Page 5 of Love Beyond Repair
Since she ended our marriage in every way but the one that matters, we smile for the girls, share dinners, and keep the curtains closed at night.
But I’ve been sleeping in the spare room since Tuesday.
And somehow, it still doesn’t feel far enough away.
Chapter three
Ben
The underground parking lot is tight and shadowy. I spot space 109. Eamon said he pre-booked it. I ease the car between two concrete pillars with the kind of caution you give a newborn.
Kelsey, the girls, and myself are staying the night with Eamon and Melissa. Kelsey tires quickly now, and Melissa offered beds, pampering, and a roast dinner we couldn’t refuse. Besides, a night away from the sting of home will be a welcome relief.
Climbing out of the car, I extricate my pregnant wife and two squabbling children from the low-slung seats, then grab thebags out of the trunk.
“How many nights are we staying?” I groan, seeing two enormous suitcases. Our argument before we left was uncomfortable. I popped into work to check on a patient in critical condition, and when I returned, she’d loaded the bags already. I was furious. She was told no heavy lifting, but now that she’s on baby number three, she’s stopped listening to anyone, especially me.
“Just you wait till we’re packing for five. We’ll need a minivan,” she says with a grin. The familiar sensation of whiplash hits hard. Her flitting from talk of separation to a family-of-five future in the same breath. My grip on the suitcase handle tightens.
Having collected all the required humans and baggage, we head for the elevator. Everyone crams in, and Kelsey hits the button to the penthouse apartment. And up we go. Savannah presses her hand against the mirrored wall, leaving a trail of sticky fingerprints. Rose hums something from a cartoon. Kelsey watches the numbers climb, her expression unreadable. We pretend. My chest aches harder with every floor.
You know an apartment is expensive when a card needs to be swiped to exit the elevator. Eamon and Melissa’s apartment is the only one on this floor. The doors open into a swanky reception area, a console table with an enormous vase of fresh flowers at the center. Surrounded by soft-pink walls, an ornate chandelier hangs, sparkling lightaround the room. Three paintings of the countryside hang on one wall, bought as an investment a few months ago.
The two of them stand at the entrance to their home, their arms are open. My heart swells. I love these people. They’re my greatest supporters in life. Melissa would be so disappointed if she knew the truth about my dismantled marriage and my rock-bottom morals. Shame overwhelms me as I walk forward to embrace them, and they welcome us into their home as they’ve done dozens of times before.
***
Lunch was delicious. We’ve eaten our fill of roast chicken with homemade gravy, mashed potatoes, and vegetables. Melissa has truly spoiled us by presenting a homemade caramel cake for dessert. I may need to unbutton my jeans soon to accommodate my full stomach. It’s a satisfying type of discomfort.
Retiring to the lounge, the children cuddle up on the sofas watching cartoons while the adults chat quietly between ourselves. Kelsey and Melissa are sitting on one sofa discussing our plans for the new addition. I haven’t quite got the nursery finished yet, and it’s stressing her out. I make a mental note to get it finished this week. At least that will be one less thing to argue about.
The excitement in her voice is palpable. She loves babies and is a fantastic mother, but this needs to be her last. She was very unwell after having Rose. They warned her against having any more. Watching her lying in intensive care, fighting for her life while I held our newborn daughter, was the worst experience of my life. I couldn’t survive it again, never mind her.
And now, here she is again, glowing, animated. Like we’re fine. Like we’re still building something. I sit apart, watching her talk cribs and color palettes, wondering when I became an outsider to my own family. Wondering what our family life will look like after the baby is born.
Although I rarely play chess, I love setting up the board with Eamon, drinking whiskey, and discussing world events with him. We’ve been slowly making our way through his single malt collection all afternoon. Both of us are now three sheets to the wind, and our lips are loosening.
The girls have all gone to bed and are sound asleep. I could see him lining up his queen to take me out, a slow smile playing on his lips. I spot the trap two moves too late. A classic play. It’s how I feel lately—boxed in by consequences, caught between the life I chose and the one I never stopped wanting. Not winning in either game.
“Checkmate, Jones.” He laughs. “Good game.”
I slap my hands down on the table in mock protest, then raise one to shake his. He sits back in his chair as I reset theboard. One more game. Maybe I will beat him this time. In all our years playing chess, I’ve only beaten him a handful of times. He’s a master of distraction, never mind chess.
His eyes survey me, sending goosebumps scattering over my skin. I shake my arms, trying to relieve the unwanted sensation.
“So, Jones, are you going to tell me what’s wrong? Or do I have to guess?” His voice is soft enough, but I know he means business. Shrewd eyes narrowing on cue just enough to apply a little more pressure.
“Eamon, with work and the baby on the way, I’m just busy and tired. Worrying we’ll have a similar situation when Rose was born. I’m not sure my nerves could survive it.” He raises an eyebrow and shakes his head. “I’m not buying that.”
I look up at the man who knows me better than anyone, and I know I’m beaten.
“Kelsey’s asked for a separation.” I hang my head and shrug. An unexpected tear trickles down my cheek, surprising me. “We’ve not been happy for a while…”
“Anyone could see that,” he says, empathy clear in his tone. “Before you announced the pregnancy, I thought you were near the end.”
My fantasy of the perfect marriage crumbles. If even outsiders see it, what are we pretending for? How long have they all known it was a sham?
“That’s not everything. I slept with Bex.”
