Part-Time Husband Page 14

  “I know you are. Just a nap. Nothing else.”

  I nod. “Then I’m all for it.”

  WE GET INTO BED, AND he pulls me against his side, and I fall asleep in the crook of his arm.

  I’m not a napping person, so it’s a strange indulgence to sleep in the middle of the day like this.

  But it’s lovely. I really enjoy it.

  I’ve been sleeping for an hour or so when I’m aware of him getting off the bed.

  I roll over, instinctively following the direction of his body. “Is the nap already over?” I mumble groggily.

  “It is for me but not for you.”

  There’s something in his voice, so I open my eyes.

  He leans over to kiss me very lightly on the mouth. “I need to go out for a little while, but I’ll be back.”

  “What happened? Where are you going?”

  “I need to check on my folks. My mom just called. My dad fell.”

  I sit up straight. “What? Is he all right?”

  “He’s fine. I think he’s fine. But I need to go make sure they’re all right, and I guess he pulled a side table down when he fell, so my mom needs some help cleaning up.”

  “Oh no. Hold on a minute, and I’ll come with you.”

  I start to get out of the bed, but he stops me. “No, no. There’s no reason for you to go.”

  “But I can—”

  “It’s fine, Melissa. I’ll just be a little while. You stay here and keep resting.”

  I don’t really want to rest now. I want to come with him and make sure his parents are all right.

  But he clearly doesn’t want me to come, and it’s not right for me to insist.

  It’s not about me.

  It’s about his parents.

  He has to make the decisions on this.

  So I smile and recline back on the bed. “Okay. Text me and tell me how they are.”

  “I will.” He kisses me again. “I’m sorry. I won’t be long.”

  And then he disappears out the bedroom door.

  I can’t sleep after that, although I stay in bed.

  I wonder why he didn’t want me to come with him.

  It’s been a month now since that day at the lake, and he hasn’t wanted me to see his parents since.

  There must be a reason.

  I lie and stew about it until I’ve worked myself up into an emotional flurry, so finally I pick up my phone and call Rachel.

  She answers on the second ring. “Hey there. What’s up?”

  “I want more details on your date last night.”

  She pauses briefly. “I told you all about it this morning. What’s going on?”

  “Nothing. I just—”

  “Melissa, this is me. What’s going on?”

  I take a breath, and I tell her. All about last night and this morning. About taking a nap with him. About how he left and didn’t want me to go with him. About how he hasn’t wanted me to see his parents since that first time.

  “Maybe they don’t like me,” I say after finishing the explanation.

  “I can’t believe that. Did they act like they didn’t like you?”

  “No. They were... great. His mom said all kinds of nice stuff about me.”

  “So that’s not it. I think it’s more about you and Trevor. You pulled back from him after last time, didn’t you?”

  “Y-yeah. I guess.”

  “So maybe he doesn’t want that to happen again.”

  “But... but I don’t think I’ll pull back again this time.”

  “Does he know that?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “So there’s your answer.”

  “What’s my answer?”

  “Okay, look. I know you’re not going to want to hear this, but you guys seem to be in this relational limbo, and one of you is going to have to break through. He made the first steps before, and you’re the one who put the brakes on. So I think it’s going to have to be you this time.”

  “It’s going to have to be me who does what?”

  “Who breaks through. Who makes the first step.”

  My hand is trembling slightly on the phone. “So you think I need to... I need to... tell him... I... I...”

  She laughs softly. “Okay, if you can’t even say the words to me, then you’re probably not ready to say them to him either. But you need to tell him something. Just tell him you don’t want your marriage to be part-time anymore.”

  I take a shaky breath. “That’s a lot to tell him.”

  “I know. But that’s what you want, isn’t it? For the marriage to be all the way.”

  “Yeah. That’s what I want.”

  “So tell him. Break through the limbo. You’ve always been good about making things happen, so do it with this too.”

  “But what if he doesn’t want the same thing?”

  “Well, that would suck. No doubt about it. But isn’t it better to know?”

  “Yes. It’s better to know.”

  “So do it then. Add it to your top three for today. Tell Trevor that I don’t want a part-time marriage with him anymore.”

  “Okay.” I’m half giggling and half hugging myself in anxiety. “Oh my God, Rachel. Do you think I can really do this?”

  “Of course you can. Look at everything you’ve already done with your life. You can do this too.”

  I hang up a few minutes later, determined to do as she said.

  Today is the day.

  I’m going to talk to him.

  We’re going to work this out one way or the other.

  It will be better for me to know.

  I’ll talk to him.

  As soon as he gets back.

  HE’S GONE FOR ALMOST three hours.

  I text him a couple of times to ask about how his father is, and he replies briefly both times, saying that everything is fine. He doesn’t say anything else, and I can’t help but feel like something is wrong.

  I’m sitting on the couch, watching an old movie when he finally returns. He’s still wearing the jeans and T-shirt he’s had on all day. His jaw is dark with stubble, and his eyelids are heavy.

  He goes to the kitchen to get a bottle of sparkling water, and he brings it into the living room, lowering himself onto the opposite side of the couch.

  “How is he?” Every warning bell in my head is clanging loudly. There’s nothing obvious about his expression or posture, but I know—I know—that something isn’t right.

  “He’s fine.” Trevor stares at the television but doesn’t seem to see anything.

  “Trevor?” I scoot over toward him. “Talk to me. What’s happening?”

  “Nothing. He’s kind of bruised up, but it’s nothing serious. He didn’t need to go to the emergency room or anything. He pulled down a table that had a lot of glass figurines on it, so there was a huge mess to clean up. But it’s all fine.”

  I reach up to turn his head so he’s looking at me. “Trevor?”

  “I said everything’s fine.” He sounds slightly impatient.

  “Then why do you look upset?”

  “I’m not upset.” He’s turned away from me again.

  “Is this how it works between us? You demand to see into my soul and then insist on helping me with my issues, but you don’t let me help you at all? Is that really how you think it’s supposed to work between us?”

  My words seem to have gotten through to him because his mouth twists briefly. He meets my eyes. “I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t be sorry. Just tell me what’s going on.” I take his face in both hands the way he sometimes takes mine. It feels like I’m trying to hold him together.

  He lets out a hoarse exhale, and his eyes close. He’s leaning his head into one of my hands. “They’re okay. They’re really okay.” It’s like he’s telling himself that as much as telling me. “My dad was really embarrassed, and my mom was scared and upset. They’re just... they’re just getting so old.” His voice cracks on the last word.

  And I underst
and.

  My parents never had the chance to get old, but I can imagine so clearly how it must feel, to watch their bodies slowly break down, to watch who they’ve always been gradually dwindle away.

  I make a sympathetic sound in my throat, and I pull his head toward my chest. He shakes for a minute. I feel the tight emotion in his body. Then he sort of collapses on top of me.

  He ends up stretched out on the couch with his head in my lap.

  I like it there. I can stroke his hair and face. I can try to make him feel better.

  It’s a strangely full, intense feeling. Wanting to cradle him this way.

  I can’t believe he’s letting me.

  His tension slowly lets go, and his breathing slows down. His eyes are still closed, but he’s not sleeping. He’s letting me caress his hair, rub his neck, massage his temples. And he’s liking it. His sighs turn into low groans.

  I’m feeling a pressure build between my legs, but it isn’t sexual. It’s the strangest thing.

  I’m supposed to be telling Trevor how I feel about him right now, but I know it’s not the right time. I’m not stalling or chickening out.

  This is just more important.

  Trevor is more important.

  “I’m okay,” he says after several minutes.

  “I know you are.” I’m afraid he’s about to get up, so I knead the nape of his neck more intensely, causing him to moan. He can’t speak for a minute as he relaxes even more under the massage.

  “I didn’t mean to fall apart this way,” he says when he’s able to form words again.

  “You didn’t fall apart.”

  “It feels like I did.”

  “Well, I wouldn’t mind if you did.”

  “Really?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Okay. I’ll try to remember that.” He sounds hoarse, sleepy.

  I keep working on his neck, lessening the pressure.

  He breathes deeply, his eyes closing again.

  After a few minutes, he’s asleep.

  I stroke his thick, soft hair and try to deal with the tingling pressure that’s built up below my belly.

  I’m not turned on. I know what that feels like. This is something different.

  It’s like all my female parts have gotten excited in an entirely new way, like they’re trying to hold on to Trevor, like they don’t want to let him go.

  Trevor sleeps in my lap for about a half hour, and he seems kind of self-conscious when he wakes up.

  He’s not used to feeling this way.

  Neither am I.

  I TELL TREVOR THAT he doesn’t need to go to Sunday supper with me tonight, but he insists on going anyway.

  I’m worried about him dealing with the inevitable tension. He still seems so tired and emotionally drained. I don’t think dinner with Pop is the best thing for him to be doing right now.

  Pop is hard to deal with at the best of times.

  I’m not sure how Trevor is going to manage it today.

  I still haven’t told him the truth about my feelings—for him and about our marriage—but I can hardly do it as we’re getting ready to go over to Pop’s or as we’re driving over.

  It will wait until tonight.

  I’ll do it then for sure.

  The air in the room feels weird at dinner, but it might just be my mood.

  Chelsea tries to be cheerful, although her expression is visibly strained, and Sam is in a quiet mood. But none of that is unusual. It’s par for the course in interacting with Pop. Pop himself is in a bad mood. He grumbles a lot of the time about the company’s new advertising campaign.

  The campaign Trevor and his team put together is brilliant, by the way. I knew it would be. I love it. Everyone at Pop’s loves it. I know it’s going to do well for us and have a huge return on investment.

  Pop is the only one unhappy, and I’m pretty sure he’s unhappy because the campaign is so good.

  He’d have been happier if it had been a flop, even though that would mean his company would lose a lot of money.

  That’s just Pop’s way.

  He’d rather be right than be a success.

  So he complains the whole time, and I can feel Trevor stewing beside me. He doesn’t say a word—which is unusual in and of itself. It worries me. I’d prefer him to make his normal snide comments and slightly smug arguments. It would feel more like his normal self.

  This simmering silence isn’t like him. His whole body seems clenched as he sits beside me, and the tension grows harder and harder as we make our way through dinner.

  I try to diffuse it. I try to bring up different topics and draw Trevor into a casual conversation, but it just doesn’t work. He will barely look at me. His body might appear normal, but I know it’s not. Something is coiled hard and tight inside him, and it scares me.

  I don’t want it to unleash.

  Not here anyway.

  So I’m anxious and restless when we finish dessert, and I’m ready to get us out of here. There’s not going to be any lingering over a drink this evening. As soon as the dishes are up, I’m taking Trevor home.

  Sam, Chelsea, and I clear the table. In the kitchen, Sam asks me softly, “What’s the matter with Trevor tonight?”

  I give a little shrug, not sure how to answer.

  “He looks like he’s about to blow his top,” Chelsea says, coming over to join us.

  “He’s had a hard day.”

  “Well, I don’t think it’s a good idea for him to unload on Pop,” Sam says. “We don’t need any more drama. Chelsea and I can finish up here. Why don’t you and he just head back?”

  My shoulders relax in a wave of relief. “You sure?”

  “Of course I’m sure. It’s just the dishes. Get him out of here before he loses it.”

  That’s exactly what I want to do.

  I give my sisters a quick, grateful smile and dry my hands on a dishcloth. Then I go back into the dining room to collect Trevor.

  As it turns out, I’m a little too late.

  I have no idea what prompted it. Pop must have said something nasty. One too many things for Trevor to tolerate.

  I stop in the doorway of the dining room and see Trevor standing with his back toward me, facing down Pop.

  Trevor is speaking in a voice as ruthlessly cold as I’ve ever heard him use. “Do you really think, if it comes to that, she’ll be on your side? Do you think there’s any way you’ll win a battle against me? I’m her husband. I share a bed with her, and most of the time we’re not sleeping. She’s not your good little girl who will do anything you say anymore. She begs me to fuck her. You think you can compete with that?”

  I freeze, slammed with a wave of shock and pain so intense it nearly knocks me off my feet.

  Is that really Trevor? My Trevor? Who might act like an arrogant asshole but is supposed to be tender at heart.

  Is he really talking about me like an object?

  Like a pawn in some crude little war?

  I can’t move. I can’t breathe. The floor is crumbling away at my feet.

  He’s not finished yet, his words cracking in the air like a whip. “So do what you will. Try to sabotage me. It’s not going to work. You’re never going to win. If I want her to stop talking to you, then eventually that’s what she’ll do. She’s always going to be mine now. She’s never going to be yours.”

  I have to hold on to the doorframe to keep my legs from buckling.

  This isn’t right.

  This can’t be right.

  Trevor doesn’t mean that. He doesn’t feel that way about me. He can’t.

  He might not be in love with me, but he cares about me. He sees me as a person. Not just a chess piece he can move around at his will.

  He doesn’t care more about his conflict with Pop than he does about me.

  I trusted him. I’ve taken risks I’ve never been able to take before, because I believed my heart could be safe with him.

  And yet...

  He’s at the end of his
rope tonight. He doesn’t have his normal internal defenses. This is him. The real him. Coming out at last.

  Sometimes a man can make you believe things that aren’t true.

  He’s always been a smooth talker, a quintessential ad man. He can make a charming surface feel like reality.

  Maybe that’s what he did to me.

  And sometimes you can fool yourself into believing what you want about him.

  I wanted him to different. I wanted what we have to be real.

  So maybe it’s my fault as much as it’s his. I turned him into a person he never really was, and that’s the person I fell in love with.

  What you need to look for is his true priority. At the end of the day, if you’re not at the top of his list—more important to him than anything else—then he’s never going to be the man you want him to be.

  This is it.

  The end of the day.

  And I’m not at the top of his list.

  He wants to win a lot more than he’s ever wanted me.

  This shattering realization crashes into me as I stand there, clinging to the doorframe so I don’t fall.

  Pop’s face as Trevor talks is pale with shock and anger, but his eyes shift over to where I’m standing, and something changes on his face.

  He almost smiles. “I never resort to sabotage. Eventually a man like you will always sabotage himself.”

  Trevor turns around in a quick move and sees me in the doorway.

  On his face is shock. Then it’s something like horror.

  Then it’s guilt.

  It’s guilt.

  He knows what he said.

  He knows what it means.

  And he knows I know it now too.

  Just last night—was it just last night?—he overheard me talking about him.

  And I defended him. I spoke about him with love and faith and personhood. Even an hour ago, I would have sworn he’d do the same for me.

  But I was wrong.

  I was stupid and weak and trusting and nothing but wrong.

  “Melissa,” Trevor says hoarsely, coming over to me in three long strides. “Baby, it’s not the way it sounded.” He reaches out to hold on to me by the upper arms.

  I jerk away from him.

  “Baby.” He reaches out for me again.