"I made dinner," she says, pulling a casserole dish out of the fridge. Sarah always made the weirdest food. I guess they aren't weird to everyone, but I was never a fan. She made southern dishes like potato soup, made with more butter than milk, or fried macaroni and cheese bites. I'm sorry, but does Mac n' cheese need to be deep fried? Her family raved about her cooking, but I never could get on board with soggy bread-like noodles in chicken soup. She called it chicken and dumplings. I called it gross. However, when she would branch out into different types of food, it was always delicious.
My favorite of all her meals was her seven layer Mexican dip. She always made it for my birthday, or any time we were celebrating something special. God, it was good. So when I see her unwrap a dish topped with lettuce and decorated with dollops of sour cream, my eyes jump to hers.
"What is that?" I ask skeptically.
"Seven layer dip." She acts like it’s nothing more than ingredients tossed in a bowl. We both know it’s more. It's a memory. It's happiness. It's our past. I have to restrain myself from reaching out and slapping that stupid ass dish across the room. I want to see it shatter into a million pieces, just like our future. Fucking seven layer dip!
I try to compose myself enough to speak. "I'm glad you're feeling better. I need to get back to work."
"Baby, you haven't eaten yet."
"Don't call me that!" I shout.
"Jesus, it's just fucking dinner. Stop freaking out," she responds, rolling her eyes at my outburst. "You’re acting like a douche right now." Yep, still the same new Sarah.
"Dinner, right." I nod knowing she's flat out lying, but I can't figure out why. "What are you doing? You haven't cooked for me in years. Now two days after showing up and freaking out on the woman I'm seeing, you make my favorite meal? For what?" I begin to get angrier as I talk. It's one head trip after another with this woman. "Please, just tell me why!" I scream across her room.
"Because you are the only one who hasn't turned their back on me," she rushes out, stepping towards me. "Because I know I messed things up for you a few days ago with that girl. And...and because I miss you," she says, in a voice unlike any version of Sarah I've ever seen.
I take a step forward trying to get a better read on the situation. She's done nothing but push me away, now she misses me? Stunned by her admission, I can't even stop to evaluate my feelings, but that doesn't stop a knot from forming in my throat.
She closes the distance between us, resting her hands on my chest, "I miss you, baby," she repeats, staring down at the ground. "Maybe we could try to work something out, get to know each other again." Using her foot to draw patterns in the carpet, she leans into me. I don't recognize this woman. She is so timid and shy. She's so...Jesse. Shit! Jess. I quickly take a step backwards out of her reach, and thankfully she doesn't follow.
"Start talking," I demand.
I have an unexplainable need to hear her out. My mind is racing but I'm not excited like I thought I would be at finally hearing those words come out of her mouth. A few weeks ago, I would have been at her mercy, ecstatic to have another shot at a life together. Only now, I feel apprehensive.
"Um, I just thought..." she trails off. Any hope that started to fill my heart quickly deflates when I see the humor twitch in her cheek. This is yet another one of her games.
"Fuck, Sarah!" I explode, unable to can't catch my breath.
This woman stands before me joking about missing me after the hell I have been through. Years spent holding on to hope that one day I would get my wife back, yet it’s all one big joke to her. The only thing stopping me from unleashing the brunt of my anger is that I know it's not her fault. I lost my wife, but she lost herself.
These games are a different story all together. I have every right to be pissed about this. She may not be able to control who she became after the wreck, but she made the decision to wage emotional war on me over the past few days. First with Jesse, and now with this bullshit. It’s drama upon drama where Sarah is involved. I have nothing left to say. I've already tried every possible combination of words to move past this. It's time to suck it up and admit there is no fixing us. At some point, you have to cut your losses and walk away, but I can't seem to convince myself the fiery woman who used to own my heart, is a complete loss.
I turn to walk out the door. I won't give her the satisfaction of seeing me react again.
"Brett, wait!" she says, softly laughing. "I meant it. Maybe not the way you want me to mean it, but I do miss you. You won't believe me, but I remember being happy with you. I remember the day you proposed. Jesus, that was corny. That whole Jeopardy thing." She laughs a little louder. "Seriously, that was cheese dick." I put my hands on my hips, assuming the position for her to sling hate filled words at me.