"Okay, what if we head back to my place? I'll cook you some dinner."
"Oh, okay. Sure," I say shocked by his offer and my immediate excitement about going back to his house.
"When I say, ‘cook you some dinner,’ I really mean, I'll use my phone to order take out." He smirks.
"I don't like pizza," I respond awkwardly. Darn alcohol. This comment lightens our serious mood, and causes Brett to laugh.
"Okay, beautiful. I have a whole drawer filled with menus. You can pick out whatever you want."
"Perfect."
Brett
IT'S OFFICIAL. I've lost my fucking mind. I'm honestly clueless as to why I would ask Jess back to my apartment. What did I expect? For her to fall into my bed naked, legs open waiting for me to ravage her body? No. She panicked when I kissed her. I can't even begin to fathom how she would react if she knew all the ways I have imagined having sex with her today. I couldn't seem to help myself, though. This girl makes my heart swell almost as much as my dick. I know I gave her the whole ‘just friends’ talk earlier. I really tried, but I couldn't keep my hands off her any longer.
Jesse does things to me. She makes me feel like myself again for the first time since I lost Sarah. I had no idea how good it could feel to not be consumed in self-pity. For those three hours at the bowling alley, I forgot that I was supposed to be miserable. I forgot that my life had been ripped out from under my feet. I didn't think about anything except getting hustled by a petite brunette who says darn, heck, and crap. I forgot it all. And that alone, is a magical feat.
The most shocking of it all was that, I didn't worry about Sarah once. I should probably feel guilty about that, but honestly I don't. I obsess over Sarah daily. Is she taking her medications correctly? Is she happy? What will she want for dinner on Thursday? Did she remember to pay her power bill? The list goes on and on. Sarah isn't helpless by any means, but I worry she'll need me and I won't be there for her. It's not like she would ever call me if she needed something though. Sarah has called me exactly one time since the accident. She wanted to know if I knew of a good divorce attorney.
Four years earlier…
"DAMN IT Sarah. You are not making these decisions four weeks after almost dying!" I scream at her over the phone while leaving work.
"I'm not doing this anymore. I want to go home."
"Sarah, you are home."
"No, I'm not. This is your house. I don't belong here anymore."
"Fine. You want to move back to Savannah? Let's go. I'm sure I can find a job down there."
"I'm not going anywhere with you, Brett. Let me go!" She starts crying, like she does so often these days.
"Baby, please. Let’s go back to that counselor. I'll do whatever you want. Tell me how to fix this."
"There is no fixing this! I don't love you. I haven't loved you in a long time. Even before the accident. Things just weren't right."
"What the fuck are you talking about?" This is the first time she has ever mentioned us falling apart before the accident.
"I asked Manda about a divorce attorney, weeks before the wreck."
"Oh really? Because last month you were talking about saving up money for a trip to renew our vows in a silly Las Vegas drive thru chapel. Now you're trying to tell me you actually wanted a divorce?" I know she's lying. Sarah never would have asked for a divorce without me feeling it coming months in advance. She was never able to hide her emotions inside. I would have known if things weren't right in our relationship.
"Damn it. Fuck you! I want a divorce. I want to move out. You can't hold me captive in this house. I'm not your fucking prisoner. Get it through your head. I don't want to be with you anymore!"
"Yeah, I think I gathered that when you started this conversation by asking about a divorce attorney."
"See! This is why I hate you. You're a prick. You talk down to me and treat me like a child." I just sigh at a loss for words.
"How about tomorrow we go visit Manda's grave. I think it would do you some good to finally go say goodbye. You're harboring a lot of guilt and taking it out on me."
"What the fuck! Did you just go all Dr. Phil on me? I'm not going to a grave to visit my best friend. She isn't there!" She shrieks so loudly, I have to pull the phone away from my ear.
"Jesus. Can you please just calm down? I'm on my way home. We can talk when I get there."
"I'm leaving, and you can't stop me."
This time it's me yelling, "I love you! I'm going to do everything in my fucking power to stop you. Damn it. You're my wife!"
"No, I'm not," she whispers ending the call.