Page 15 of Married to Her Yeti
“Then why did you leave Burning Man? I didn’t think you’d everabandonme.” Her face crumpled, and another sob wracked her body. Nima’s heart wrenched in two. “You were my world, and you left me. What did I do to make you go?” She pressed her palms to her eyes, her body trembling with grief.
All this time, Mari had assumed he’dabandonedher? She couldn’t be more wrong. The need to hold her, comfort her, was greater than his fear that she would reject him. He tentatively wrapped his arms around her, drawing her close. As she sobbed againsthim, he tightened his embrace—staying mindful of her injured ribs—and gently rocked her.
“I never regretted you—ever. I did not mean to abandon you, Mari,” he said, his voice strained by his tightening throat as he ran a hand over her hair. “You did nothing wrong. Iwantedto marry you. To be with you always. I was so in love with you.” He wasstillin love with her. Nima ached for her, for himself, for what they’d lost.
She hiccupped and drew back, looking up at him through red-rimmed eyes as she took several deep breaths. “Then why did you leave?”
He had to explain what he could of that night. “I remember little from Burning Man.” He closed his eyes, searching his mind. “I recall the scorching heat, waiting until darkness and cooler temperatures to pitch our tent. It was all so overwhelming, but exciting. My first human event—not counting the ones here, like the Halloween parties in Denali.”
Maybe those parties had lulled him into a false sense of security. Halloween was the one time of the year when yeti could mingle with regular people—who weren’t in the know about his kind—and pass for a tall human playing dress up. He and Mari had counted on Burning Man being the same, with its renowned eccentricities and culture of inclusion.Aside from their foray into Reno, it was the only time on their trip they’d strayed from the mountains and back roads.
“People kept complimenting my costume, handing me drinks and food.” It had been exciting—its own kind of intoxication—feeling like part of the crowd, accepted. He shrugged. “I didn’t think I’d had too much to drink, but I wasn’t worrying aboutwhatI drank. Beer, hard liquor, wheatgrass shots with... I don’t know what. At some point, I had a cup of tea. Then another. I realized much later it had beenmushroomtea, as inmagicmushroom. That was my regret. Those were my bad decisions. In that heat, surrounded by all those strangers, I should have only guzzled water.”
He hurried on. “I have flashes of memories I thought were a dream. You in a short, white, sleeveless dress and a crown of flowers and ribbons in your hair.” He glanced at her again. He’d replayed these images so many times, wishing they were real. Had they been? “You were beautiful, and in my dream, I’d felt so lucky to be walking hand in hand with you.”
Mari gingerly lay back on her pillows then curled in on herself, as if protecting her ribs—and possibly her heart. “That wasn’t a dream, Nima. That was what I wore that night. We’d both beendrinking, but you’d seemed fine. You don’t remember exchanging vows?” The hurt in her voice stung like salt in a wound.
He swallowed a painful lump in his throat. “No,” he admitted. “I’m truly sorry. It’s a memory I wish I had.” He meant that from the bottom of his yeti heart as his blurry memories came to mind. “I remember being disoriented, then feeling anxious and scared. I couldn’t get the playa dust out of my fur. I ran. I couldn’t see a thing. The desert was inky black, but a million stars spanned the horizon, fuzzy from the sweat in my eyes and who knows what in my veins. By the time I’d made it to the safe house in Gerlach—our backup plan—I must have lost my phone.”
Mari nibbled at her lip. “I searched Burning Man for you all night. And when the sun rose, I drove to Gerlach. I finally got cell phone service as I was pulling into town and saw your text. You’d written, ‘I can’t do this. Going to Gerlach.’ I wasn’t sure what you meant. You couldn’t do Burning Man? Or you couldn’t dous? I thought you’d be waiting for me at the safe house, and we could talk it through.” She frowned. “But you weren’t there. The woman said a yeti had come and gone overnight and left with a Sasquatch in a truck.”
“I-I honestly don’t know when I sent that text.And I only know about the truck ride because I was told about it when I woke up the next morning—shocked to be in Oregon with no phone, fuzzy memories, a horrible hangover, and no idea how to get ahold of you. I was scared and desperate.”
Tears welled in Mari’s eyes, and she dashed them away. “I returned to Burning Man. I stuck around until that night, hoping you might show up. Since there was no cell service there, I couldn’t make calls or get texts. I became increasingly anxious and worried about you. When you didn’t return by early evening, I packed the tent. I needed to make calls to our friends and family. I had to find you. I couldn’t just sit there doing nothing. As soon as I had cell reception, I heard from your mom. She confirmed you were okay, but that you had regrets, just like you’d mentioned in your text message. By that time, you were already on your way to Bellingham to board a yeti-friendly boat to Alaska.”
Nima wiped a shaking hand down his face. “I sent you emails, Mari. I tried to reach out.” He had to explain himself. “The place in Oregon was remote. No cell service or landline phone, but the house had a computer. We’d never emailed each other before, always relied on texts and calls, but I created an email account and sent you messages.” He let out aheavy sigh. “I only realized weeks later that I had a typo in your email address. I was going off memory, and I got it wrong—I’m sorry. But I connected with my mom, and she said she talked to you. I wasn’t trying to run away from you. I assumed you’d get my messages and meet me on the other end. But when I arrived in Alaska, I learned that you’d taken a job in Portland and weren’t coming home. And you didn’t respond to any of my calls or texts once I got a new phone.”
Mari covered her face with her hands. “I was so worried and then confused and hurt. When your mom spoke of bad decisions and regrets, I assumed you meant me, us, our relationship, like your text said. I was a heartbroken bride whose husband had left her on her wedding night.” She paused, her throat working in a swallow. “So, I... I deleted our texts and blocked your number.” She looked up at him, remorse etching her features. “I’m sorry, Nima. Twenty-two-year-olds don’t make the best decisions. And then I avoided coming home and dealing with my feelings. And, well, years went by.”
He squeezed her hand in reassurance. While the pain was still there, it wasn’t as raw as before. It was time for apologies and moving on. “I should have found a way to tell you what really happened—Ididn’t tell anyone. And as you now know, I had no idea we were married. But after what happened at Burning Man and my desperate situation, I questioned whether I was good enough for you.”
Mari gripped his shoulders. “I never questioned that. Ever.” She closed her eyes. “Except when I thoughtyouabandonedme,” she admitted, sounding sheepish. “But never because of what you are or what you look like.”
Fresh tears dampened Nima’s eyes. After all this time and self-healing, he still welcomed Mari’s words.
“Where do we go from here?” he asked. “Do you think we can be friends?” Yesterday’s closet interlude proved their lingering mutual attraction, but it seemed inappropriate to suggest more than friendship. Having Mari in his life again would be a dream come true... if she agreed to it.
Mari’s head whirled,and this time it wasn’t from getting hit by a spruce tree. For years, she blamed Nima entirely for their breakup, selfishly focused on her own hurt feelings, never letting him explain himself. But why had she so easily believedNima had fled from her? While her body ached from the accident last night, her insides burned with regret over their past. Surely she had more confidence and better communication skills now and could prevent a misunderstanding like this from ever happening again.
Despite wearing their wedding rings on a chain, she’d gone to great lengths to erase Nima from her life. She could hardly picture him in it now. But being with him since the accident had been unexpectedly easy and comfortable. She’d missed him so damn much.
“I’d like to be friends,” she said, meaning it. And yet alarm bells went off in her head. She had the bakery to think about now, a whole new chapter in her life. “But I’d still like a divorce. We were only married in the legal sense, after all.” They may still be attracted to one another, but that didn’t mean they could suddenly pick up where they left off ten years ago. Love and relationships didn’t work that way.
Nima’s lips flattened, but to her massive relief, he nodded in agreement. “That sounds sensible.”
Mari eased back into her pillows, wincing when her ribs twinged, and ankle throbbed.
Nima stood. “I’ll get your pain pills and maketoast so you’re not taking them on an empty stomach. You should rest. The sun will be up soon, and I’ll inspect your house in the daylight for earthquake damage. We can discuss your care plans after.”
Mari let out a long sigh and glanced around her room. Even though minor aftershocks had jolted them all night, and an earthquake had led to her injury, she’d forgotten about the potential damage to her house. Her head was too full as it was.
Nima said, “When we returned late last night, I picked up a few things that had fallen. I placed them on the nearest surface so that neither of us would accidentally step on them or trip. What I assume was your fruit bowl fell off the kitchen counter and broke, but that’s the only damage I’ve seen. The lights—and the heat—came back on around two a.m.”
She scanned the room, noting a stack of books on top of her shelf, crooked pictures on the wall, and the—crap!—huge, blue, monster dildo on her nightstand. Mari’s cheeks flamed. She yanked her gaze away from Big Blue, hoping to avoid drawing Nima’s attention to it.
Where had she left it? Why hadn’t she tucked it back into her drawer after cleaning it? Oh. My. God. Had it fallen, and he’d picked it up? Of course, the dildo she’d left out had to be the giant, yeti-lookingone. Now he’d know she got off using a toy that looked like his cock.Great.Didfriendsdo things like that?
She forced a smile as she looked up at him. “Toast would be perfect, thank you.” Had she said that too fast, too eagerly? She didn’t care.
