Chapter Fifty-Nine - Josh Four Months Later
Chapter Fifty-Nine
JOSH
FOUR MONTHS LATER
THERE’S AN ENVELOPE TUCKED away in my desk drawer that arrived four months ago, and I still haven’t opened it. The contents confirm what I know has been coming, but I never expected it to hit me this hard. We have been living apart for almost eight months, even though it goes against the terms of our arrangement. It doesn’t matter though, because now we are legally separated and the countdown to filing the divorce papers is on (thank you state of South Carolina divorce laws). We have eight months until that day comes and I know she’s counting down the days. Me? Well, the jury is still out on that one.
“Sorry,” Finn says, walking back from the kitchen and I mute the Yankees game. I had spent the weekend in New York helping move Knox and his mom into the penthouse condo Finn and Michaela had recently purchased on Park Row Avenue. Knox’s mom refused to let Finn hire movers. I can do it myself , she said. But, he wouldn’t allow it. So, they compromised — Nick, Alex, and I were elected to join Finn over Labor Day weekend to move the Taylor family from East Harlem to the Financial District. Alex left this morning, he needed to prepare for his new client meeting on Tuesday, and Nick flew home last night after we finished so he could be home with his wife and their ten-day-old daughter. “Knox’s mom is adamant I let her cook dinner, so she made Knox take her to the store, even though the doctors told her to rest—”
“Let the woman do what she wants,” I say taking the cold beer he offers. “Besides, you’re going to turn down a homecooked meal? When’s the last time you had one of those?”
“I cook, and so does your sister, on occasion.”
“Finn Sheffield cooks? Yeah, okay.” I’ve never known him to cook a meal a day in his life, except that one time Mom made him help her cook breakfast because “everyone should know how to cook eggs.”
Finn rolls his eyes and flops down onto the oversized gray couch. The entire condo has floor-to-ceiling windows, but the ones in the family room have a direct view of the Woolworth Building, One World Trade, and the Hudson. There’s a bar on the same wall as the seventy-five-inch flat screen where the Yankees are currently up by two in the ninth inning, but bases are loaded, with two outs, and the Rangers just sent García up to bat. The penthouse has two floors, five bedrooms, six bathrooms, four terraces, a library, and just under six thousand square feet (exactly forty-four less, my sister said). I think Michaela just wanted to say she had something Nina didn’t (i.e. a bigger condo), but that’s none of my business.
“So,” Finn says, sipping his beer.
“So?”
“You wanna talk about it?”
“Talk about what?”
“Oh, c’mon Josh, don’t play coy.”
I know what he’s asking — he wants to know about Elizabeth. He and everyone else want to know what happened because our separation seemed so out of the blue. They never expected us to be the ones who didn’t make it, but that’s because they don’t know the truth.
“There’s nothing to talk about.” I shrug. “We just…grew apart.”
“Don’t feed me that bullshit. What happened? I thought you guys were working it out.”
Since Elizabeth filed the separation papers, I’ve kept myself buried under mountains of work, even earned the promotion that I (and everyone else at the office) was sure Jackson Holmes had secured. But, on Warren Hendrix’s second-to-last day, they said my name instead, earning me a brand new office and an assistant. Working so much has given me a reason to avoid everyone. I’m sure they think it’s because of the separation and part of it is, but what right do I have to be upset about something that wasn’t anything more than a business transaction? That’s all this was to her. That’s all it should be to me too, but—
“Save your breath if you’re going to spew more bullshit about how you ‘grew apart’ or are better as friends,” Finn says. “I want to know what’s really going on.”
I chew on the inside of my bottom lip, I can’t tell him the truth. I haven’t told anyone the truth, not Nick, not Michaela… The only people who know are me, Elizabeth, Mom, and Brina, though I’m sure Elizabeth has told Nina by now. Whether she told Nick or not…I can’t be sure, but I’m certain he would’ve said something by now.
Finn starts to say something else, but I cut him off, “Fine, I’ll tell you, but no judgment.”
“You remember who you’re talking to, right?”
“Elizabeth and I…we’re in an arranged marriage.”
The bottle falls from his hands onto the stone gray carpet soaking it with beer. His eyes are ten times their normal size, and his mouth opens and closes trying to get out whatever questions are flooding his mind.
“Yes, arranged marriage.” I scrub down my face and roll my shoulders as a small weight lifts off them. It feels good to finally say it out loud, to no longer have to keep this secret from everyone. “And, at this point, I just want the whole thing to be over.”
Even if it means losing her. But can you lose something that was never really yours in the first place? Of all the things I expected from our arrangement, I never expected to want to keep her.