Joy Moore Excerpt from Untitled Joint Memoir #2
Reader, I cried. Sloppy, disgusting, soul-cleansing tears. It felt like I’d been holding them in for a century; when the dam broke it flooded the entire room.
Xander wrapped his arms around my waist. “I love you so much,” he said into my heaving chest. “I hope you still know that.”
“Where have you been?” I murmured.
“I’m sorry.” He kissed my tears away. “I’m so sorry.”
We held each other until the food grew cold, and then I let him carry me downstairs, where he laid me on the bed and stared into my puffy, bloodshot eyes.
“You’re so beautiful,” he whispered.
It had been months since we’d had sex. I’d used every excuse in the book: infections, exhaustion, stress.
I’d dreaded this moment, and yet here we were.
Maybe we could find a way to love each other properly again.
Maybe it was worth another chance. Potsie jumped onto the bed and licked our faces, and we laughed, and Xander kissed me gently, as if for the first time.
We took it slowly. I made no excuses.
It was good.
The next morning, Xander rubbed his nose against mine. “Breakfast in bed?”
“Mm,” I said, nodding. “Can I help?”
He smiled. “That would defeat the point of breakfast in bed, wouldn’t it?”
I slunk back down under the sheets. “Mm.”
Laughing, he said, “Enjoy.”
I could smell the crepes within minutes. I lazed, mouth watering, and read from the book on my nightstand. When I’d completed two chapters without his return, I grew curious. After a third, I decided to get up.
He wasn’t in the kitchen, but his phone was, open to a recipe with a pop-up ad playing silently in the foreground.
I plucked a strawberry from a bowl of macerating fruit and circled the upstairs rooms, finding them all empty.
It wasn’t until I reached the front door that I heard the voices.
Faint, indistinct. Squinting through the peephole, I found Mallory and Xander, but something told me not to announce myself.
Whatever they were discussing was serious.
I tried to read their lips but couldn’t.
Quickly, I returned to Xander’s phone, closed the tab to the unremitting ad, and toggled over to his messages.
It was open to a conversation with Mallory.
Quinn knows was the last message she sent. She saw our texts. I’m coming over.
Knows what?
Joy’s in a funk, Xander had written yesterday. I need to do something.
How about a special meal? Mallory responded. I know she loves your cooking.
My stomach soured, remembering his delicately plated scallops. I scrolled further back. Business. More business.
And then a few weeks ago:
Xander: Anything happen while I was gone?
Mallory: One thing. Something I saw on Joy’s computer. I’ll call you when Quinn leaves for work.
My breath hitched. I checked the date, and sure enough—that was the morning Mallory arrived early to record, the morning she caught me researching divorce. My hands shook. I scrolled further.
Mallory: They just left together.
Xander: And you didn’t stop them?
Mallory: What was I supposed to do?
Xander: Wtf, why else do you think I gave you this job? Where’d they go?
Mallory: Benny’s. When are you getting back?
Xander: Not for a while. Shit.
Mallory: What do you want me to do?
Xander: Wait there, I guess. Call me the second she’s home.
For this exchange, I didn’t need to double-check the date.
I wanted to throw up.
As I write this, the hindsight bias is strong. All the signs were there. I had to have seen it coming. But in truth, it was like stepping through a portal into another dimension, only to realize I’d been living the alternate reality all along.
Just as I’d had ulterior motives for bringing Mallory onto the team, so had Xander. I was left wondering if anything he’d ever told me was true.
I was back in bed before Mallory was gone.
“What took you so long?” I asked when Xander brought down the tray.
“Burned the first batch.” He fed me a strawberry with his fingers.
“Yum,” I said, forcing it down.
After he left the bedroom, I scrubbed myself raw in the shower and threw on the first clothes within reach.
“I’m going for a walk,” I said, passing Xander’s office.
“What?” He looked up from his paperwork. “What are you wearing?”
I regarded my ZERO LUCKS GIVEN St. Patrick’s Day shirt and holey pajama pants. “Laundry day.” It was a bad lie.
He tilted his head. “What about the stalker?”
“Who cares? It’s just photos, right?”
“Wow, okay.” He nodded uncertainly. “Give me five minutes?”
My pulse did the jitterbug. “Potsie’s going nuts.” Another terrible lie. “You stay. Finish your work. I’m fine.”
Potsie and I were gone before he could catch up.
To be safe, I left my phone at home and took the long way to Benny’s house.
Straight past the rec center instead of an immediate right.
Eight hundred extra steps for me to prepare what I had to say.
This conversation was going to suck, but I had no other choice.
It was time to tell him the truth. Every shameful secret I’d buried to date. I couldn’t live like this anymore.
Walking, my insides roiled with a torrent of emotions, but most of all I felt anger. It sliced at me like a spate of throbbing paper cuts. All the times Mallory showed up early or stayed late when I would’ve otherwise been alone. All the times she looked over my shoulder at my computer screen.
Stupid. That was the word repeating in my brain as I turned the corner onto Benny’s street. Stupid, stupid, stupid.
I didn’t see Ted until it was too late.
“Joy,” he called from behind his DSLR. “How about a wave for the camera?”
I froze in the middle of the asphalt, a thousand thoughts whirling through my head at once.
I’m not supposed to be here. Why is he recording me?
Is Benny right—is Squirrelly Ted my stalker?
What am I wearing? What will Xander do when he sees this?
Can’t I have at least one moment of privacy?
Is there anyone I can trust? Why me? Why why why why WHY?
I lost control. I threw some things. I screamed. You’ve all watched it. You know what happened. And now you know why.
Be kind, friends. You never know what someone is going through.
THE NEXT FEW weeks were ugly. The internet is a dark pit of despair when you’re its target. People can be cruel. We had to put out a lot of fires with Apex Plus, and all the while, everyone was watching me sidelong, waiting, like I might lose it again at any moment.
I didn’t end up telling Benny. I couldn’t.
I couldn’t let that shitstorm be the way our podcast ended.
But I couldn’t bring myself to confront Xander or Mallory either.
Instead, I chose door number three. I enlisted the help of someone who wasn’t inextricably entwined with the podcast. Over a few clandestine conversations she helped me see a way out that might not ruin my life, but I was afraid.
I am still afraid.