Page 41 of Enough
“Let me show you how I feel, baby. Let me make love to you.”
“I can’t,” I respond. “I could easily say it’s only medical, but it’s more than that, Mike. You and I both know it. Sex solves nothing between us. That ship has sailed, and the sooner we both let it go, the sooner we can both move on.”
Our conversation continues for several hours with moreyelling and blaming before understanding and tears. At the end, we somehow manage to agree that the kids need to come first, and that we can part amicably, as the friends we used to be.
After he leaves, the pain I feel is unbearable. I tell myself it’s for the best, but it really hurts. I feel more afraid than I’ve ever been before. Even more than when I first found out I was pregnant. I thought I’d feel better, but right now I don’t, and I start to second-guess myself and my decisions. He said he loved me. Does he? Am I making the biggest mistake of my life?
IT’S BEEN TWO nights since we agreed to file for divorce. I wait as patiently as possible for him to come home, back to what used to be our home. We’re supposed to tell the kids together. Instead of us all talking, I end up putting them to bed when he never shows up. Inside, I’m grateful I didn’t mention he was coming so that I don’t have to explain his absence.
I make lunches and wonder where he is this time. He knew it was an important night.
Why would he do this?
I decide to go to bed. I set Mike up in the guest room. We agreed he could come back to ease the transition for the kids and to help prepare the house for sale. But for some reason, he blew me off. I remind myself that he hasn’t shown up for most of the marriage and that I shouldn’t be surprised.
At midnight, I hear the garage door. I haven’t been able to sleep, and I’ve been tossing and turning for over an hour. Heknows he’s supposed to sleep in the guest room. We discussed it, but as he stumbles up the stairs and into my room, it becomes clear he needs a reminder.
“Hey, baby. You waitin’ for me?” he slurs.
I sit up and turn on the light. I can see he’s drunk and I shake my head. “You’re in the guest room, Mike,” I say, pointing my finger next door. “Remember?”
“You weren’t serious, were you?”
“Yes, I’m dead serious.”
“Aw, baby, let’s just make love and forget this. What do you say?” He half saunters, half stumbles toward me and falls into my chest. I push him up and away. He’s heavy when he’s drunk.
I feel his mouth on me and his hand trying to lift my shirt. “No, Mike! Stop.” I push him back and he smiles at me, lunging toward my face. Something snaps inside me. Maybe it’s fear, maybe it’s frustration, or maybe it’s just the final straw. He continues to lean into me, and as soon as I push hard enough to get him off of me but still within my reach, I slap him in the face. He grabs his cheek in shock. He lifts himself off the bed and stumbles backwards, trying to regain control when he backs into the dresser.
“Whoa! Bitch! I didn’t want you anyway. You were a lousy lay.”
I shake my head and purse my lips as he stumbles his way to the guest room. I hear him moan as he falls into bed.
Although I feel the tears threaten as I replay his hurtful words in my head, I’m comforted in knowing that leaving him is the right thing to do. I won’t let him hurt me anymore.
Six months later
MIKE APOLOGIZED PROFUSELY for his behavior that night he came home, and we moved forward, although I never forgot the sting of his final blow. It took us three months to sell the house. The kids were really worried about having to change schools, and I was struggling with finding a place for us to stay that I could afford. Gwen came to the rescue. She insisted it was payback for all the times I was there for her through the years. She only lives ten minutes away and offered to let us stay with her until I got on my feet. She and Mike agreed to get along for the sake of the kids.
Mike has seen them more since the divorce than he did while we were married. We went through mediation to save money, and Mike was fair in splitting all of our assets and in giving me child support and alimony. He seemed angry at first, but it turned out his freedom was far more important than fighting in court. When I was fair in agreeing to visitation, he was fair in agreeing to allow me custody. It turns out we get along much better when we don’t speak. Wetext about the kids, and I rarely see him at pick-up or drop-off. It’s what I need. Seeing him either fills me with regret, anger, or a combination of both.
Sometimes at night, after spending my day in class or clinicals, then studying and taking care of the kids, the loneliness overwhelms me. Even though Mike and I had a shitty marriage, I still miss his presence at times. At least, I miss the Mike I thought I knew. Then I remember all the bad times and that feeling inches away. The truth is I don’t miss him; I miss the idea of him and the idea of having someone to love.
One weekend when Mike has the kids, Gwen gives me a look. I haven’t seen it in a while and I’m not sure if I’m reading her right. “What?” I ask her as I munch on a bag of Cheetos and flip through romance books on her Kindle, looking for my next glimmer of hope.
“Let’s do something.”
“Like what?” I ask. “You wanna get a pizza?”
“Does my ass look like I need a pizza?” She turns her backside to me and sticks out her rear end as far as it will go.
I take another Cheeto and pop it in my mouth before I toss the bag on the couch, stand, and turn my ass to face hers. “Does mine?”
We stand there laughing for a minute with our asses facing each other in comparison. She always says she has a lot of weight to lose, but I know if it were a contest she would have far less than me. I think she looks great, but weareour own worst critics.
“What I meant was let’s get out of here and go somewhere. Anywhere! I’m tired of staring at these walls. Let’s go out for a drink!”
“You mean like, to a bar?” I question in horror.
