Chapter Three
The cab driver dropped Julia off at her doorstep. She paused before opening the door. Thoughts of stolen kisses and wandering hands flashed through her mind, even in that foggy state. Images of Erin’s hand on her skin, her fingertips begging to travel farther, made her insides flutter into that swarm of buzzing again.
As she reached for the doorknob, the house seemed to loom over her. The brick casted shadows off the mounted lights, and for a brief moment, she wished she went home with Erin. She wished she allowed herself that mindless spontaneity, allowed herself to get lost in another’s presence after depriving herself of it for so long.
Glancing down at her watch, only visible by the light on the porch, she noticed the time creeping slowly towards three in the morning. Shit. She had to be up in less than two hours to prepare for work the next day, and it wasn’t getting any earlier.
With a sigh, she turned the key in the lock, and the door swung open.
Her legs were wooden posts stuck in quicksand–the panic of impending doom slowly setting in muscle spasms over her entire body. The silence within the house grew even farther, stretching like the root system of a thousand-year-old Redwood.
She placed her keys down beside the table to her right and kicked off her shoes. To her left was their office–her office now, but it was Marin’s. It would forever belong to Marin. As an executive at Hendrickson Marketing, Marin would sit and work in that office every night. She always had a cup of tea to her left, the warmth swirling in ribbons through the air.
Julia could almost hear her laugh reverberate up into the cathedral ceiling as she read one of many ridiculous emails out loud. It was always from a big shot who tried to tell her what to do, from someone who had no marketing experience at all. Her laugh always made Julia smile. It wasn’t like others; it was a unique blend, somewhere between a regal chuckle and an unrestrained melody. Mesmerizing in every way, just like her raspy voice.
“Welcome to the land of education,” Julia would joke as she kissed her head, her hands lingering in her long red hair as she pulled away.
The memory slowly faded before her eyes as she dropped her jacket right there in the office. She found herself standing before Marin’s desk, her legs moving without conscious direction. Her finger traced the outline of a tea stain on the mahogany desk, marking the exact spot where Marin always placed her cup.
It was usually at that point she’d run through every moment she could’ve done something different, said something different. She’d replay every instance, every word, searching for the point at which everything changed. She tried to burn to memory every last moment that could have been it: the moment that the love of her life stopped loving her.
Their life became a band aid clinging to skin for long enough. It became ingrained, the adhesive merging with the surface until both were unrecognizable. When it came time to rip the bandage off, there were two options: carefully pull at the edges to prevent as much pain as possible, or rip it off quickly and feel it all at once. She wished they chose the last. She wished they faced it all head on instead of watching Marin’s eyes dim a little more each day.
Deep down, she knew that any choice would’ve left her in the same place: alone. Even though it wasn’t her decision to make, she had to sit in the mess she helped create. And it was that realization that would drop her to her knees, clutching her heaving chest as tears connected like sparkling pools on the floor below her.
It didn’t matter how long it’d been. It didn’t matter how many distorted ways she twisted reality, desperately trying to get it to make sense. The life she was left with was a shattered heart, pouring out before her as it filled any available space except within herself.
But tonight, it didn’t.
She wanted to. She had wanted to surrender to the hollowness within her, to let it consume her completely. It had been one year. One entire year since hearing her voice, sharing her space, breathing in her spicy scent. An entire year of emptiness in that house and deep within herself.
She couldn’t do it, though. It’d been the first day in such a longtime that a smile was drawn like effortless calligraphy across her face. It wasn’t just a smile confined to the corners of her mouth, the kind she displayed at work or to colleagues. This smile reached her eyes, a genuine glimmer of happiness. For a fleeting moment, she felt a distant tingle of joy seeping back into her bones, like an old friend returning–familiar yet still elusive.
She wasn’t a cynic or in a cliché depression. She didn’t sit and wallow in her feelings. She didn’t walk around with a scowl on her face and a meanness in her tone. She got out of bed each morning. She brushed her teeth.
She learned early on to bury it deep. Only in the confines of her own company did she ever allow herself to let go–only then. No one else knew. No one else could guess that behind those curled eyelashes and calculated smile, she was a different person than she was before. She was less of a person, even more cautious, if that was possible.
Julia moved down the hallway, her steps still unsteady. Her fingers trailed along the pictures lining the path to the bedroom, the glass ice to her fingertips. Those photographs captured fragments of a lifetime of love frozen in time.
She spent hours each week meticulously dusting the delicate frames, as if tending to them would somehow preserve the memories they held. There were countless times when she contemplated throwing them away, discarding them like relics of a past no longer needed. Yet, every time she grasped the cold edges of those frames, she’d look at the smiles on their faces and stop.
They captured tiny moments of what could have been a forever story. Pictures of the perfect couple, one that now only existed on that glossy paper. Maybe that was why she couldn’t bear to take them down; they were the only remnants of the past 15 years of her life that remained untainted in some way. They were the only things left without fissures of pressure cracking their very foundation.
Julia’s eyes moved from one photograph to another. In some, they were melting into each other’s arms–donned in flowing snow-white gowns–their smiles radiant with promises of a lifetime together. Their long hair glittering in the sunshine, not even compared to the light in their eyes. In others they were slicked with sweat, tanned shorts stained with dirt, outside Incan ruins that took fifteen hours to hike to, even though the map claimed it would take three. Some were on beaches, far away escapes where they were surrounded by nothing but each other’s sun-kissed bikini bodies and toes floating in turquoise waters.
They held an entire life fully lived, memories she wanted to hold on to, memories that should still be a possibility. They were reminders of what once was, reminders of the love and happiness they had shared. And so, they remained, testaments to a love that had withered but still possessed the power to stir something within her.
She pulled her eyes away from the photos and looked back at the front door. The sight of her briefcase dropped against the wall pushed that night right to the front–the night when the world stopped turning and the sun felt like it would never rise again.
***
Julia walked in after another late-night board meeting. She set her bag down beside the wall, except there was something already there. Her eyes were fixed on the gray suitcase perched purposefully beside the door with Marin’s gold purse secured on top. The handle was pulled up, ready to be taken at any moment.
Julia took in the sight of the packed suitcase. It felt like a mocking symbol of how easily their life together could be contained within its confines. The idea that everything could be neatly wrapped up and carried away was both tantalizing and terrifying. Could life truly be reduced to a few belongings and a journey to an unknown destination?
The house was quiet, still. Too still. Her heart sank.
How had she not seen it before? The signs were there, hidden beneath the gloss of a clean and perfect home, their routines and habits meticulously maintained. They’d fallen into the trap of complacency, content to keep up appearances while everything else withered away.
It would’ve come at some point, but it never really sunk in how far they had fallen. Their time together had run out; apparently, it had for a very long time. It was a pendulum, dancing in time, going through the motions with the knowledge that at some point, all movement would cease when the friction became too much. Except she was never privy to that knowledge.
The realization in her bones never met the haze in her head. They had an unspoken agreement, at least Julia thought they did. It was easier to keep the status quo, easier to live the life they created. It was easier to continue to pretend Marin still loved her as much as when they said their first I love you, than it was to figure out how to stop loving her. Ignorance is bliss, or whatever that bullshit line is.
Even with the possibility hiding in the deepest, darkest part of her mind, the suitcase hit her in the chest like a runaway train. It was never meant to be real. The irrational fears that ate away at her stomach, the knots that kept her awake at night, were never meant to be real.
“Oh!” Marin’s voice was full of surprise. She came around the corner from their bedroom, her long red hair straightened to a point, a matching duffle slung over her shoulder. She looked so composed, still dressed in a navy cocktail dress from the conference she had earlier that morning. “I thought you’d be home later.”
Julia was usually home later. At first it was finishing her doctorate, taking night classes to continue her full-time job, which paid for Marin’s dreamhouse in the middle of suburbia. Then it was the promotion and never-ending meetings chaining her to her desk at work. Compiled with volunteer work and school social events, Julia seemed like a guest in her own house at times. But isn’t that supposed to be the sacrifice of marriage?
“What are you doing?” Julia tried to steady her voice, but it came out as strained as her heart muscles felt. Her breath began to quicken, heat rising to her ears.
“I was hoping to put these in the car before you came in,” she continued softly, a careful touch to her tone, as she stepped towards her, “I didn’t want the bags to be the first thing you saw.”
The words sunk into Julia like a barbell falling to the bottom of a pool. How do you prepare for the moment when the world stops turning? What are your last words when it feels like your life is over–when you’re about to lose everything and there’s nothing to stop it?
That was it.
It didn’t matter that they began to grow apart years ago–that at some point they both noticed that kisses grew shorter–I love yous changed to see you soons. Their steamy date nights that once included stealing passionate kisses on empty sidewalks turned to forgotten anniversaries, distant flowers arriving at work instead of handed in person. A couple of late nights throughout the week turned into every night. Dinners alone turned into an empty, cold, king sized bed that always seemed larger than it did when they first bought it.
At some point, the cost of life–the cost of the life you chose–will tip the scales. It might sacrifice something big, like looking back and wishing you’d taken that job offer, wishing you made that move. It might sacrifice something small, like losing people along the way that were never really friends in the first place.
Sometimes, the cost is too great to even imagine. Sometimes, the cost of one’s old life for their chosen one can disintegrate the very thing they worked so hard for from the very beginning. Sometimes, it takes everything you hold dear. Sometimes, it takes it all.
“We can’t keep doing this,” Marin’s voice quivered, her eyes glossed with unshed tears.
She always had to be the strong one, always had to be the one that held her salt-soaked feelings for later. She took a tentative step forward, her hand reaching out, but Julia couldn’t bear to feel the warmth on her skin after so long without it.
With a sigh, Marin let her hand drop. “I got an apartment.” That last word hung in the air, cutting through their silence like shards of glass.
Marin been ready to utter those words? How long had she secretly searched for another place to call home, another bed to lie in? How long had she watched those suitcases in the closet of their bedroom and planned for that very moment?
It was probably the same amount of time that Julia spent staring into her crystal blue eyes while she focused on the television, desperate to find just a sliver of what Marin once felt for her in them. It was probably the same amount of time that Julia spent kneeling on the floor of the shower, not knowing where her tears started and the water ended. It was probably the same amount of time that she laid awake next to Marin, wishing she could feel the comfort of her body without having to ask for it.
Julia knew it was coming. They both did like a looming hurricane approaching land. But even when you know the storm is coming, you’re never really ready for the impact. You can batten down the hatches, hide in the bathtub, and squeeze your loved ones until you think it’s over. You can sit there and imagine how bad it will be–how much it will take from you–but you’re never really ready for the outcome.
Instead of running, they choose to sit and weather out the storm. They refused to leave the life built, too afraid of what would fall from it without their presence protecting it at all costs. Little did they know, they weathered out the storm as best they could, but there wasn’t anything left to go back to. There was no foundation sitting beneath the rubble to build upon.
Julia took a step back, needing space to gather her expanding thoughts and emotions. Her mind raced, searching for answers, for a way to salvage what was left. But deep down? She knew it all already slipped through her fingers. The foundation they had built already crumbled beneath the weight of unspoken truths.
“Okay,” was all that she could get out as she moved aside, leaving a clear path to the door.
Her teeth ground together. Her throat constricted as her palms grew clammy. A tremor ran through her joints, fear transforming into sheer terror as she fought to suppress her trembling. Marin won’t do this. She won’t actually leave.
That thought echoed in her mind, amplifying her anxiety. It felt as if her breath was being sucked out of her, as though a weight was dropped onto her chest, forever ingrained.
“Jules,” Marin began, her voice filled with a desperate rasp, “I want you to be happy.”
She hated how much she liked to hear Marin say her name that way, because it made Julia want to believe her. But she couldn’t. Marin didn’t act like she wanted her to be happy. She always said she worked too much, that she shouldn’t have gone back for her doctorate so soon, that they were too busy, that everything was fine when every fiber of Julia’s being was disintegrating before her very eyes.
She didn’t care about her happiness when, after a long day at work, Julia would lean in for a deep kiss–anything to escape and feel that glint of home–but Marin would pull away after a quick embrace. Julia would curl into her on the couch, looking up at her with wanting eyes and wandering hands. Marin would hold her hands gently, returning the gesture with a smile and peck on the forehead. Then she’d turn back to the television as if the remote didn’t have a pause button, as if she would miss something if she gave Julia one more second of herself.
Julia even dared to ask her out on dates. She knew how ridiculous it sounded. After 20 years with someone, having to ask them to go out and do something romantic? Pathetic. Even if it wasn’t romantic, she would have been over the moon. Ax throwing? Great idea. Golfing? Sounds fun. Want to take a walk around the town park and eat PBJ on a rickety bench? Any day, anywhere.
There was always some reason, something that was more important. Something more important, more important than Julia. There was always a thing that had to be done, a place to go, a person to see. Anything over the quiet intimacy of just Julia.
Julia. Julia. Julia.
It was too easy for Julia to blame herself, believing she was the root of the problem. Marin’s fuse shortened by the day and each time she snapped, something broke a little more inside her. Little things that didn’t mean anything became bullets to dodge.
Julia left her keys on the counter instead of hanging them by the door. Julia made potatoes with dinner when Marin wanted rice. Julia washed her tea mug when Marin wanted another cup. Sometimes Julia did too much. Sometimes she didn’t do enough.
Julia. Julia. Julia.
She wasn’t smart enough. She wasn’t quick enough. She wasn’t good enough. She never would be. That belief seeped so far into her bones that she knew the bullets were coming, one way or another. Sometimes a deafening silence stretched for miles in all directions, even when they sat in the same room. Sometimes, she heard Marin sigh and it submerged her concrete feet in place knowing she did something. But what?
If Marin wanted her happiness, she would have tried. She would have taken the time to piece back together the once exploding passion that they had instead of taking questions of what can I do differently and responding with you don’t like me or why are you always attacking me or I’m too tired for this right now. They were both tired. Every chance at communication turned into trenches to hide in, a war to concede. Oh, how Marin conceded.
At some point, a sane person stops trying. Julia didn’t ask for surprises or diamonds; she never asked for anything materialistic. All she wanted from the start was Marin. To be loved by Marin. To be wanted by Marin. The hurt of the subtle excuses–even when there were no excuses at all–become too much to bear.
Oh, Marin.
Maybe she wasn’t sane anymore. She was tired. Oh, God, was she tired. Even though Julia didn’t know it at the time, she let Marin go a long time before that day.
And so, Julia found herself standing there in front of the woman who stole her heart–the woman she would always love–with the word “okay” escaping her lips when nothing else in the world would ever be okay again.
So, she let her go. She let that single molecule of hope slip through her sleep deprived grasp and disappear into the cool dirt, so maybe someone else somewhere can find it of some use.
They say when you lose someone you love, someone who could make the sun set and rise again just for you, it feels like the world comes crashing down. That didn’t do it justice. That’s not even close to the truth. For Julia, her world didn’t simply collapse; it shattered into countless minuscule fragments that slipped through her trembling fingers like grains of sand. Her world didn’t just falter, waiting to be rebuilt; her world walked out of the door, taking something from her that could never be replaced.
The next day was the first in years that Julia called into work. She said she had a migraine, when really, she was glued to the kitchen table in the same clothes she wore the night before. Tear stains bordered the collar of her shirt, wrinkles patterning every other inch.
The rising sun shamelessly spewed light through the blinds, straining her tired eyes. Her hand clenched around her glass mug, lost in how many times she poured cold, black coffee into it, how many days she used that same cup without washing it.
The night stretched on as she stared at the clock on the wall, too afraid of what would crumble from her body if she moved, too afraid to step into any room where she could see Marin. She was terrified that if she stood up, everything within her would settle to her toes and then she’d realize just how much of herself was missing.
***
The hardest part of it all today was wondering with all that love, how could she come to terms with the fact that their marriage was no longer a marriage but a convenient comfort? They could deconstruct their very being down to the cell and trust that the other could piece them back together, every strand of DNA, just as it was. That was the type of vulnerability, the sheer transparency of their love. A person to rely on, a person who would always be there, a person that was home. Until she wasn’t. How can something that real disappear that fast?
She still couldn’t remember how long it took her to pick herself up and face life again. Did she ever truly find all the pieces? How many weeks passed until she could take a shower without collapsing into a ball on the floor, tears blending with the scalding water? How long was it before she stopped sleeping on the couch, before she stopped picking up soy milk from the store even though she wasn’t the one who drank it?
Would there ever be a day that didn’t start with a thought of Marin’s touch and end with the memory of her back walking out that door? That image haunted her dreams and kept her awake through the night–cold sweats seeping through layers of even the thickest cotton.
Now that she stood there in the hallway, still swaying, she knew she never really picked herself up off the floor. She was still that same broken woman that sat at that table; the same woman who still thought her red-haired beauty would walk back through that door and realize just how much she left behind.
With a sigh, she ran her hands through her hair and turned back towards the bedroom. The fact that she was in this big house alone–the very one that was built from Marin’s dreams, each peak exactly to her measurements–seemed like a cruel joke.
Julia would have been content in a small cottage on a lake. She wanted to read by candlelight and tend her gardens. She wanted to be the type of person who didn’t need anyone else. Not to open stuck pasta sauce jars. Not to grab anything off the top shelf; there are ladders for that. She wanted to choose to be alone instead of the person forced to be. Instead she’s surrounded by a past life she never asked for, one she especially doesn’t want it now.
She stood in the dimly lit bedroom, her eyes tired and heavy. She slipped out of her linen pants with one hand, letting them fall to the floor as she unclipped her earrings with the other. She tossed them carelessly onto the oak nightstand.
Her gaze fixated on the manila envelope that still sat on the table. It was irradiated–the streetlight, a single spotlight through the window. Six months ago it came in the mail, and she still couldn’t open it. She knew what it was, understood the finality that it held.
Time ran out. It was over, but she still wasn’t ready to sign on the dotted line. For her, it could never end like that. It wasn’t big enough. It didn’t equal the amount of years they had spent in each other’s arms. There was no final kiss. No begging. No apologies. No hesitance. It couldn’t be that easy. Their love couldn’t have been worth only that.
Maybe a part of her thought that if she put it off long enough, Marin would reach out and she could hear her voice again. Maybe she thought she would come back. Because one lazy Sunday afternoon they laid tangled in each other’s bare warmth under the sheets as dawn crept through their windows, and she said without a doubt, we have a once in a lifetime love, and Julia believed her. Oh God, did she believe her.
Too drained to change into even a comfortable t-shirt, Julia collapsed onto the bed in her bra and underwear. She curled beneath her satin comforter, the weight of it soothing her tired bones. As she laid there, soaking up the grating quiet of her bedroom, her mind continued to grapple with the whirlwind of what today meant. She tried to push it all aside, attempting to cling to the glimmer of her old self that crawled from the depths.
Her eyes were fixed on the fan that spun overhead. The streetlight in the window sprayed rays of light on the ceiling. The blades spun shadows out that danced above her in a never-ending circle. It was mesmerizing, and suddenly she couldn’t come up with one reason why she didn’t realize how calming it was until it had been spoken from Erin’s glossy lips.
Erin’s lips.
Her head still spun a little. Maybe it was from one drink too many, or maybe it was the look in Erin’s eyes when she smiled at her–the way her plump lips parted just slightly each time she looked at her. She found herself wishing she asked for her number. Maybe then she’d have the chance to ask about her work, what she found so interesting about the programs she evaluated.
Julia laid there soaking up the silence, the twirling blades circling as her mind battled with itself between all the reasons leaving so quickly was the best choice, and how she would give anything to be able to forget the world that easily again.