Chapter 19 Marsh #2
For the rest of the drive, we sit in silence listening to a seventies playlist. I can tell we’re reflecting on the day we just had, processing what this means for the both of us.
Once we get to Fisherman’s Wharf the sun is slowly starting to set along the water.
I grab a crewneck from my bag, Lucy wraps a wool cardigan around her, and we find a spot along the pier.
“Holy shit, that’s good,” Lucy says through a mouthful of lobster.
“Oh wow.” I savor the taste of fresh seafood, a thick buttery sauce, and a soft brioche bun.
“Okay.” Lucy licks butter off her thumb and I immediately look away. “Would you rather be rich or famous?”
“Rich,” I say, not even slightly fazed by the sudden pivot to a would you rather game.
“Would you rather—”
“Wait, what is this?” I interrupt. “You have to answer them too!”
“Okay, okay…hmm…” Lucy thinks. “Yeah, I’d rather be rich. Too much pressure when you’re famous.”
“Agreed.”
“Would you rather always be hot or always be cold?” she asks.
“Cold. Hands down,” I answer. “I hate being hot.”
“It’s like when you’re cold, you can layer up,” she agrees. “But when you’re hot…like that’s it. You’re fucked.”
“So fucked,” I say. “Would you rather eat pizza every day for a year or never eat pizza for the rest of your life?”
“Wait, I love pizza.” Lucy pouts. “I guess…every day?”
“That’s so much pizza.”
“Well, no! Not technically,” she bargains. “Because there are so many different flavors and variations. You can also make a cauliflower crust if you want to be healthy.”
“But is it healthy?” I squint.
“Do not ruin the concept of cauliflower crust pizza for me, Marshall!” She pushes me and then takes another bite of her roll. “Would you rather have to end your day with eating a raw onion or five cloves of garlic?”
I make a gagging noise. “I guess garlic? There are at least health benefits.”
“But your breath would be nasty.”
“Like an onion is any better?”
“Fair…” Lucy’s face scrunches. “Would you rather write a thriller or a rom-com?”
The question causes me to pause for a moment, and I wonder if what I’m thinking is even worth saying.
“Growing up I wanted to write a thriller,” I say.
“Wait, seriously?” Lucy says.
“Yeah.” I nod. “I just loved creative writing in high school and college but the uncertainty of a creative career path sort of scared me, so I pursued journalism.”
“Marsh, I had no idea!” She gapes. “Have you written anything I can read?”
“Oh god, no. I haven’t written anything since, I don’t know, junior year of college? But I love reading thrillers, so yeah, definitely writing a thriller.”
“Writing a book sounds so daunting,” she muses. “I mean, I would love to but I’m not great at writing fiction.”
“I feel like with all of your articles combined, you’d have the length of a book.”
“Yeah, probably.” She laughs and then takes a sip of her sparkling water. “Okay, would you rather be the funniest person alive or the most attractive person alive?” Lucy asks.
“What’s it like being the most attractive person alive?”
“Shut up!” Lucy says, a tinge of pink now along her cheeks. “Next question.”
“Would you rather have a one-minute conversation with your past self or your future self?” I ask.
“Oh, that’s a good one.” She sets her lobster roll down. “I think my future self.”
“Why?”
“I just feel like the past is in the past, so there’s no point in going back there. What about you?”
“I think my past self,” I say. “I still think there’s time to change the future, so I don’t know if whatever my future self would have to say would be that helpful.”
“We’re getting deep,” Lucy says and then pops a kettle chip in her mouth. “Would you rather give up sex or give up food?”
I’m surprised it took us this long to get to the topic of sex. “Well, seeing as my longest relationship was practically celibate,” I admit, “I would say sex.”
“You’re joking,” Lucy says.
“About which part?”
“All of it?” Lucy laughs. “Like, yeah, we need food to live, but I feel like most guys would give up food!”
“Would you give up sex?” I ask.
“Sex is my livelihood!” Lucy says. “But yeah, I’d probably give up sex too. I can give myself a better orgasm than most men.”
There’s that twist inside me again. It’s a mix of wanting to hurl at the thought of Lucy with another man and the urge to take my time with her. I want to explore every single inch of her and give her an orgasm that would absolutely change her answer.
When I see her take the final bite of her roll, I wipe my hands on a napkin and take a sip from the bottled water I have. “Want to get ice cream?” I look at Ghirardelli Square up ahead.
“Now we’re talking,” Lucy says.
We walk up to the famous San Francisco chocolatier and make our way to the ice-cream shop section of the store. It’s bright, loud, and full of tourists and kids in line. We share the signature hot fudge sundae and find a bench in Russian Hill overlooking the waterfront.
“Your family is so nice, Marsh,” Lucy says as she scoops a spoonful of ice cream. Her hair is messy and blowing in the wind, and she looks like something I don’t deserve to be looking at.
“Oliver and Quinn are great,” I agree and take a generous scoop with chocolate sauce.
“I noticed you didn’t really say bye to your mom,” she says softly.
“You saw that?”
“Mhm,” she says gently, placing her hand on my forearm. “Everything okay?”
Her touch causes me to sigh. I’m not the most open person. At least that’s what people tell me. But when Lucy asks me how I’m feeling, I want to tell her.
“She’s really close with Julia,” I say. “My mom kind of took her side during the breakup.”
“That’s awful, Marsh…I’m so sorry.” Lucy leans in closer, her eyes intent, trying to show me that she feels for me. “Why would she choose someone else over her own son?”
“Because I’m the one that broke up with Julia,” I say.
Lucy’s face drops. “You are?”
“Yeah.” I take another spoonful of ice cream and look out onto the water.
“Oh…” She sits with this. “I always thought she was the one who ended it.”
“Well, she was.”
“I don’t understand.”
My throat feels tight and my shoulders feel heavy. I don’t want to talk about this but at the same time I want Lucy to know.
“Julia cheated on me,” I say.
“W-what?”
I should’ve told Lucy earlier. But it’s like every opportunity I had it felt like this giant embarrassment, an undeniable failure, and I didn’t want her to see me differently.
“She cheated on me with Chad,” I say slowly, remembering how it all went down.
“It was a Tuesday evening. I came home from work, and I forgot it was our anniversary. I had so many deadlines that week that I just forgot. She was sitting in the living room on the couch, and when I didn’t say anything she told me she slept with Chad.
I didn’t even know who the fuck Chad was, but she told me that he was the brother of one of the other teachers she works with, and that he had always been asking her out.
She said it was only once,” I recall, thinking about that conversation.
“At first, she said it to spite me, like she wanted me to be jealous more than anything, and then it turned to tears and her saying she was sorry and that she made a mistake. She told me it would never happen again and that she loved me and she was just so frustrated…”
“Marsh…” Lucy’s fragile voice cuts through my thoughts, her tone growing into disbelief. “Marsh…Jesus.”
“I couldn’t even look at her.” My stomach churns at the memory.
“I ended it right then and there and I didn’t think twice about it.
In a way, I think I was maybe looking for an excuse to end it,” I say.
“Isn’t that what the old adage tells us?
That infidelity isn’t the problem; it’s just a sign that there was already a problem. ”
“Still…” Lucy says. “I can’t imagine how you felt in that moment.”
“I was numb. If that makes sense.”
“Yeah.” Lucy nods like she does understand what I mean, and more important, like it’s not a bad thing that I was numb. “Did she tell you why?”
“Oh yeah,” I say remembering vividly. “One, I took her for granted. Two, I was more focused on my job than anything else. Three, I cared more about writing than her.”
“What a little—”
“She was right,” I say. “She was absolutely right and I can’t even deny it.”
“Do you resent work?” Lucy asks.
“Never,” I answer immediately. “This might sound awful, but in a way, writing is my first love.”
“I know exactly what you mean,” Lucy tells me.