Chapter 4
Calvin
Iwatched Emily gingerly step through the door of our house. Her eyes were wide, her mouth shaped in a perpetual O as she looked up and up and up at the grand ceiling of our entry from which hung an obstinate chandelier.
I hated that fucking chandelier.
"Well, this is…." She swallowed. "Pretty?"
It sounded more like a question than a statement.
You chose it, baby girl.
She wore the most casual clothing I could find in her closet—designer activewear leggings with a cashmere sweater that cost more than any sweater had a right to.
The bandage would remain on her head for another two days. The injury, her pale and still bruised skin, coupled with her near-constant wide-eyed observations, lent her a waifish, vulnerable air.
Not at all the woman I'd married.
"Have we lived here long?" she finally asked, running her fingers absently along the entry wall.
"Two years."
She started at my words, her head twisting to give me that wide-eyed look once more "But…" she trailed off, biting her lip.
“But?" I promoted.
"It's so… sterile." She frowned, continuing into the house, glancing into rooms as we walked. "Where's the colour?”
"You paid an interior decorator a shit-ton of money to design this theme," I reminded her.
"What theme? White on white?" she asked as we reached the curved grand staircase.
"Actually, it's multiple shades of white – as you took great pains to tell me."
She blew out a breath, stepping aside so I could lead her up the stair.
"Where are our photos? Our pictures? Paintings?"
I felt that bittersweet pull of regretful hope. A feeling I'd fast become acquainted with.
Our starter house had been an old cottage on the edge of town. Mouldy and borderline decrepit, the cottage had been freezing in winter and a fucking sweatbox in summer. But we'd loved it.
Em had spent hours painting murals on every wall, sewing colourful curtains to hang across our windows, and building quirky things to display.
Photos of every event imaginable had lined our walls, blending seamlessly into the murals.
Pictures taken at family events, during travel, or at the dinner table on a Thursday night.
Each perfect because they'd captured joyful memories.
During our first year in the cottage, I'd cracked, deciding it wasn't good enough and willing to dip into my trust fund to find us a better situation.
Emily had refused to move, arguing that she liked the cold because it meant we needed to snuggle.
That she loved the heat because it forced us outside and into the beautiful nights.
It had been our first real fight, but we'd stayed.
The time we'd spent in that house were some of my favourite memories.
We'd climb onto the roof, lying on a blanket she'd brought with her to watch the sun sink over the horizon as it painted the sea and sky multiple shades of pink, orange, and purple. All the while, I’d be praying the roof would hold our weight while living for those nights.
Emily had been colour and life, whimsy and grace, light and laughter, my beautiful wife. She'd been my definition of love.
Right up until my parents had moved us onto the Estate following our wedding. Then my lover of colour and joy had faded to a woman as brittle, sterile and cold as this house.
And I was the dirtbag who'd let it happen.
"The photos might be in the attic," I finally told her. "I can see if I can dig them out."
"But—" she stopped herself again.
The selfish part of me was glad she'd begun self-censoring. I had no answers for her questions. No reason or moment in time that I could point to which said this. This is when we lost our way. This is when it changed.
And I'm so fucking sorry it did.
"Our room is last on the right."
She followed me as I manoeuvred her bags through the door. I heard her sharp intake of breath and knew exactly when she realised that this was a different reality to the one we'd once lived.
The designer had described it as ruthlessly modern.
I'd described it as a showroom. Our bedroom had zero personality.
Clean lines, white tiled floors, white furniture, and bedding.
The only colour came from strategically placed items that held no memories or personal value.
They'd been selected for their appearance from designer boutiques in the city, not for the joy of the memories they'd invoke.
"Where's our stuff?"
I dropped the bags, turning to find Em staring in bewilderment at the room, her colour high, her body shaking.
Fuck.
Distressed was too simple a word for the emotional breakdown she was experiencing.
"What stuff, baby?" I asked, approaching her like I would a frightened animal.
She pulled back, her arms making agitated gestures toward the room at large.
"Our things! The photos. The bowls we bought in Cambodia.
Photos of our engagement. That god-awful meerkat statue you gave me for our anniversary.
" She turned to me, tears glistening on her lashes.
"Where's our meerkat statue, Calvin? Where is he? "
God, the statue. I hadn't thought of it in… too long.
"I'm not sure, baby. You wanted to give him to Goodwill when we moved from the—"
"No." She shook her head brutally, immediately clutching at it as if in pain. "No, no, no! I wouldn't have done that! I wouldn't have just given away our things as if they had no value. This…." She looked around, still clutching her head. "This isn't my house. This isn’t my life."
She blinked up at me, one hand dropping to press against her lips. "Shit. Shit, shit, shit!"
"Emily—"
She whirled, racing for the door.
"Fuck!" I raced after her, catching her before she managed to get to the stairs.
"Let me go!" She screamed, kicking at my shins and attempting to beat at my chest. "Let me go! You're not my husband! This isn't my life!"
"Jesus, baby. Stop." I tried to soothe her, tried to pull her closer and wrap her in my arms. She broke, her body wracked with grief and confusion and sobs so hard I worried she'd vomit.
I let her clutch me close and let her cry until I was sure she wouldn't run.
Then I bent slightly, boosted her legs up and settled them around my waist, carrying her to the bedroom.
I sat on the edge of the bed, keeping her wrapped around me like a koala.
Her face pressed to my chest, her sobs uncontrollable.
The selfish fucker in me trotted back out.
She's back. This time? Don't let her escape.
I shoved the thought away, burying the guilt deep.
It took a long time. Longer than even I had thought for Em to calm. By that time, I'd moved us onto the bed. We were lying side-by-side, front-to-front, my fingers running through her hair, her gaze locked on my chest as she let out the occasional sniffle.
She finally looked up at me, her eyes and nose red and swollen. "Can you tell me what happened? How we got here?"
I blew out a breath, my fingers stilling in her hair. "It's hard to know, really."
"Cal, I look in the mirror and don't recognise myself." She lifted a hand to finger to her chemically straightened hair. "My hair is different, my body is different, my clothes, our house." She dropped her hand to my chest. "Only you're familiar. Only you feel like home."
I closed my eyes, savouring her words.
"And yet you're different too. You don't…. Just tell me."
Where to start?
"To be honest, I don't really know. We got married. A bigger wedding than either of us wanted." I smiled, remembering our joy. "But we did what we said we would."
"Snuck away to town hall?"
I nodded. "The day before. You got married in a dress you made. I was wearing the navy suit you liked. Our witnesses were a guy there to pay a parking fine and a woman who was seeking a divorce."
She chuckled. "I hope the divorcee didn't try to talk me out of it."
"Nah, she was still a believer in true love," I remembered watching my beautiful Em, her curves accentuated by the lace of the dress, walk down the aisle toward me.
I remembered the smile that I couldn't contain, the laughter as we awkwardly pushed the rings onto each other's fingers.
The taste of her kiss as she became my wife.
"I'm glad you have that memory,” she said, sounding bittersweet. "I'm glad we did that."
"We have pictures," I told her, frowning as I tried to remember where our secret folder was. "We had our own private reception in the honeymoon suite at that BnB you loved."
"Madison's by the Sea?"
"Mm," I murmured, my fingers beginning to trail softly over her arm. "We ate burgers while sipping champagne directly from the bottle. Then made love on the giant bed while the sun went down."
She sighed, closing her eyes. "I wish I could remember."
I do too.
She blinked her glorious amber eyes open. "We were happy?"
"Blissfully so."
"Then what changed?"
I sighed, my fingers continuing to trail up and down her arm as I tried to dissect the last five years.
"To be honest, I don't really know. It was incremental at first. We'd planned to go backpacking in Peru for our honeymoon.
I had to work, but we were going to go in September, after the busy period.
You said you wanted to get fit, so you started working out. "
"Obviously, I liked it," she said with a wry smile gesturing to her body.
"That's the thing. I don't think you did." I dropped my hand, letting it settle on the bones of her hip. "It was like you were… trapped in a cycle. You became obsessed with status. You took advice from my mother."
Her nose wrinkled.
"Exactly." My mother was the last woman on earth you'd take any advice from. "Then you started to wear designer clothes. You told me it was because you hated when mum made comments about you when she saw you on the Estate."
"Wait. We lived on the Estate?" She sat up. "We agreed never to—"
"I know." I sat beside her, dragging a hand through my hair. "They built a house on the parcel of land they purchased from the Morgans."
She groaned, placing a hand over her eyes. "Worst idea ever."
20-20 hindsight, babe.
"Yeah," I swallowed, knowing the worst was yet to come. "You quit your job after we moved in here. Said you didn't have time for it."
She blinked, her eyes widening. "Excuse me?"
I shrugged. "You started doing brunches and charity things in the city with mum."
"And you let me quit?"
"I figured if it made you happy…." I trailed off, knowing that was the chickenshit answer. "To be honest, by that stage, it was just easier to let you do you."
She frowned, "I don't understand."
"You weren't you anymore, Em." I struggled to put into words the changes that had occurred.
"You'd told me to take the promotions dad kept offering at work even though I had in no way earned them.
You told me to use the trust funds. You wanted this house, and you wanted personal training with a guy who cost a fuck more than I'd ever earned in a year before opening the family coffers.
You wanted to vacation in places recommended by people who aren't anything more than fair-weather snobs who gossiped behind our backs.”
I gestured at her body. "You started doing juice cleanses and something that involved wrapping yourself in plastic wrap. You'd buy expensive clothing and wear them once. You called Honey fat."
"Your sister? No!" Her hands covered her mouth, her expression horrified. "Oh my God, Cal. Oh my God. How… how did… who… who am I?"
A woman I loathed to love.
I pulled her in, her slight body wiggling into me as she struggled against more tears. "You're still you, Em. Under all the bullshit that happened, you're still a generous and loving person. We just have to… work to not let us go back to that."
She tilted her head up, her face beseeching. "But why did I become that? And if I became this woman, who did you become?"
A fucking great question.
"I can't answer the first. As to the second…." I paused, considering. This hadn't been one-sided. While Em had changed, I had too.
"I became a workaholic,” I admitted. "You know, I actually can't think of the last time I turned my phone off or didn't work on the weekend.”
Or came home before midnight. Or had an actual, uncontactable under any circumstance vacation.
I swallowed. “I abandoned you. I neglected our relationship and used money to try and solve our issues when what we really needed was time together.”
Em watched me with solemn eyes, her face still puffy. "Are you happy, Calvin?"
"No," I wretched the word from my soul. "I haven't been happy since…."
Since when, Calvin?
I didn't have an answer. We sat in silence for a long time. Through the numerous windows, the sun began to drop in the sky, darkness coming early at this time of year.
"Did we go to Peru?" Em finally asked.
"You know, we never did get there."
Her hand found mine in the growing darkness, holding tight.
"Would… would you maybe like to go with me?"
I looked down at the woman beside me. She wore hope on her face.
"Yeah,” I murmured, letting myself believe in this reality. Letting myself choose to see this accident as the wake-up call we both needed. "I'd love to take you."
Her lips lifted in a smile. "Okay."
"Okay."