Chapter 40
Decision day.
The crew got seventeen different shots of me getting out of the hired car they had drive me up the length of the country club driveway.
My hands shake as Cassidy tells me to enter through the glass French doors, shake hands with Dr. Shaw, Dr. Leon, and Petra, before sitting down on the couch next to Andie. They peppered me with questions before I went in, about how I’m feeling, if I’ll say yes or no. But I won’t have to give my final answer until we’re asked. Together. On camera.
I’m sick to my stomach as I tug on my lapels, careful not to obscure the pocket square I’m wearing—one Andie made me.
Andie also made that dress. I know, not because it’s been in our shared closet for eight weeks (it has), or because I discreetly checked all her dresses to see which ones she made herself (I did). No. I know because it’s exactly like her: airtight seams and a pattern that makes it look like armor across her chest, even though it’s a delicate pink and undoubtedly soft fabric.
Then there’s the hidden pockets at the hips. If I didn’t know to look for them, they’d remain her secret.
I love and hate that I can spot her own designs a mile off. It means I’ll never be able to look at a dress on a woman the same way.
Dr. Leon adjusts his own lapels for the camera while Petra waits for the cue to begin the conversation. Andie sits close enough to touch, and still a world away. I haven’t spoken to her since our fight the other night. For the last forty-eight hours my mind replayed her desperate plea as she tried to get to me: I don’t give a damn about the show!
My eyes slide to her hands, hoping I can get a glimpse of the state of them, to see how much she’s thrown herself into her work. If she’s taking care of herself without me to bother her about it. I swallow when I realize I can’t tell.
I should have told her how much I love her hands—how capable they are.
“You two are the surprise of the season,” Petra begins, gesturing to us both. “You dated once before and then got married, sight unseen. How did it feel that day at the altar?”
“Like I was falling, with no safety net.” I offer a small smile.
Andie studies me for a moment. “Sounds like you should have brought a helmet.”
That makes everyone chuckle, including me. I rub my jaw with my fingers, unsure what to say.
“What about you, Andie?” Dr. Shaw asks, her hands folded neatly on her lap.
I hold my breath while Andie ponders for a few seconds. Finally, she says, “A nightmare.”
The hosts exchange dramatic looks that I’m sure will look great spliced together on TV.
Andie sighs and explains, “This man who left me after I told him I loved him all those years ago was supposed to be my perfect match? How humiliating.”
The hosts smile amiably as she waves away the idea.
“But then”—she turns her eyes on me—“I got to know him for who he is now. We had fun and we found our rhythm again. The nightmare morphed into a bit of a fever dream. It’s still hard to believe it’s all real.”
I give her the slightest nod of acknowledgment, unsure what to say.
“Andie,” Petra says, a smile pulling at her lips, “is there anything you’d like to say to Kit before we get started?”
She looks at her hands in her lap and takes a deep breath. When she looks into my eyes, I’m crumbling. She’s got to be able to see it. She knows me better than anyone. She always did.
“Kit,” she says softly, like a caress. “There’s a lot I could say, but mostly I want to thank you for taking care of me.”
She swallows and holds my gaze.
The corner of my mouth tugs into a small smile, just for her. The cameras weren’t around when we did it, but most every night, I took care of her hands, bandaged any new pricks in her fingertips, and toward the end, before we fought, I kissed away the ache of the day’s work before bed.
“Kit,” Petra cuts into my thoughts, “what about Andie? Is there anything you’d like to say to her?”
My mouth goes dry even though I knew they were going to ask this. We were briefed on it yesterday. The words I want to say simply won’t come. I want to tell her she’s beautiful, that the years away from me have been good for her. That I’m sorry I was so cold in the beginning. That I wish we had more time.
But most of all, I want to apologize for not being what she needs. I had two days to sit alone with the truth: If I’ve given all I can and it’s not enough, nothing ever will be, as much as I wish it could be.
I simply frown and shake my head. None of it’s good enough, and I don’t want to say any of it in front of an audience.
Andie shrinks beside me, pulling away ever so slightly.
“Over the past eight weeks,” Dr. Shaw says, “you’ve been through a lot together, without even knowing who you were going to marry. You took a leap of faith that day, and another one every day since.”
Petra nods sagely, as if this part isn’t scripted. “You had your first look at forever eight weeks ago and spent these eight weeks exploring what the future could look like. Now it’s time to make a decision.” She turns to Andie, her expression growing serious. I can already see how they’ll layer this under dramatic music for TV. “Andie, do you want to continue this marriage?”
She licks her lips and looks at her hands again, smoothing them over her skirt. The one she designed for herself and made for herself, without anyone’s help.
My pulse kicks up a notch, and I hold my breath. If she says yes, I have no hope of saying no.
Her lips pull into a frown, and she tangles her fingers together, clenching them so tightly her knuckles blanch. Her chest rises and falls with a deep breath. The silence stretches on so long and so taut, I’m afraid I’m going to snap clean in two waiting for her answer.
I’m frozen in time as she meets my gaze, so soft and open I’m not sure how to hold it.
Something inside me breaks. Not shattering and splintering like glass, but a slow fissure under duress finally gives way.
I close my eyes and turn away from her. When I open them, the hosts are smiling. Like they know something I don’t.
But the answer is in Andie’s hesitation. She still doesn’t think I can be who she needs. I can love her ferociously from Italy and it won’t be enough. She knows I won’t give up my job, and I know she won’t ask me to choose between her and taking care of my mom.
If she says yes, we’ll hate each other soon. I can’t bear the thought.
If she says no, I won’t survive it.
My vision goes gray around the edges. I don’t turn to Andie. If I look at the hope in her eyes, I’ll fall apart. I won’t be strong enough to do it. So I level my gaze on Dr. Shaw. “I think we should divorce.”
The tiny gasp that escapes Andie feels like a sledgehammer straight to my ribs. I can’t breathe. My hands are shaking, so I rest them on my knees.
It’s the only answer. In time, she’ll understand it was our only way out. I won’t doom her to a life with me when I know I’m not enough for her. I won’t give up the life I’ve built between who I am and who I used to be. This will break my mom’s heart, but at least I can say I tried.
“I think it’s safe to say that decision comes as a surprise to everyone.” Petra tries to smooth over the brutal truth that just escaped my lips. “Can you tell us how you came to that conclusion?”
Andie sniffs.
Fuck.
I bow my head and close my eyes, forcing my lungs to take in air. It hurts. It physically hurts to do this. But I have to.
I walked into this thinking I could make everything right with Andie. That we could finally choose to be together. We were meant for each other.
Then we broke through all the bullshit keeping us apart only to find we would never cede the lives we built without each other. It’s not the first time this morning I wish I hadn’t been so stupid when we were younger.
Andie’s become more beautiful, stronger, more incredible than I could have ever imagined. The Andie in my dreams doesn’t hold a candle to the one sitting next to me. She asked me to keep showing up. I tried, and it wasn’t enough.
I lift my head and meet Petra’s eyes. “I wasn’t the man she needed ten years ago, and I’m still not. I’m sorry.”
Andie gasps again. Then, before they can ask her how she feels or what she’s thinking, she stands. Her voice is thick with tears as she tells no one in particular, “I’m sorry, I—are we done? I can’t—breathe and I don’t want—I can’t be here. I’m sorry.”
She slips away, but not before I hear her muffle a sob as she opens the door behind us.
I don’t want to talk to the hosts. Every fiber of my being wants to chase after her. But I give Andie time to escape. Time to run. Let her be the one who leaves me behind this time. Even though I was the one to end it. Again. Without explaining myself fully. Just leaving her to suffer through it. Alone.
Fuck me.
It’s better this way.
I stand slowly, calmly. In a smooth voice, I tell our hosts, “Again, I’m sorry.”
Before they can ask me to elaborate now that she’s not here, I look to the producers in the wings. “Can you please remove my mic?” I’ve fulfilled my obligation to the show contract, and I’m done. I can’t stand here trying to maintain the outward chill of a cold-hearted bastard while I’m falling apart inside.
I want to drown my sorrows in expensive liquor in the privacy of my own apartment and not worry about how bad I’ll hurt tomorrow. It doesn’t matter. I deserve it. Hell, I’d have punched any bastard who treated Andie like I just did. Giving myself a hangover I may never recover from sounds like a good alternative punishment since I can’t clock myself in the jaw.
But this sharp, temporary pain will be easier in the long run. It will be easier than slowly watching the light go out of Andie’s eyes as she realizes she has me in name, but not in truth. Better to hurt now than to give either of us the false hope that we can change who we are to make this work.
FIRST LOOK AT FOREVER
SEASON THREE
EPISODE SIXTEEN
PRODUCER:
I think it’s safe to say Kit surprised everyone today.
ANDIE:
[nods, sniffling]
PRODUCER:
He didn’t wait to hear your answer. Do you know why?
ANDIE:
[wipes her eyes and shakes her head]
PRODUCER:
Can you tell me how you’re feeling?
ANDIE:
[voice breaking] I feel so small. I gave him everything I could, and it wasn’t … it wasn’t enough. I walked in thinking maybe more time would have fixed it, but now I don’t know. I don’t know, I don’t know.
ANDIE:
[cries, covering her face with her hands]
ANDIE:
[through her hands] I want to hate him. I want to be mad, but I can’t find it anywhere in me. He was so … so …
ANDIE
[muffled sob] Please, just let me go. This hurts too much.