33. James
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
James
NOW
The last time I was in Sea-Tac, I didn’t pack as lightly. A couple carry-ons and an oversized suitcase, plus a neck pillow. This time around, it’s a little different. I didn’t know what to bring or how long I was going to stay. Whether or not my arrival would even be welcomed.
I’d been sitting at home, spending my week in an empty house, and it was driving me up the wall.
Especially after my talk with Leo. His advice might’ve been a little misguided and brash, but he had a point.
I couldn’t ignore it. What good would it do, sitting at home while hoping and wishing Kendall would come back home at some point?
I couldn’t just wait this out like it’ll all fix itself eventually.
Luckily, I was able to quickly get some time off from work.
I made arrangements with Diane and handed off any urgent matters to her, letting her know it would be just a few days.
And next thing I know, I’m taking a rideshare to the airport with an itchy layer of anxiety crawling over my skin.
I hoist my duffel bag over my shoulder and make my way to the rideshare line to my waiting ride.
I consider calling Kendall to let her know I’m here, even something as simple as a text message, just so I don’t catch her too off guard, but…
I’m scared. I’m scared she’ll turn me away, tell me to go back.
Get angry at me, yell at me, call me selfish and inconsiderate and careless.
And maybe this is all about me, this gesture of forcing myself into a space she created in an attempt to get away from me.
But I can’t just wait out the next few weeks until she decides whether or not our marriage is over.
I should have a say. I should be there to let her know I’m willing to fight for her.
The harsh slam of the trunk jolts me back.
The drive to Sylvia and Tommy’s was a blur, my mind full of my last memories down these roads.
Streets that look lived-in with parked cars and bustling neighbors.
I think the trunk is closed by the driver with a little more force than needed after I sit in the back seat for longer than deemed appropriate, and I finally find the conviction to step out of the car.
I’m here to save my marriage. I should do it with more certainty, not with this wishy-washy level of diffidence.
I thank the driver, at least I hope I do.
I hear the car drive off when I turn on the sidewalk and up the walkway.
I reach into my pocket for my phone, a little diversion to tip my driver through the app while I play a short stalling game.
I know I’ll forget anyway, so this is good.
A moment to gather my thoughts, I guess.
I knock on the door, out of ways to procrastinate the inevitable.
I’m swiping away at my phone screen, distracting myself and quite possibly stalling even more, when the door swings open.
“James,” Tommy says, his voice equal parts shocked and confused.
I slip my phone back into my pocket, suddenly feeling sheepish. I’ve come to his house, unannounced, dead center in the shambles of my marriage, with nothing more than my duffel bag and a strained greeting. “Hey.”
“What are you doing here?” The confusion ebbs away into concern, and he waves his hand for me to step inside. The why doesn’t matter at this point. I’m here, obviously in a desolate state. “Come in. Come in.”
I follow his lead, that contemptible feeling still lingering over me like a menacing gray cloud as I walk over the threshold. The gloom follows as we settle in his living room.
“Syl and Kendall just took the girls out to get some things for dinner.” There’s evidence that the girls have been playing inside for most of the day.
Markers strewn over the rug, drawings of what look like sea lions and lizards stacked in a messy pile, and Sophia’s tablet with the bright pink rubbery case.
I’m sure the trip to the store is just as much an escape as it is an errand.
I nod. The elephant in the room doesn’t feel large or intrusive. Instead, it feels…coerced. Like it’s there because it has no choice but to be. I dragged it in behind me as if it were an extra carry-on, and it’s just sitting in the corner, on time out while it thinks about what it’s done.
“Sorry to show up like this,” I start saying. I have my elbows perched on my knees while I sit on the couch, one hand fisted in the other, and I can’t find it in me to look at him. “I just…I don’t really know why I came here.”
He sits in the armchair facing me, his posture mirroring mine. He’s quiet for a minute, letting my confession sit until he decides what he wants to say. After some time, he settles with, “So why did you?”
“I don’t think I had a choice.” I think about our wedding vows.
They weren’t flowery with an overabundance of words.
They were simple and to the point. We were going to love each other for the rest of our lives.
We were going to grow old, learn this thing called life.
Together. It didn’t feel like a choice. It felt like our bodies were moving through life, and it walked us through our relationship.
Through our wedding, through buying a house, having Sophia, and to now.
And that’s what this feels like. There was no choice to be made.
I wasn’t stuck between a rock and a hard place, some heartbroken Sophie’s choice I was clawing my way out of.
I was simply doing what I needed to do. I came for my family because it’s what I’m supposed to do.
And yet, I don’t know if duty is the equivalent of need.
I have a responsibility to keep my marriage afloat.
And not just treading through the deep end, but coasting.
Bumping off the exciting waves as we ride off into the sunset.
But knowing my job is to uphold this till death do us part—in sickness and in health—I can’t help but think it’s also what I want.
Desperately. It wasn’t a choice, but this desire or demand, rattling my insides until I finally did something about it. And it brought me here.
“When did you start growing gray hair?” A jab at how long it’s been since we’ve seen each other. I finally look at him, and a smirk quirks at the corners of his mouth.
“Fuck you,” I respond with a chuckle. I run a hand along my temple, noticing a little gray along Tommy’s own hairline.
It’s not just the smattering of salt and pepper I notice.
It’s also the fine wrinkles around his eyes.
The extra weight we both evidently started collecting around our midsection after hitting forty.
I wonder if he keeps a bottle of Tums at his bedside like I do.
Or if he’s starting to pull any reading material further away from him like a trombone before letting the words focus in front of him.
Our short but friendly taunting game is interrupted by the sounds of pitter-pattering just outside the door.
I’m given about three seconds to compose myself before it swings open.
Sylvia walks in, her face turned away from us, while she’s chatting a mile away.
Shopping bags heavy with who knows what swing across the doorway and Katy and Sophia manage to squeeze themselves through like they’re competing to see who can get inside the fastest.
“Daddy!”
Sophia’s shriek brings everyone’s attention to me, and I catch Kendall’s eyes taking in the extra, unwelcome guest in the living room as she follows Sylvia inside. I don’t know how to read her expression. If she’s confused or scared or flat-out pissed off.
Sophia runs into my arms, and my focus is on her for the time being. “Hey, baby.”
“Mommy said you couldn’t come because of work,” she tells me. “Are you all finished with your work?”
“Yeah, Soph,” I answer, planting a kiss on her forehead. “I finished it all.”
“So, you can play with us now?”
“Yup.” I laugh at her delighted squeal as she squirms in my arms, wriggling from my grip. She turns to Katy. The two whisper something between them, and they skitter off up the stairs, disappearing as if she’s already forgotten about me.
“Let me take those into the kitchen,” Tommy says, reaching for the bursting nylon bags in Kendall’s hand.
“I’ll help you put everything away,” Sylvia says. She turns to me before adding a quick, “Hey, James.”
“Hey,” I respond. I smile awkwardly at her—and a little apologetically—before she turns toward the kitchen.
The two leave the room with more than just the groceries. They take with them the only buffer Kendall and I shared. And it’s just my wife and me. She stands by the door, still open as if left that way as a contingency plan in case she wants to bolt for it.
“What are you doing here?” Kendall asks. She finally closes the door behind her, moving slowly as if it’ll buy her some time. The lock clicks with a weighty clunk, and we both stand there. This considerable distance between us almost feels as symbolic as it is real.
I realize that Tommy asked me the same question.
A little different context and with a less of an accusatory tone, but after having a few minutes to decide how to answer, I still don’t have the answer.
There are so many things I’m not sure of.
I don’t know what Kendall wants. I don’t know if she wants to work things out, whether or not she wants to save what remains of our marriage.
I don’t even know if it’s worth salvaging at this point.
But there are a lot of things I do know.
I know if it were up to me, there wouldn’t be anything to question. I’d have the answers to everything. I’d say our marriage is absolutely worth saving. That I want to be with her and keep the promise we made to grow old together. That I want to keep fighting for us.
With the right words still trying to find their footing, I decide to stick to the truth. The same answer I gave Tommy. “I don’t know.”