9. Chapter 9 The Dance We Keep Doing #2
I force a small grin. “Just worn down a little. Guess I’m old now.
” I want to say more, but I hate dragging her into my mess with her brother.
Once, we talked about it, drunk on red wine.
I shared that sometimes I’m not sure if I made the right decision to marry him.
That I’ve thought about leaving. She almost cried.
“You deserve more than predictable, you know that, right?” She nudges me. “You’re fun and adventurous, remember.”
She stands, swaying to the music. “Bungee jumping in Mexico? Dancing on tables until four a.m. when you were still dating my brother while he was buried in law school books? Moms are allowed to have fun too.”
Her words make me pause. What happened to that girl?
My life is beautiful, comfortable, everything I should want. But the deeper I go, the more I realize I want more. Need more. I just don’t know how to find it without destroying everything I built.
I hug Izzy and step outside for air, drink still in hand. The sound of Jacob’s voice with his friends catches my attention. I peek around the corner, about to say hello, until I hear Jacob say my name. I stay hidden for a moment, curiosity taking over.
His words carry, thick with alcohol. “She’s a great mom,” he says, but there’s an edge underneath it.
“But she’s… a lot. Clumsy as hell, can’t cook to save her life, and honestly?
Sometimes she’s just exhausting. Always needing reassurance, always asking for hugs, always wanting to talk about shit that doesn’t matter.
I mean, come on. I married her, isn’t that enough? ”
The group laughs. Oblivious to the fact that I’m standing right here. Heat rises to my face. Is this how he talks about me when I’m not around? Is this how he sees me? Before I can slip away, Jacob spots me.
“Oh, hey! We were just joking around about our wives. Great timing,” he says casually, like he didn’t just gut me in front of everyone.
“Yup. Phenomenal timing. Thanks for the… kind words.” I flash a tight smile, torn between tossing my drink in his smug face or just walking away.
Then pervy Danny, or is it Dennis, chimes in with a sloppy smirk, his eyes glued to my legs. “I’ll happily take her off your hands. Give her some attention next time you need a break, man. Hell, I could swing by later…”
He stumbles forward, nearly grabbing onto my chest. And I’m not sure if it’s intentional or an accident. Everyone laughs again.
Except Jacob. He doesn’t yell. Doesn’t curse. Doesn’t flinch. He just stares at Dennis, his whole body tight, fists clenched at his side.
“Say that again,” Jacob says, his voice dangerously low, steady.
Dennis blinks, backing up with his hands raised. “Hey, man. I was just messing around.” Jacob steps forward—nearly nose to nose, closing the space between them.
“Don’t ever talk about my wife again,” he spits the words out. “Ever. She’s mine. Do. You. Understand?”
Dennis nods quickly, stepping back. The air thickens. For a second, I’m scared. Not for myself—but for Dennis. And I should be fucking furious. Humiliated. Hurt. And I am. But underneath it all, I also feel a twisted sense of safety.
Jacob looks at me, jaw locked. I think he might say something. Apologize. To me. To him. But he doesn’t. He just turns back to his friends, dismissing me, and the guys shift to joking about sports.
I retreat back inside, tears stinging my eyes. I check my phone. Midnight. That’s late enough to stop faking all this fun and make an exit.
A message pops up on my screen.
Dylan : I don’t like vegetables… And are you pretending to enjoy your surprise party? You never did finish explaining why you hate them.”
I nearly laugh. Is this how affairs start with hot male contractors? My husband acts like an asshole, and Romeo comes riding in on a horse? I’ve seen enough movies to know this path never ends well for everyone. That doesn’t stop me from messaging him back.
Me: Pretending, yes. Doing a good job of it, no. My face never lies.
I look around the room full of fake smiles. And the empty space where I wish my dad stood for my birthday.
The dots appear almost instantly… he’s typing.
Dylan: Still avoiding my question. You do that a lot. Was looking forward to finding out if Jackson’s the killer.
A small smile forms on my lips. Somehow, a few words from him make the crowded room feel less lonely. Dylan has this strange superpower—he pulls me out of my own world and lets me escape into his.
A tap on my shoulder makes me jump. I turn around to find Jacob, his face a little twisted. I quickly click the button to turn my screen black.
“Hey, you okay? I know you don’t like these parties. But your mom insisted. She’s convinced if we keep celebrating, you’ll eventually come around.” He shrugs, like that somehow makes it better. “I figured maybe she’s right.”
Hate is the right word, Jacob. But sure, keep doing them. Keep thinking I’m fine after that conversation.
“I know, Jacob. You can never say no to anyone—except me.” I try not to let the bitterness creep into my voice. “The party was nice. But please, don’t act like things are okay right now.”
“Are you serious?” His brow furrows. “Don’t tell me this is about that dumb conversation with the guys. I was kidding. I didn’t mean anything by it.”
“Kidding? You were kidding?” My voice trembles, despite my effort to steady it. “Is that really how you see me?”
He looks away, almost shrugging. “Jinx, I was venting. I needed to blow off some steam. You’re reading too much into this.”
“Too much?” I shake my head, feeling hurt. “You humiliated me. You shared things I didn’t even know were an issue for you. Instead of coming to me, you went to them. You made me look like… like a burden.”
“Oh, come on. It’s not that serious.” He sighs, like I exhaust him. “Can we drop this?”
“No. You should talk to me! Your wife! I’ve been asking you to let me in for years.” My voice rises, but he stays silent.
This is our daily dance. I speak. He listens.
But we don’t hear each other because we speak two different languages.
Frustration builds, and then silence takes over our predictable cycle.
He sees the world in black and white. Mine is all shades of gray.
He values work, money, and success. I crave connection, growth, and intimacy.
I keep chasing growth, while he stays locked behind a closed vault. One I have no damn key for.
Maybe he’s always been this way, and I didn’t see it.
When we were young, he swept into my life like a knight in shining armor, saving me from Ryan.
Back then, he was charming, patient, and he put effort into understanding me.
At least, that’s what it felt like at the time.
Maybe that’s how it is when you’re dating—everyone is on their best behavior, hiding pieces of themselves that don’t fit.
Maybe I mistook his confidence for depth and ignored how his way was always the right way.
Or maybe it’s marriage that changed us both.
“And these surprise parties? I’m done,” I snap, dragging myself back to the argument.
“I know you and my mom think this helps, but it doesn’t.
I hate crowded places. I feel lonely here.
And all it does is remind me of him. I wish that, for once, instead of pleasing everyone else, you’d try to please me. ”
He exhales sharply, rolling his eyes. “Why can’t you be grateful? I’m trying. Your mom thinks it’s good for you, and everyone else seems to have a good time. Except you.”
“Do you hear yourself?” My voice is unsteady. “Parties for everyone else on my birthday? Shouldn’t I have a say in how I spend it? Do you think I want to relive my thirteenth birthday every year?” My voice pitches loud enough for a few guests to have something to gossip about later.
“Jenna…” His voice drops, quieter now. “I know your dad hurt you, but I’m not him. I’m here. I just thought this would help. Can we not do this tonight?”
He gives me that puppy dog look. The one meant to smooth things over, to push the mess back under the rug. “How about I make it up to you later with a bath and a massage?”
Before I can respond, our daughters come charging over, their giggles cutting through the tension. And I remember one of the reasons why I stay…