Chapter 20 #2
This is what he does. He lashes out to make me feel bad because he doesn’t want me here. Because he hates me. It’s what he’s always done, and I’ve grown to expect it.
But I thought we were past that.
I thought when he agreed to go on a date with me, it meant he didn’t hate me anymore. That when he kissed me, it meant he liked me. That when he made plans for after my birthday, he wouldn’t try to ruin the day first.
I guess I was wrong.
I pick up my fork and eat my cake, and I smile when Frank says something to me, but the entire time, I’m trying not to cry.
I can feel him watching me.
While I open my presents, while Joyce records and Frank tells me about the new tool he got for me. When I open the card from his parents containing a hundred-dollar bill. When Addie gives me a painting of our family, me, her, and Ollie.
“I thought we needed an updated one,” she says with a wobbly smile.
And then he gives me his present.
It’s a medium-sized box, and I can tell he tried while he was wrapping it. This must have been before he remembered he doesn’t really like me.
I don’t look at him while I’m unwrapping it.
Inside the box is a birdhouse.
“I made it myself,” he says. “Seemed like something a nerd like you would like.”
“Thank you,” I say, and I know it comes out flat, but there’s nothing I can do about it. His insults don’t feel like banter anymore.
It feels like a knife to the heart.
I stay for another hour, and then I tell Joyce it’s been a long week, and she hugs me, telling me to get some sleep and try not to be sad. I feel terrible for lying to her.
I am sad.
Just not because my wife left me.
When I get home, the house is empty, and I think, maybe I should have brought the kids home with me. At least I wouldn’t be alone. I go through the motions of the end of a day, locking the door, turning on the living room lamp, and the overhead light off.
I stand in the shower for a long time, playing everything over and over in my mind. Where I went wrong. What I did to make him feel the way he does about me. I come up blank, the same way I have every time I’ve pondered the question.
I wish it didn’t hurt so bad this time.
After a while, the water turns cold, and I get out, tugging on my pajamas and turning back the comforter. I’m about to try to get a bit of reading done when my doorbell rings.
I already know who it is, and I consider ignoring him, but ultimately decide to get whatever this is over with.
He looks me over, my wet hair and what I’m wearing, his lips turning up. “Why are you in your pajamas? Sorta pointless, don’t you think?”
I don’t smile back.
“Go home, Will.”
“What? I thought we were—” He pauses, taking in the look on my face that I can’t see, but know isn’t a happy one. “What’s going on?”
“Nothing.” My voice cracks on the word, and I feel it happening, the pressure behind my eyes boiling over with him addressing me head-on.
“Hey.” He takes a step forward. “What happened? Why are you upset?”
“You know what happened,” I say with a broken laugh. “You always do this. I don’t know why I keep letting you.”
“Do what—”
“I’m not having sex with you, so just go home. We’re not doing that anymore.” My eyes are burning, and I hate him. I hate that I’m standing here on my birthday about to cry because Will was mean to me. Again.
“What? Why not?” he asks, sounding genuinely upset, but I know the truth. He may be upset because he’s not getting a willing body to fuck tonight, but he doesn’t care about me.
“You hate me. You always have. And I don’t even know why.
” I shake my head, wiping a tear from my face.
“I’ve never done anything to you. I’ve never been anything but—” I look away so he can’t see me cry.
“I don’t understand what I ever did to you, Will.
Why you make it your mission in life to torture me. ”
“What the hell are you talking about? I don’t hate you,” he says, taking a step into the entryway that I’m blocking with my body. “Come on, let’s go sit down.”
“I don’t want to sit down.”
“Fine. We’ll stand, but let me in. I’m freezing my ass off out here.”
I don’t budge, crossing my arms over my chest.
“Are you cold?” he asks, looking down at my arms covered in goosebumps, because yes, I’m cold, but that’s because he won’t leave.
“You don’t care,” I say, “stop pretending you do.”
“Dude.” He walks toward me, close enough that I have to step back and let him into the house so he doesn’t touch me. “You’re acting like you’re five right now.”
“Sorry if I’m upset that the person who’s supposed to love me—”
“Love,” he repeats. “It’s a little early for that—”
“I don’t care, Will. I don’t care anymore. I’m done. I’m not going to keep letting you do this to me.” I meet his eyes, tears be damned. “I don’t want to see you anymore.”
He steps closer, into my space. “Are you sure about that?”
“Yes,” I say, taking a step back to prove it.
That shocks him, I can tell. He knows I can’t resist him. I’m just so tired. And hurt. He looks at the floor, a seriousness I’ve only seen a handful of times flickering over his features. “I don’t hate you.”
“Then why do you insist on hurting me?”
“I hate the way they treat you,” he blurts out, meeting my eyes with a fire that wasn’t there before. “My parents,” he clarifies. “They’ve always—They were happy, you know? Before I was born. Had their perfect daughter. Perfect life. And then I came along.”
I don’t say a word, shocked into silence that he’s actually talking to me.
“I figured maybe they didn’t want me. Maybe I was a mistake, and they kept me around because they had to and—” he shrugs. “I could live with that. Is what it is.”
“Will, they love you—” I can’t help but defend.
“Let me finish,” he says, holding up a hand, and I do, snapping my mouth shut.