the pungent smell of oil paints. The sun has long since set, and the only light in my office comes from the harsh glow of the overhead lamp. My back aches from standing so long, but I can’t bring myself to stop. Not yet.
In the distance, I hear the front door open and close. Jeremy’s home. I glance at the clock on the wall and frown. It’s past midnight. Again.
I wait for him to call out, to come find me like he used to. But the house remains quiet aside from the soft thud of his footsteps heading straight for the bathroom. The familiar sound of the door closing.
With a sigh, I turn back to my painting.
I don’t know what to do anymore. This back-and-forth god knows what bullshit between us is breaking my heart. The idea of parting ways with him sweeps through my thoughts. But I shake my head while I dip my brush in a deep blue, adding depth to the swirling chaos on the canvas. I thought we were making progress, or so I thought. But it feels like we’re right back where we started.
The sound of the toilet flushing makes me jump, the brush in my hand making a messy streak. Fuck. I pause, listening. The bathroom door opens, and I hear Jeremy’s footsteps again, this time heading towards our bedroom. No detour to me, his office, no goodnight kiss, just straight to the bedroom.
I swallow hard, fighting back the lump forming in my throat. This is becoming our new normal, and I hate it.
Setting down my brush, I wipe my paint-stained hands on my already-stained apron. It’s late, but sleep feels impossible right now. Instead, I start cleaning up my brushes.
I rinse the last brush, watching the swirl of colors disappear down the drain.
By the time I make it to our bedroom, he is already asleep, or pretending to be. His back is to my side of the bed, his breathing slow and even. I slip under the covers as quietly as I can, careful not to disturb him.
Lying there in the dark, I stare at the ceiling, my mind racing. What happened to our plans? Our promises to each other? It feels like we’re drifting further apart with each passing day, and I don’t know how to stop it.
Morning comes too soon, the harsh light of dawn filtering through the curtains. The bed beside me is empty, the sheets cool to the touch. Jeremy must have left already. Normally I get up with him but he didn’t bother to wake me.
I drag myself out of bed, my body protesting after the late night. In the kitchen, I find a hastily scribbled note on the counter:
Early meeting. Don’t wait up tonight.
No, I love you, no sweet message. I crumple the note in my fist, anger and frustration bubbling up inside me. This kind of marriage isn’t what we promised each other.
Before I can think better of it, I grab my phone and type out a text,
Me
We need to talk. Soon.
I hit send before I can lose my nerve, then toss the phone aside. A thought emerges within me as my eyes rest upon the fruit bowl placed on the counter.
That would be fun to create. I hurry to my office and take out a pencil and begin drawing in my sketchbook.
By the time I step back to survey my work, the sun is high in the sky.
I set down my pencil, flexing my cramped hand. My gaze falls on my phone, sitting silently on the nearby table. Before I can second-guess myself, I grab it and scroll to Lilly’s number.
The phone rings once, twice, three times. I’m about to hang up when Lilly’s cheerful voice breaks through.
“Lex girl! How are ya?”
I hesitate, unsure how to broach the subject. “I’m… okay. Listen, Lilly, I wanted to talk to you about the other night at Olive Garden.”
There’s a pause on the other end of the line. When Lilly speaks again, her tone is carefully neutral. “Oh? What about it?”
I take a deep breath, steeling myself. “Your questions… they felt a bit invasive. Jeremy and I were trying to have a quiet dinner, and it just seemed like you were pushing for information.”
Lilly’s laugh tinkles through the phone, light and dismissive. “I was just being friendly! You know me, always curious about what’s going on with my best friend.”
Her casual response makes something twist in my gut. “It didn’t feel friendly. It felt like an interrogation.”
“Girl,” Lilly says, her voice taking on a slightly patronizing tone, “I think you might be overreacting a bit. I was just making conversation. If I crossed a line, I’m sorry, but it really wasn’t a big deal.”
I close my eyes, feeling a headache building behind my temples. “Maybe not to you, but it upset Jeremy. He’s been even more distant since that night.”
“Well, that sounds like a Jeremy problem, not a me problem,” Lilly replies, a hint of impatience creeping into her voice. “Have you considered that maybe he’s just stressed from work?”
Her words hit a little too close to home, echoing the excuses I’ve been making for Jeremy’s behavior.
“That’s not the point, Lilly. I’m trying to tell you that your actions had consequences.”
“Look, Alexis,” Lilly says with a sigh, “I appreciate you calling, but I think you’re making a mountain out of a molehill here. It was just a dinner conversation. If Jeremy can’t handle a few innocent questions, maybe there are bigger issues you two need to address.”
Her dismissal stings, leaving me feeling small and foolish. “Right,” I say, my voice tight. “Well, I should go. I’ve got… things to do.”
“Alright, hon. Take care. And try not to stress so much, okay? It’s not good for you.”
The call ends, leaving me feeling more alone than ever. I stare at my phone, a mix of anger and hurt swirling in my chest. Is Lilly right? Am I overreacting? Or is she brushing off my concerns too easily?
I turn back to my sketch, and figure out what colors and what else to add to it.