Page 107 of The Husband Diet
I watched his face as he watched me back, wondering what could be so terrible. The fact was that it wasn’t terrible for me. It was what I’d always wanted. If I could have him, too, my whole life would be made.
‘I’ve been looking for years. At first Ira was OK with it. Then he changed his mind.’
‘Go on.’
I let it out in one breath. ‘I want to sell my home and move to Tuscany and get a mortgage. I want to move there and start my own bed and breakfast.’
I’d said it all in one go, unable to look into his eyes, and now he was silent. Did he care for me that much, that the thought of losing me did this to him?Please, God, let it be so.
‘Wow,’ was all he could say. ‘That’s one hell of a life-changing decision.’
‘So is divorcing and starting all over again. But I love Tuscany, and my children. I believe I’m making the right decision for my family. I’m sorry.’
He sighed loudly and said, ‘No.I’m sorry. Fuck this.’ And without another word, he strode out the door, leaving the bracelet there. Just like that.
I’d never heard him say a dirty word except for in between the sheets, which was always linked to happiness. This wasn’t.
And I watched him go, without saying a word, like those tragedies that you see happening on movie in slow motion, where you don’t miss a moment but you can’t move or react. Like when my grandma was teaching me to flip an omelet with the use of a lid. On my first try I let it slip into the sink from beneath the lid, while she was exclaiming, ‘Hurry, don’t let it slide!’ And I just stood there, unable to move. My life was the omelet that I didn’t know how to flip.
So I called, ‘Julian! Come back! Please don’t be offended!’ But it was too late. He’d already driven off – tires screeching – officially out of my life.
I was a fool. There he’d gone, a beautiful, beautiful man, inside and out, who had claimed to love me, although I just couldn’t see how he could, in only a short space of time, when for years I’d tried to win my husband’s love and never managed.
In another time, way back into the depths of my past, I’d have clung to someone like Julian and never let him go. Hunky, interested in my well-beingandhot for me? What was thematterwith me?
So I did what I do best. I baked myself a cake and ate it. Who says you can’t do that? And I ateallof it, licking the icing off my fingers, tasting the sweet chocolate and my salty tears at the same time. It’s a combination I’m very familiar with but don’t recommend.
When I was done, I spread myself on the couch, remote in hand, and, would you believe it,The War of the Roseswas showing. I sat there and watched with growing trepidation as husband and wife offended each other, broke each other’s most prized porcelains, and killed what was left of their love and their lives. I shut my eyes so I wouldn’t have to see the end.
No, I couldn’t go through that again, see in the eyes of a man who once loved me a newfound hatred, because I didn’t correspond to his ideal of beauty, simply because I was me and refused to be someone else.
And while I was thinking about it, my stomach began to give me huge jolts, as if there were angry sharks swimming in there, threatening to find their way back up through my throat. I managed to drag myself to the toilet bowl just in time as I heaved out the cake, the icing, my last meal and all my misery.
I threw up Ira, my life with him and the countless nights I’d snuggled up to him only to be refused and rebuked. I brought up my childhood, my mom’s depression, my grandma’s death, Maddy’s abduction and finally, Julian’s hasty retreat. Talk about undigested issues.
I could feel the veins in my temples bulging as I hung onto the toilet bowl, pressing the side of my head into the coolness of the ceramic surface. Oh, God, never again. Please let me survive this night and I’ll never touch chocolate or refuse happiness again…
If you want to cleanse your mind and soul, I highly recommend chocolate cakes (minus the tears). It took me a whole one to put me on the path of soul-searching and assertiveness. And although I was done for now, I knew this was only the beginning.
Emptied and limp like an old, fading hot-water bottle, I lay on my stomach on the bathroom floor. Maybe I could stay here all night and they’d find me dead in the morning. Anything was better than this.
The sound of a car in the drive did nothing to stir me. I was already dead, only waiting for them to come and bury me. I was dead in my body and dead in my heart. And semiconscious as well, I think.
Then a car door slammed and the doorbell rang.
I felt like I had two heads. ‘I’m not in,’ one called, while the other felt like a bell was clanging inside it, right between my ears.
‘Erica, open up.’
Julian’s voice. I opened an eye and my body jerked as if I’d been touched with a live wire. Or at least I thought it had, but I was still plastered to the floor.
‘I know you’re in there.’
Come in!I wanted to shout, but no sound came out.I do see you as my man! Please forgive me, but I’m really crap at this!
‘I’m sorry,’ I managed to yell as I peeled myself off the floor. ‘I’m so sorry, Julian!’
I flung the door open and threw myself at him, babbling about what an idiot I was but could he be patient with me because I did love him, even if I’d never understand what he saw in me and…
