My wrinkled clothes had that sitting-in-them-too-long stink that festers after a long plane ride and my legs needed a good stretch, but pulling up to our street I was glad to be home. Even if that home was in a prickly little town in the Chicago suburbs of Indiana.
We moved into our new house in Creekside weeks before the wedding and it was just as we left it. Not that I expected different, but it’s strange getting married then coming back to realize everything is exactly the same. Still, I welcomed the guarded familiarity, and when we stepped inside I felt the relief of coming home after being away for a while. The journey, no matter how epic or terrible, is finally over. You’re safe.
I stepped into the house and tripped, catching myself on the staircase railing. Damnit. The culprit of the averted fall was a mound of unopened mail and Bed Bath & Beyond coupons on the entrance step I always forget to watch out for. All of the house’s nooks and crannies hadn’t yet converted into to my muscle memory.
“You okay?” Oliver looked more amused than concerned. He wasn’t the babying type.
“I’m fine,” I said, sitting on the wooden stairs to examine my ankle.
“We should take the bags upstairs.” He nodded towards the entryway where our matching crimson luggage sets stood.
“Nah, I don't wanna do that right now.”
“Procrastinating? How very off brand for you.” Oliver smirked.
“Off brand? Did you just graduate from a liberal arts collage in Silicon Valley?” I looked up at him with an equally devious smirk.
“You used that this morning, but regardless, I did go to Stanford.” He retorted.
“You didn’t ‘go to Sanford’, you took an SAT prep course there when you spent the summer visiting your uncle in San Francisco. You might want to keep that to yourself really.”
“Aren’t you a ray of sunshine lighting up my life. No wonder I married you.” He smiled his classic half grin, picked up the mail and walked down to the kitchen, turning the lights on as he went like a Christmas parade. Satisfied nothing was broken I got up and checked myself out in the hallway mirror. I knew I should shower, but my muscles ached and all I wanted to do way lay under the covers with Oliver. My chestnut brown hair was in a lackluster, messy bun atop my head. Piss-colored sweat stains poked out from the armpits of my Tears for Fears tee, a casualty of the July summer heat. If he tries to sleep with me tonight he must really love me, I thought, chuckling to myself.
We slept the entire flight back, thanks to first class upgrades, courtesy of Oliver’s sister Jane, so after settling in, we curled up on the couch to watched an episode of The Marvelous Mrs. Maisel. Normally I have to watch Rachel Brosnahan doing standup in 1950s NewYork alone, but Oliver was in a giving mood tonight. Maybe he is planning on banging, I realized with slight alarm.
Afterwards, Oliver started flipping through the two weeks worth of mail ont the kitchen island, opening letters, sorting them into piles. He looked just as ragged as I did, with dark cowlicks springing from every direction. “You don’t need to do that right now babe, it’s late, or early depending on how you look at it.” I said.
“I’m waiting for that letter about my case reme—?” He had flipped to an elegant square silver envelope, raising his eyebrows in apparent recognition. “This must be the invitation to the Brentwood’s charity gala.”
I snapped at a yellow rubber band on my wrist. “Oh?”
Ever since Oliver inherited his father’s law firm, invitations to fancy work events erupted with increasing frequency. I was drowning in a sea of charity balls, champagne, crust-less tiny sandwiches, and the depthless friendliness of polite conversation. All the while nodding my head dutifully whenever Oliver spoke. It’s enough to spark an existential crises on anyone. I wanted to be supportive, but there were better ways to do that than ladies luncheons and fancy parties. Right?
“Come on, you’re not excited to be talked down to by pretentious lawyers?I’m shocked.”
“Mmhmm, as delightful as that sounds, I meant to ask you, is that the first weekend in September? I start rehearsals for a new play that weekend.”
“You know it is, I know you know it is, and what play?” Oliver asked raising a bushy copper eyebrow.
I was reluctant to respond because I knew this could lead to our first fight as a married couple. I hoped we weren’t about to test the theory that the first year of marriage is the hardest. “It’s a new production that weird director is doing,” I said snapping the rubber band and picking the red polish off of my nails.
"The one you nicknamed Weinstein?"
"Yup."
“Well, we have to go to the gala, can’t you get someone to sub in for you just for the rehearsal?” He walked over to the counter and reached for the coffee tin up on the cupboard with sharp, deliberate maneuvers. He didn’t look at me.
Here we go, I thought. “No, youhave to go,” I leaned against the kitchen door and pulled at the elastic band with increasing force.
“You promised you’d come two weeks ago.” He turned to face me while finishing his coffee preparations.
My pre-wedding brain was high off of adrenaline and endorphins, thanks to excitement and a crazy workout regimen. I over-promised. “You know I support you in everything, but I didn’t realize the rehearsal was on the same weekend as the gala when we talked about it.” It was a pleasant coincidence that my job doubled as an excuse to skip the tedious pleasantries of Creekside, Indiana’s bourgeoisie.
“You know how these things are, everyone will have their wives there. I want my wife there too. Plus, you're amazing at schmoozing that crowd, I'm not as good an actor.” He fumbled at the word wife. Those terms were still foreign rolling down our tongues like learning a word in French.
“We go to these parties all the time, I’m sure no one will notice if I miss one. This is for my job after all.”
“Were you planning on telling me?” He asked, raising a copper eyebrow.
“I’m telling you now.” I said.
“One minor work event might not seem like a big deal, but it’s important to me. There will be judges, other firms and important people there that could influence the success of our firm, especially during this transitional period. Look, I don’t love that crowd either, but this is our livelihood, and my father’s legacy. I want to do right by him. ”
He never took my job seriously. He’d go to my plays sure, but he never saw it as anything more than a hobby. “So I’m supposed to bail on my career for your career?”
“What career? You do off-off-Broadway theater for a handful of people.” His topaz eyes fumed with obvious pent up vexation, until he realized what he’d said.
“Are you fucking kidding me?”
He lowered his head. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean that. I’m just frustrated. You know you’re an amazing actress, you know I love your plays.”
“Don’t try to cut up to me. You’re being an asshole Oliver, much like the pretentious lawyers you think you’re so morally above.”
“Oh! So now I’m an asshole? I’m just trying my best here, given the circumstances. I mean, none of this is how I planned Elena. I didn’t plan on being in charge of a firm so soon out of law school. I have no idea what I’m doing. I’m just trying to stay above water, why are you pushing me in?”
“Don’t do that. Don’t play that card, that’s unfair.”
“And yet, it’s true. What is this really about Elena? You don't even like that director. Your exact words were 'I never want to work with that Weinstein pig again'.” He went to the breakfast nook and sat with a heavy thud and a loud sigh making his copper locks flitter upwards. He really needed a haircut, I should remind him. Tomorrow.
It was obvious he could do without this particular discussion on a Monday’s early hours after getting back from vacation, and so could I, but it was too late. The can had opened, and it was impossible to close. I hoped that the squirming worms crawling out wouldn’t climb down our throats and choke us. Most of all because he was right, this wasn't just about missing one rehearsal.
“I’m allowed to live my own life and still be married.” I scratched at the mark the rubber band had left on my wrist leaning forward against the door.
“What does that even mean?” Oliver never understood my need for independence. That need never burdened him. In fact, he craved my presence. Always texting, calling, making plans. His constant adoration often made me feel abnormal for wanting time to myself. How dare I?
I moved to sit opposite him, unable to articulate my thoughts. My mouth felt dry and acidic. The grip I had on my individuality was loosening. Where are wegoing to dinner? What are wedoing this weekend? Had weseen Hamilton yet? My feelings bleeding into his, and his into mine, until I could no longer decipher whether I’d had an original thought or if it was something he said. We’d had this exchange before, but it never satisfied, assured, effectuated.
I couldn’t explain that, so I went with, “Remember the Chatwin’s faces when I told them that joke about the husband and wife at the doctor’s office? You were so upset at me.” I hoped reminding him of my bad behavior would get me out of the mess I’d installed myself in. It didn’t work.
“That was because you drank too much and your filter vanished like Batman after a fight. You mock everything that mildly annoys you as if consequences don’t matter. Except everything annoys you, and consequences do matter. I wasn’t upset, I was looking out for you.” He paused and rubbed the orange stubble on his chin. “Why are you bringing this up? What’s really going on?”
“I’ve been sitting on it awhile.” A bead of sweat fell off my forehead and onto the oak table top. I snapped the rubber band again. I’d been snapping it so much, its yellow color was fading to white. “But with the wedding...”
“I thought we moved past this. This idea you have that I’m trying to control you is plain wrong.” He said.
“I know you're not controlling. It’s losing myself in this relationship that scares me.” There was nowhere left to hide. I had to be honest, and realized it wasn’t so hard. I should have trusted in Oliver, trusted in us.
“If you felt this way why come back to me?”
“Because I’m madly in love with you, and I’d rather lose myself than lose you, but it would be great to have both.”
“Ah but losing yourself for love isn’t enough.”
“No, it’s not. It’s a paradox.” For the first time since we’d been together, he seemed to understand.
“Let me clarify one thing. When we argue, I’m not mad because you’re contradicting me. I get mad because you play dirty.”
“And you don’t poke the fire at all.”
“Do I? Good thing I'm aware of all your tricks and your button pushing habits. Nothing you say will ever scare me away." He said with that irresistible one-sided grin I love so much.
“I'm still not going to the party.”
“I know.” He sighed while balancing his chair’s hind legs in the air. A bubble of nerves popped in my stomach.
He stood abruptly almost knocking his chair back. “I’m gonna go out for a drive, I need to clear my head.”
“Don’t leave.” I said quietly, looking down at the table. “I’m sorry I brought this up, let’s just try and get a bit of sleep.”
“No, I feel like a drive.” He said stretching his arms. “Plus, I have to pick up those files on that Pro bono case I forgot at the firm anyway, might as well get a head start on the day.”
“Shouldn’t you shower and change before going in?”
“I have a change of clothes at the office, I’ll change there.”
We were both silent for a moment before I asked, “Are we okay?”
“We’re always okay.” He came over to my side of the table and crouched. “I love you smelly.”
“I love you stinky.” My usual reply came automatically, like a song you’ve heard a thousand times.
He planted a slippery kiss on my cheek. An eerie chill overcame me as our faces parted leaving gooseflesh on my skin. I shifted, and he kissed my mouth. His damp lips were billowy pillows against my dry tongue.
As he rose to his feet I said, “Ok. By the way, I used your car before we left on vacation, so you’ll need to gas up.”
“No problem smelly.” He walked to the front door and pulled out a set of car keys from the petite marble catch-all bowl on the entry table. He turned and grinned at me, “Warm wishes!”
“Sincerest regards!” I yelled back. The pot on the counter beeped. The coffee was ready. That was the last time I saw my new husband alive.
Submitted June 08, 2019 at 10:08PM by maychi http://bit.ly/2WUofFb
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