Chapter 39
Karissa
Cody just got back from a two-week work trip to the sportsman show in Pennsylvania with Jesse and his parents.
It’s where outfitters, vendors, and taxidermists all go to show their business and take on new clients.
It’s apparently a really big deal, and I think he said it’s the biggest sportsman show in the world.
But knowing what this event stirred up in the past—how he came home to a whole mess with his ex a few years ago—I made it a point to check in more than usual. Texts, calls, little reminders that I’m here. Not because I don’t think he trusts me, but because I want to remind him.
Even though he didn’t say it, didn’t admit he was a little nervous to leave, I saw it in his eyes, heard it in his voice. The way he looked at me before he left…he was scared, and he hated that he was. I’m not gonna blame him; I just have to keep building his trust.
It had been a long two weeks for me. Ella helped the most, but Megan and Mason stopped by once with pizza, giving me a chance to shower and clean up.
Megan even came over another time on her own.
I’d only ever seen her at family dinners these past few months, where you’re never really alone and it’s mainly group conversation, so it was nice getting to know her one-on-one.
She’s always been on the quieter side, but I’ve noticed the way she gravitates toward the babies. Knowing she teaches second grade, it makes perfect sense. After seeing her with Emma, just the two of them, I can tell she’s not just good with kids, she was made for it.
But even with help every few days, I can’t shake this heaviness.
I don’t know if it’s the cold winter weather keeping me trapped inside, or being away from my husband less than two months into our marriage, or something else entirely, but I feel low.
Not every second, but in the hard moments, like when Emma’s awake and needing me, crying, fussy, fighting sleep, refusing food…
Those are the times I feel it most, when I start hating everything again.
My therapist says it’s probably a mix of everything, just like I described.
She’s given me Bible verses to read and reminded me to keep thinking positive, that it won’t last forever, that Emma will get older and more independent, Cody will come home, and winter will end.
I know she’s right and means well, but when I’m in those darker thoughts, where the only emotions I have are sadness or the urge to cry, her words don’t feel like enough.
I’ve been trying to lean on God. Praying when I remember to, reading my Bible when I can. But if I’m honest…it doesn’t feel like it’s helping. If anything, some days it feels worse. And that’s the most confusing part of all.
As I’m reading through the New Testament, I keep stumbling over these stories about God healing people left and right.
The blind man. That woman who touched His robe.
Page after page of miracles. And I can’t help but think, why not me?
Why can’t He heal me? It feels like it’s dangled in front of my face, proof that He can, but that He’s refusing.
This morning it broke me. I sat on the bathroom floor bawling, trying to pull myself together, and I couldn’t even get my makeup on because the tears wouldn’t stop.
But now, here I am, hours later, forcing myself upright and moving, trying to shake it off like it didn’t happen.
“Okay, which dress?” I stand in the living room and hold up the two options for Cody. One is mainly white with small red and pink flowers. The other a plain, shorter red dress with a cute sheer sleeve.
He’s on the floor playing with Emma, smirk tugging at his lips when he looks up. “Promise to keep it on a little longer after you get home?”
“Not funny,” I mutter.
His face changes but he still laughs. “Oh c’mon, babe…it’s been two weeks.”
“No it hasn’t. We did stuff this morning.”
“Well, I think we still gotta make up for lost time.”
“Huh.” Frustrated, I turn back around. “You’re no help.”
“Hey,” his voice calls out, this time concerned, but I’m already back in the bedroom.
I love Cody, love him so much it scares me sometimes, and I know we’re still newly married, but there are moments, like tonight, where I wish sex didn’t have to sit front and center in his mind.
I get it, it’s a guy thing, and it’s not just him.
Still, when I’m feeling low like this, it doesn’t help. It just makes me feel…used.
“Riss, what’s up?”
“I’m just not in the mood for your dirty mind.”
“Okay. Well, then just say that.”
“I did. I said it wasn’t funny and then you kept talking about it.”
“Okay. I’m sorry, I didn’t know you were—”
“I’m depressed again. I don’t want to go there tonight, I don’t want to talk to anyone, I just want to wear my sweatpants and one of your big T-shirts and cuddle on the couch while we watch a trashy TV show and eat ice cream.”
He laughs. “Well, you don’t have to stay until midnight. Just go for a little. I think getting out would be good.”
“Well, going out is the last thing I want.”
He looks away and takes a breath, like what he says next will either make or break how the rest of this conversation goes.
“Babe…” he finally says, his voice softer now. “I understand, but you know how you get when you check out and hide from people for days. You’ll feel worse. At least go and try to have a good time. Have a glass of wine, and maybe laugh a little.”
I cross my arms. “So…what? You’re saying I’m a buzzkill?”
He tilts his head, sighing, and steps into the room.
His hands find my waist, pulling me gently closer until our foreheads touch.
“I’m saying you’re my wife, and I hate seeing you stuck in your head like this.
” His eyes soften. “I’m not trying to push you, I just…
These last two weeks were long, and you deserve a night out. ”
The problem is, I want that too. But wanting it and actually having the energy for it are two completely different things.
“I guess.” I sigh, and he kisses my forehead before letting go.
“I love you, and when you get home, I’ll have the ice cream waiting.”
“Ice cream,” I repeat, giving him a pointed look. “Not lingerie.”
He smirks. “Ice cream. Maybe some whipped cream too, but strictly for the ice cream.”
I shake my head, muttering, “You’re ridiculous,” and shoo him out before he can add on something else.
* * *
Ella’s got her place looking sweet but simple; no Pinterest-perfect spreads, just a couple of strings of paper hearts taped along the wall, a few candles flickering on the coffee table, and mismatched plates set out on the counter.
She’s three months pregnant, but she still made sure to pick up a couple bottles of wine for the rest of us.
Addison is already behind the counter, sleeves pushed up, mixing one of the mocktails she brought supplies for. She’s got them lined up in mismatched glasses, looking fun and fancy.
Megan came in carrying a plastic bakery container with cupcakes in one hand and a pack of frosted cookies in the other. She shrugged when we looked at her haul, saying something about not having time to bake.
I set my big bowl of tossed salad beside Ella’s casserole dish of baked chicken and the pan of mac and cheese, still bubbling around the edges. The whole place smells like home—cheesy, buttery, and warm.
We’re all dressed cute. Addison’s in a pink sweater, Megan has on a simple red dress, and Ella’s in one of those flowy maternity tops that hides the early bump. I chose the white dress with tiny flowers.
The four of us pile food on our plates and claim spots around the table. We start talking about everything from work to the kids to our significant others. The kind of conversation you can only have when it’s just the girls.
Halfway through dinner, Megan sets her fork down and reaches for her wineglass. “Alright,” she says, leaning forward like she’s about to make a big announcement. “I think we need a proper toast.”
Addison eyes her from across the table, mocktail in hand. “To what?”
Megan grins. “To us. The girls.” She lifts her glass higher. “God bless the girls.”
We all laugh, reaching across the table to clink glasses, Megan’s wine with mine, Addison and Ella’s mocktails tapping against them.
“God bless the girls,” Addison echoes with a grin, taking a sip. “It’s a song, you know.”
Ella snorts. “Of course you’d know that.”
Megan swirls her glass, leaning her elbows on the table. “Okay, but I feel like I don’t even know you guys. We see each other all the time, but it’s always at church and family dinner, where everyone’s talking over each other.”
Addison laughs. “That’s true. And it’s always about hunting.”
Ella grins. “Or fishing.”
“Exactly,” Megan says. “So, tell me something I don’t know about you. Karissa, go.”
I blink, caught midsip. “Uh…I was a cheerleader in high school? Do not tell Cody.” I point a finger.
Addison raises her brows. “I did not know that.”
“Obviously, neither did I,” Megan says. “See? This is fun.”
Ella smirks. “You’re next.”
Megan thinks for a second. “I set garlic bread on fire—like, actual flames—in junior high cooking class. The whole school went home early. It was a whole thing.” She gestures like it’s no big deal.
Addison chokes on her drink. “Oh my. How?”
“The broiler setting on ovens get very hot,” Megan answers matter-of-factly.
We’re all laughing now, and I pour another glass of wine without thinking much about it. It’s not that I’m trying to drink more, it just feels nice. The warmth in my cheeks, the way my shoulders don’t feel so tense. My mood is better.
“Okay, Ella,” Megan says, pointing her glass. “Your turn.”
Ella grins. “Before I moved back here, I reached out to Margie—you know, The Moose bar owner—and asked if Jesse was married before I made the decision to come back.”
Addison’s eyes go wide. “Does Jesse know?!”
“No.” Ella laughs, shaking her head. “It’s not like it’s a secret. If it came up now, I’d tell him. But in the beginning…I didn’t want him to think I was still nuts.”
“Still nuts?” I laugh.
Megan covers her mouth, laughing. “That’s not nuts, that’s strategic.”
“More like stalker,” Addison teases.
Ella shrugs, smiling as she reaches for her mocktail. “Worked out though, didn’t it?”
I take another drink, half out of habit now, and already start to feel my muscles relax.
Megan tilts her head. “Alright, Addison, spill something about you that none of us know.”
“Oh, come on.” She groans, swirling her glass. “I’m an open book. You guys know everything.”
“Not true,” Megan says, leaning forward. “Everyone has a few secrets tucked away.”
She pauses, smirking. “It’s not really a secret, just funny.”
“That’s fine,” Megan says.
“Let’s hear it,” I add.
“When I had my first kiss—not with Wesley, unfortunately—he had some stubble and I thought it was dirt or something. I pulled pack and tried to wipe it off.”
We all crack up. I know exactly what she’s talking about. I have a similar experience from when I was in high school, except I didn’t pull away.
We eventually move from the table to the couch, curling up with blankets and starting some rom-com Ella pulled from the DVD collection. Addison claims the chair, Megan sits cross-legged on the other chair with a cupcake, and Ella and I take the couch.
Halfway through, Ella glances over at me. “Karissa, you okay over there?”
“Better than okay.” I laugh, settling deeper into the cushions. I have a newly poured glass of wine in one hand, another bowl of mac and cheese in the other.
“Good thing you live right next door,” Megan says. “No driving home for you.”
“Very true.” I raise my glass in mock salute. “God bless the girls.” I take another sip and everyone laughs.
By the time the movie hits the halfway mark, I’m warm, cheeks flushed, and everything is just a little softer around the edges. I stretch out, blanket slipping off my lap. “I’m getting pretty tired,” I admit, setting my glass down. “I should go.”
“I’ll drive you,” Ella says immediately, getting up quicker than me. “Better safe than sorry.”
A few minutes later, we’re pulling into the driveway, the house dark except for the hazy glow spilling from the living room window.
Ella walks me up the steps. They feel…far. Weird. I didn’t think I’d had that much wine. Oh well.
I push the front door open and there’s Cody on the couch in sweats, one arm draped along the back, TV flickering over his face.
“Hey, babe.” He smiles when he sees me, then his expression changes when Ella leans around me to wave from the doorway.
“So…she had a lot to drink,” she says with a nervous smile.
Cody’s hand goes for the remote without even looking, the TV clicking off as he stands. His steps are slow, the closer he gets, the more I can tell he’s concerned.
“You’ve never seen me drunk. You’re in for a treat,” I announce, grinning up at him before glancing at Ella. “That’s how Emma was made. Did you know that? I should’ve shared that as my secret earlier.”
Ella snorts, half covering her mouth, and Cody’s eyes flick to her, then back to me. But I’m not sure what the big deal is.