Page 90 of Every Good Thing
Still, my anxiety surges.
Ben’s blue Jeep isn’t here yet—I made sure to arrive twenty-five minutes early so there was no chance of him entering the building first.
I take cleansing breaths, watching the gentle sway of the multi-colored crepe myrtles lining the street.
“Ben isn’t Mark, you know,” she says after a few silent minutes. “There’s no falling out of love with you. It’s a rough patch. That’s all.”
“Then, tell me why I feel this way?” I return, measuring my breaths to avoid the panic in my chest.
“It’s your first storm. You’re scared. You both are.”
Across the street, Ben’s Jeep pulls into the small parking lot beside the building, and he backs into the first space. My fears compound, making me second-guess my brilliant idea to show up for him. He doesn’t like surprises.
“This was a bad idea,” I sputter.
“No, it wasn’t. Go get ‘em, tiger.” Dot gently shoves my shoulder and motions to Ben, who heads to the front door.
I topple from the van, adjust my skirt, and clop around the sidewalk.
“Ben!” I call out as he approaches the stoop. When he doesn’t stop, Dot lays on the horn. “Ben!”
Our eyes lock, and I wave timidly. He looks confused but meets me on the sidewalk, where I tiptoe on my wedges to give him a short kiss on the cheek.
“Hey,” I say. “Fancy meeting you here.”
“I have an appointment. What’re you doing here?”
“Um, going with you to your appointment. If you’ll have me.”
His hesitation spikes my already-primed anxiety and assures me that asking Dot to stay was a good plan. Her engine starts and revs behind me, waiting for the signal, and I pray she doesn’t leave yet.
“Is this okay?” I ask and sign together, my fingers trembling with nerves.
His hands rest on his hips as he scans the perimeter, perhaps searching for a way to escape me. My heart sinks with every passing second. It feels like last night, waking up to a dark living room with the TV off and realizing he’d left me there by choice.
My inner hollow grows as I scramble to fix yet another mistake. “Um, if you don’t want—”
“Lena.”
Twenty-Five
BEN
Keeping my distance from Lena protects her. I can’t stand hurting her, and I can’t stand myself for being unable to stop it. So, I’ve gotten small lately.
Still, my heart skips to see her here.
I’m sick with myself that she expects my rejection. Dot’s van idles at the curb across the street, probably awaiting an all-clear to leave. My wife anticipates me not wanting her here, and I can’t blame her. All I’ve done is reject her. She’s overcompensating for me, tiptoeing around me like something delicate that might break if she makes one wrong move. Lena’s made every conceivable effort to spend time with me, but the harder she tries, the worse I feel. The pressure mounts with every effort, keeping me from complying, and my guilt compounds with her disappointment when I refuse her.
She shifts on her feet, swaying her little dress and awkwardly fidgeting as she awaits my answer.
This is what I’ve reduced us to—instead of calming her, I cause her anxiety. Exactly what I never wanted. Our marriage has switched from me living in her periphery to her edging around mine. And I know that won’t change, especially after the inevitable news we’ll receive at today’s appointment.
This’ll get worse before it gets better. If it ever does.
I wonder how long it’ll be before she stops trying.
Last night replays in my head. It had been a long shift, longer than usual. Tedious nothingness was bookended by bullshit—belligerent shoplifters at the mall and a drunk who spewed all over my backseat on purpose. It took me over an hour to clean it up, and the cleansers instigated a migraine.
