Page 94 of F*ck Marriage

This is it. I’ve wanted Woods to read that post—in a way, I’d written it to him. I don’t have the courage to ask him what I really want to know, so I settle for this.

“Don’t you need to get home?” I ask him.

Woods glances at his watch. “No. It’s still early.”

“Woods…”

“Stop it, Billie. Stop overthinking everything.”

Am I guilty of that? Overthinking? No more than Woods is guilty of underthinking. I smirk at the defiant look on his face ... the wrinkles on his forehead that didn’t used to be there. He used to get that look with me and it infuriated me. Now Pearl is the target of his defiance and I don’t mind. Not at all.

“Should we get out of here?”

His suggestion doesn’t surprise me. It surprises me when I stand up and follow him out. It surprises me when we walk hand in hand through the rain toward Jules’ apartment. It surprises me when I invite him in.

Itell Satcher that Woods and I slept together. I don’t know why, I think it’s the suspicious way he looks at me … or maybe because of my weak moment in giving him the button. The lie uncurls from my tongue in a moment of recklessness, and I’m not sure who’s more shocked by my confession: me or Satcher. The worst part is I’m not even ashamed. I do it for the coldness that filters into his eyes. I know he’s struggling with his feelings for Jules, the lingering effects of what we had together still clouding his thinking. Jules confided her suspicions about being pregnant a week before the Christmas party. Two nights before we all met at the restaurant she took a test and came into my room to show me the results.

Satcher is angry with me. He thinks I’m better than sleeping with my ex-husband who is currently engaged to my nemesis. I’m not sure I am, but the night I claimed I slept with Woods went completely different than the story I told.

After Woods and I got to Jules’ apartment, all of our rapidly building chemistry extinguished. It was as if the walk from the restaurant to the apartment (a mere five blocks) had cooled the attraction, leaving us tired and emotionally tense. I made drinks anyway, feeling a growing heaviness in my chest. What would I have done if things kept going like they were in the restaurant? Would I have slept with him? My mother always said that our intentions represented our depravity, while our actual behavior showed who we chose to be. Currently, I was choosing to be a lukewarm hostess, not meeting Woods’ eyes. I made drinks that were too strong and when I caught sight of my reflection in the kettle my eyeliner had bled and my mascara was smudged. That’s what I got for buying the cheap stuff. I looked like a back-alley hooker. I excused myself to the bathroom as soon as I handed Woods his drink and washed my face with scalding hot water. I emerged pink-faced and wearing my fluffy winter robe. There was nothing about my current look that said I was trying to seduce someone.

“You look beautiful,” Woods said as soon as I exited the bathroom.

“What? No,” I said, stopping dead in my tracks.

He laughed. “You put on your granny robe to send a message, didn’t you?”

I eyed him warily as I made my way around the island putting three feet of space between us.

“How did you know that?”

“You used to put on that robe when you didn’t want to have sex.”

I laughed not just because he was right, but because he knew me so well.

I toyed with the belt of my robe while I stared at him. He watched me so closely, I felt a fleet of goose bumps skitter over my arms.

“Why did you really come back?”

His question jarred me. I was too drunk to lie though, so when I answered it was with the insecure, ugly truth.

“I wanted to know why I wasn’t enough.”

He dropped his head just as suddenly as he asked the question, and I stared at him earnestly.Please, please, I’m so close to answers.

When Woods looked up, his expression was one I’d only seen on his face twice before: once when his grandfather died, and the other when I broke down and sobbed after he told me he wanted a divorce.

“Billie,” his voice was strained. “You were enough. It was me who was never enough. Every day I tried to meet your expectations and every day I failed.”

A cry escaped my throat. How could he say that? I’d adored him. In a flash he’d gone from adoring me to treating me like a stranger. It was shocking. I’d never been able to figure it out—why men were given that internal switch and women were not. One little flick and they could turn their feelings on and off—so in control.I used to love this one and now I love that one.Men were more loyal to football teams than they were to women. They never cheated on those.

“I never asked you for anything. How can you say that?”

“That’s exactly right, Billie. Because you didn’t need me. I’ve never felt more like a useless fuck in my life.”

I was shocked into silence. In the eight years we were together, three of them married, Woods never once mentioned anything like this.

“You were the brains, the talent, the ambition. Anything I offered was a dull knife to your sharp one.”

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