Page 67 of My Ex-Best Friend's Wedding

Bree

I wake to the crunch of tires and Clay’s truck pulling into the drive. I recognize this sound even in my sleep. I raise my head and my chin comes off my chest. I struggle up out of the sofa cushions, my eyes blinking open. I glance at the clock in an attempt to get my bearings. 1:35A.M.

He moves with confidence—apparently assuming I’m asleep and feeling no need to tiptoe or make a stealthy entrance. I stand and step forward and watch him stumble slightly in surprise. After a brief flash of concern, he goes on the offense. Always his best defense. “What are you doing up?”

“Waiting.”

He cocks his head. Blue eyes narrow in suspicion. “For what?”

“For you.” My mouth is dry from sleep and nerves. “Where have you been?” comes out in a croak. Now that the time has come I’m afraid I’ll say the wrong thing or the right thing in the wrong way. I give him a stern look even as I reach deep inside for Whitney. Not the character I first created but the one who turned into a woman I admire. The one who kept growing even when I didn’t. The one who would never have put up with the things I have.

“You know that’s...

“I hope you’re not planning to saynone of my business,” Whitney and I respond.

His head snaps up. He isn’t used to me questioning him.

“Look, Bree. There’s no way I’m going to let you turn me into some henpecked-wuss-of-a-husband who never...”

“Good God. Is that the best you can do?” I give him a second or two to understand that tonight is not going to be business as usual.

“We’ve been married for twenty years and you still act like you’re single. You are the opposite of henpecked. You’ve had things your way from the beginning. And I haven’t seen you act too much like a husband. In fact, I’m not sure you’ve really tried. Last time I looked, monogamy was not an optional clause in the marriage contract.”

He sputters in indignation. “We are not having this conversation. Not now when you’re all worked up and unreasonable.”

I cringe when I remember the number of times I’ve let him shut me down this way. As if being hurt or emotional somehow negates the truth or makes his behavior my fault.

I’ve always backed down. Because of Rafe and Lily. Because I’d sworn I would never shatter my children’s security the way my parents shattered mine. But it takes two committed people who love each other to make a marriage, not one who’s doing the other a favor by staying, as long as she’s willing to look the other way now and then.

“I can’t do this anymore, Clay.”

“Can’t do what?”

“Pretend. That you love me when I’m not sure you do. I’m not even sure whether I love you anymore.”

My eyes are pinned to his face. I wait though I’m not sure what I’m waiting for. Is there a marriage cavalry poised to ride in and save our union? If he fell down on his knees and promised to never even look at another woman—which he is showing no signs of doing—is there any way that I could possibly believe him? Trust him? “This is it. The line in the sand. The final warning. You either get it together and honor your marriage vows or...”

“Or what?”

“Or I’ll file for divorce.”

This is the first time I’ve ever even mentioned the D-word—one of the few times I’ve let myself actually think it—and his shock is pronounced. “You don’t mean that.”

“I do.”

He looks at me and I want to believe he’s finally seeing me as more than the girl he deigned to marry. He says only, “But the kids would be devastated.”

“I’m not so sure about that.” I look him right in the eye. “They know, Clay. Everybody knows. Lily told me just how pathetic she thinks it is that I ‘let’ you be with other women.”

“But I...” I watch the realization set in. He has convinced himself that what he’s been doing is no big deal. That everybody does it. That I’d be the only casualty. That the children would never know.

I see him trying to regroup, to once again gain the upper hand that he’s so used to having. It has never occurred to him that the children would ever think ill of him or that I would ever give up.

I could use a littleRockymusic right now. Some boxing gloves. A sweatsuit. Because although I finally managed to say what I’ve known I needed to for too long now, I don’t feel particularly victorious. Just horribly sad. And so very tired.

But I am also determined. “You must have realized that what you’ve been doing is... wrong. That ithurtsme. That it hurts all of us.”

I think back to the times I was forced to know. The pitying glances. The triumphant ones. I shudder to think that Rafe and Lily have had to deal with all that, too.

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