Page 48 of The New Year's Party
Doug’s criminal history came from Will’s fax machine at Dick’s Sporting Goods.
Of course I looked up the fax number online before even leaving the parking lot of EdgeTech Gutters. There were no immediate matches, but the area code was Indianapolis.Will and Jenn, I thought right away.They live in Indianapolis.
I bided my time. Mulled it over in the following hours about a hundred times. And finally, Will’s business card confirmed my fears.
The bitter pill is that I told Will about the ultimatum. Of course I did; I tell Will everything. From the start, of the whole friend group, he’s always been the one I felt like I could really open up to without being judged. And then what does Will turn around and do? Takes advantage of that knowledge to ruin Doug. To ruin our marriage. I mean, he’s told me before he thinks I should walk away from the relationship. That I deserve better than Doug. He’s even offered me material help to walk away: a room to live in, money to cover a security deposit and first month’s rent at a new apartment. I appreciated his support, even if I didn’t agree with his perspective on Doug. But I never thought he would try to make that decision for me.
I pump the BB gun again, raise it, and aim at the next plate. I imagine the plate is Will’s face.
Will’s betrayal was a bad enough blow. But now Jenn is celebrating the miscarriages that ruined me? What did I ever do to them? They have it all. The stability. The children. The love. The Facebook cuteness. Do they have to take away the one meager crumb I have in this life?
Pow.
“Hellie, you should have been a professional sniper!” says Bunny in wonder.
“That’s my wife!” says Doug. My husband... for only a tiny bit longer.
It’s not like there’s anything to gain by confronting Will about the fax. My marriage is over one way or another. But it’s not about gain anymore. Knowing has become a necessity. A compulsion.
Maybe it’s the byproduct of being lied to one too many times. You get kind of obsessed with testing facts, even the ones that seem obvious. You get kind of obsessed with probing motivations and picking away at how things seem, because the truth doesn’t present itself, ever. It has to be dug for, and dug for, and rinsed and examined and fit together with the other pieces, like old dinosaur bones, and even then, it’s hard to be sure what shape it’s all supposed to make, but you have to try, you have to fucking try.
The sad thing is, I could have forgiven Doug for the lost job. Hewasa good gutter sales rep. John said so. Astar employee, he called him. The fax wasn’t Doug’s fault. I wasreadyto forgive all.
Then Doug lied. And used. And I realized... it’s not about him keeping or not keeping a job. I got it wrong in Fort Wayne when I gave him the ultimatum, that horrible day before moving back to Michigan City, when I realized I was nearing my breaking point.
It’s about trust. And that was broken long ago. I haven’t been living a real life. I’ve been living with shards.
And I was a fool for thinking it could ever be glued back together.
Pow. Pow. Pow.
I extend the BB gun vaguely to see who wants to be next, and I’m mildly surprised that Olivia steps up. She looks intense, but that’s Olivia. Miss Mystery. I’ve always felt kind of flat in comparison, but I think if circumstances had been different, we could have been closer. I don’t know.
“Five for fucking five!” crows Doug, coming up behind me and kissing the back of my neck. “Who’s taking a tequila shot, huh, my Rockstar Wifey? Who has to drink?”
I turn neatly, rise to my tiptoes, and give him a peck on the lips. Lips I’ve kissed a hundred thousand times. Lips that I won’t kiss again come dawn. “Not you, Mr. Eighty-Nine-Days-Sober.” I watch him for any sign of remorse—a wince—anything.
Doug looks me in the eye and says, “I’m taking a night off.” Ted is extending a shot glass; Doug takes it.
“Man—no,” says Phelps, surging forward toward his friend, but it’s too late. Doug tosses back the shot. There’s a dead silence.
Doug flings his head back like he’s relishing it. Smacks his lips. Makes an exaggeratedaaaahsound. Into the utter, shocked silence, Doug says, “Hey, this tequila isn’t so bad! I’ll be the designated drinker, how’s that?”
“Man,” says Will. “I don’t know if that was a good idea—”
“It’s New Year’s, assholes,” says Doug cheerfully. “Mind your own fucking business for once.”
“Dude,” says Bennett, and I can hear in that single word how distressed he is, but Doug just pounds him on the back and says, “Lighten up, man, it’s a party, lighten up.”
Will’s eyes flicker to mine, but I look away.
I watch all of these events like I’m watching a movie from the safety of my own couch.
It doesn’t break my heart, because my heart already broke earlier today.
I even find myself thinking, perversely,Good.
He’s already high, but let’s be honest—the news that I’m leaving him might go down easier if he’s drunk too.
