Chapter 15
Chapter fifteen
Amy
I sit, staring at the computer screen. My jaw hangs open as tears cascade down my face. Of all the people in the world, Terry is the last person I ever expected to smash my heart to smithereens.
He’s been my rock for two decades, my soulmate. I could count on one hand the number of times he’s hurt me emotionally. My feelings have always been his top priority. Maybe that’s why the betrayal tastes so bitter.
My gaze drops to my fingers, twisting together nervously, then rise back to the screen. My palms are slick with sweat, the same as the back of my neck. I’m rattled.
―Connecting people. Creating families.
A red bubble blinks at the top right: You have 1 new message. Below it, a tab I didn’t open. Draft profile saved. The first line reads: Seeking co-parent or private donor; open to solo arrangements. The words blur and sharpen, each one a sting.
An hour ago, an email pinged our shared laptop. ‘Verify your MakeMeAFather account.” I’d clicked it, and autofill did the rest.
His key in the door signals he’s home, and I quickly minimize the window. His reflection appears on the screen.
Panicked, I jump up and snatch a cloth, scrubbing at a coffee ring on the table until the wood squeals. Terry’s eyebrows draw together in confusion when he sees me. “You’re spending your day off cleaning?” he asks, surprised.
“Uh-huh, the place needed a spruce up,” I say, trying to sound calm. My voice feels like it’s burning in my throat with nerves. I have no idea how to broach this with him.
I don’t even know what he’s done other than look up a website. But it hurts like he’s knocked me to the floor then put a boot on my chest. “Do you want to go out for dinner? Now. Please?” I ask. Staying here isn’t an option. My heart, my head, or both may explode.
“You want to go out for dinner? To a restaurant?” He looks at me with wide, confused eyes.
“What about your diet and training schedule? I thought you weren’t allowed to eat anything unless it had been scientifically counted.
” I bristle at the jibe. He doesn’t know what I’ve seen.
And he’s teasing me like everything’s fine.
He sets his phone face down on the console table, thumb hovering a beat too long. Guilt or habit? I can’t tell anymore.
“Well,” I mumble, and tears prick my eyes.
Don’t cry. “I’ve been neglecting you. I’m sorry.
It’s just that the bodybuilding has given me something to focus on, and I’ve been getting carried away.
” He’s standing at the entrance to our living room wearing a sauce-stained t-shirt and jeans.
“Did you have a good day at work?” I ask, pivoting to change the subject.
“Amz, is something wrong?” he says softly. “Has something happened? You’re not acting like you.” I shake my head violently in protest, but my tears fall outside my control. He rushes to my side. “Amz, what is it?”
His strong arms wrap around me, a reflex I used to lean in to. He pecks my lips, then rests his cheek on the top of my head. Everything about his touch is familiar but cold.
“You’re scaring me,” he whispers as I sob harder. I pull out of his arms and wipe at my treacherous eyes with my sleeve.
“I’m all right,” I mutter, not meeting his eye. “It’s my time of the month. You know how I get.”
“You’re early,” he says. Shit. Terry tracks my ovulation schedule to the minute. That was a poor excuse. I should know better. “Maybe you should see the doctor if things aren’t regular like they normally are. With the IVF, the stress of the last year, there’s bound to be change.”
“Perhaps,” I say noncommittally. “Shall we go out for dinner then?”
“Sure, let me freshen up, and we can head out. I fancy pizza.” I watch him walk away toward our bedroom.
The door slams shut behind him, and the noise echoes around our apartment.
His prized entertainment memorabilia clatters against the walls with the vibration.
“Sorry!” he shouts, knowing it pisses me off when he marches around the house, heavy-handed.
But today, I couldn’t care less. For the first time since my relationship with him began, I don’t rush to right things. I listen, all the time, wondering if this is the beginning of the end.
***
Trey lifts the bar over his head, each end laden with obscene weight. He makes it look so easy as he drops to a squat position. The muscles in his legs and arms flex as he holds the load and maintains his stance. His focus lands on me. “Everything all right?” he asks. “You’re very quiet.”
I shrug. It’s easier than admitting what I’m thinking about.
“Thinking about it, you’ve been quiet for weeks. Need a sympathetic ear or just someone to get drunk with?” He flashes me a cheesy grin.
“Both, probably,” I say with a sigh. “Things are tricky at home. Terry and I are drifting apart, and I’m not sure what to do about it. Ever since the new year, it’s become gradually worse.” The words tumble out, needing to be freed from my chest.
“That happens in all relationships,” he advises. “You’ll find a way back to each other. It’s Valentine’s Day this week. Maybe an opportunity to get things back on track. Your marriage is strong; you guys have been together forever. And been through a hell of a lot of shit in the process.”
“I don’t know,” I whisper, the admission like treason.
Trey immediately lowers the bar from above his head and replaces it in the rack.
He walks over and removes the kettlebell from between my fingers.
I feel the wetness on my cheeks before I realize I’m crying.
Once I start, I can’t stop. He takes my hand and leads me into the office, away from prying eyes.
“What’s going on?” he asks, his face concerned.
After settling me on the sofa, he walks over and flicks the kettle on.
It springs to life with a buzz. The glass pot lights up blue, and the water starts to simmer almost immediately.
“Have you had a fight?” I shake my head.
“Has he hurt you?” I look at my friend, unable to lie. “What did he do?” he snaps.
“He’s not done anything yet,” I say, trying to calm him. My voice sounds small, pathetic. I hate it.
Trey has turned into one of my closest friends. Redness is creeping up his neck with fury as he fills in the blanks himself. Incorrectly.
After losing Bex and with Katie leaving, I’ve pretty much been left on my own. With the growing issues between my husband and me, my solace has been found here at the gym with Trey, eating cookies and drinking tea. If Terry only knew how badly I eat here, he would implode.
“It’s just...” I pause to collect my thoughts.
“Terry is struggling with life. Things haven’t turned out as he hoped or envisioned.
” Trey nods, encouraging me to continue.
“He’s over fifty, in a dead-end job, with a failed acting career and few prospects.
No prospects. Then there’s the fact that we haven’t been able to conceive. ”
That ache spreads through my chest again, sharp and raw. Not just for the baby but for everything we’ve failed at, both together and individually. We used to be a team. But now, we’re strangers living in an apartment haunted by what could have been.
Terry will always be my lost boy, but I’m starting to think he isn’t mine to save.
“He hasn’t realized anything he wanted to in life.” Trey finishes making the cups of tea and hands me one. It’s warm and comforting between my palms. “Terry has been the same since I met him. He bounces from one job or disaster to another, never achieving what he wants to.”
“You two are wired so differently,” Trey says carefully. “You’re sprinting while he’s standing still. Common ground must feel impossible to find.”
My eyes linger on my friend, puzzled by his words.
“I mean—you’re chasing finish lines. He’s still figuring out who is Terry.”
“That’s right! I’m fucking Terry!” My husband’s voice bellows from the doorway of the office. “Fucking useless Terry!” His voice cracks on the word useless. Sheer fury wrapped in pain.
He turns on his heel and swings at the door with his fist. It bounces off the wall, cracking the plaster. The whole gym flinches, plates clattering to the floor.
Jumping from my seat, I run after him, through the gym and out into the street, screaming his name. He strides off and doesn’t look back. His shoulders do the talking: stiff, squared, retreating. All I can do is watch him walk away, pain searing through my chest as the panic takes hold.
I squat into a ball, my arms wrapping around myself. The cold pavement bites through my leggings, pinning me in the shame of what he heard me say.
Trey appears in front of me and crouches down, placing his hands under my arms, encouraging me to stand with him.
“He heard us,” I stammer. “He heard me saying brutal things about him.”
“What you said was true,” Trey reminds me. “Just not how he should have heard it.”
My chest tightens until each breath scrapes in a shallow burst. Nausea rises like bile, and the words tumble out. “I feel sick.”
Trey leads me back into the gym. I run to the bathroom and make it just in time as the terror of what will happen next surfaces. With me clinging to the toilet bowl, everything I’ve consumed over the past twenty-four hours reappears. My body heaves, and the tears fall.
As I stand, Trey appears behind me and takes me in his arms. I sob uncontrollably into his chest.
Ever since our failed treatment, I knew our relationship was on a downward spiral, but I hoped we could fix this between us. That we could find a way to move forward and create an alternative life together. But with each day, that hope thins. And tonight, I might have shattered what was left.
I stand outside the door to our apartment, tossing my keys from hand to hand. Going inside is the last thing I want to do. I haven’t heard from Terry since he stormed off two hours ago. All my calls have been rejected and my messages unread. Radio silence.
Music plays on the other side of the door, so I know he’s in there. My fingers fumble with the metal as I try to open it. I miss and drop the keys on the floor.
After bending down to retrieve them, I stand and see that the door has opened of its own accord.
No one is standing on the other side. I take a tentative step into our apartment, glancing around the room, frantically trying to spot him.
Then I see him, shrugging into his winter jacket, preparing to leave.
“Where are you going?” I ask.
He ignores me and begins to tie his shoes.
“Terry, I’m sorry about what I said to Trey. I was venting. You know I didn’t mean it.”
He turns on me, his face furious. “Didn’t mean it,” he snarls. “Bullshit, Amz. You meant every fucking word.”
I reach for him, and he steps back. “Don’t touch me. Don’t lie. And don’t try to spin me a line. Do you know what hurts most?”
My eyes fill with tears again for what must be the hundredth time today. I shake my head.
“Not that you have such a low opinion of me. Not that you think so little of me. It’s the fact that you’ve been venting to your work friends instead of speaking to me.
I’ve been waiting here at home for you, night after fucking night, while you train.
” He lifts his hands and makes quotation marks on the word train.
“While you’ve been having cozy conversations and tea parties at the gym. ”
“Terry, I—” He cuts me off with a look. I can barely remember a time when my husband has been beyond furious. Today is the angriest he’s ever been. And for the first time, I’m scared. Not because I think he’ll hurt me, but because I’m terrified he’s given up on us.
“Don’t speak to me. I need space. I’m going for a walk. I can’t be in the same room as you,” he growls. “You’ve twisted the knife in my back today. Well and truly. You may as well rip my heart out and eat it for breakfast.”
With that final statement, he storms out the door and leaves me standing, watching after him. The door slams, but the silence that follows is deafening.
Staring at the wood, I try to picture our future. It crumbles before my eyes. I can’t see him in mine.