Before I Ever Met You

“Will, be reasonable.”


“Reasonable?!” I yell, my face going red, every part of me growing hotter and hotter, and I’m ready to rip this railing right off the balcony. “You’re my fucking wife. You’ve been cheating on me. You fucking lied to me!”

“I never lied, I—”

I shove my finger in her face, aware that I’m spitting on her as I speak. “You told me you didn’t want children. I know that’s your right and I went along with it to please you, and I know it’s your right to change your mind, but that child should be mine!”

“I didn’t lie!” she yells back, as lights flick on from our neighbor’s house and I know they can hear everything. I don’t fucking care. Let them all hear. “I just didn’t want kids with you.”

I know she regrets it the moment she says it. But it doesn’t matter.

Everything comes to a stop. I can’t even feel my heart beating in my chest. It’s like I’m being submerged in concrete and it’s rising, rising fast.

“I’m sorry,” she says quickly, rubbing her slender hands down her face. “I didn’t mean it like that, it’s just I . . . I thought I knew what I wanted. And I know you hate me right now and I’m sorry. I never wanted to hurt you, Will. You’re such a good man, such a good husband.”

I burst out laughing. It feels like acid in my mouth.

“Such a good husband that you have to go fuck the first man you see?”

She looks reprimanded. I go on. “How long has this been going on for? Tell me. Be honest now, completely honest, it’s the fucking least you could do.”

“A few months,” she says quietly, looking away.

“And you’re already pregnant . . .”

She nods. “Will. I’m so sorry. It wasn’t planned . . .”

“You can be as sorry as you want, Sasha. It doesn’t change a thing.” I shake my head, trying to pretend this is all a nightmare. But it’s not. It’s reality. And if I’m honest with myself, it was a long time coming, even if I didn’t see it happening this way.

Fuck. This is killing me.

“Does he know?” I whisper.

“Yes,” she says. “I told him yesterday. I didn’t want to tell you until tomorrow.”

“Well happy fucking birthday to me.”

“I’m so sorry.”

I turn away from her, walking back into the bedroom. “Please stop saying that.”

“But I am.”

“And I don’t fucking care,” I sneer, whipping around to face her as she stands in the doorway. “I can’t believe you would do this to me.”

“You had to know.”

“What?”

“What I mean is, things haven’t been right between us for some time, and I know you know this. It takes two to tango.”

I blink at her, utterly baffled. “Fuck you.”

“I’m not saying it’s your fault, I’m just saying . . .”

“And I’m saying fuck you,” I tell her. “There’s a thing called communication.”

“Yeah there is, and you didn’t use it much either.”

I throw my hands up, so ready to put my fucking fist in the wall. “I’m not sleeping here tonight. I’m not sleeping here any other night.” I give her my hardest glance, hoping she might turn to stone. “This is on you, Sasha. Maybe we could have communicated better, maybe I could have tried harder, but this is on you, okay? You fucked around. You got pregnant.” Another wave of rage rolls through me. “Jesus. You’re going to have someone else’s child!”

I press my knuckles into my forehead, pinching my eyes shut. “I did all of this for you, all of this for you! Moved here when I didn’t want to. I was happy in Vancouver. I bought this house when I would have been happy with our last condo. I got a fucking vasectomy because you didn’t want children. I did it all for you. Gave you every part of me these last fifteen years. And look where it’s got me.”

She’s not saying anything. I suppose it’s a blessing. It’s better than her just apologizing again.

“Fifteen years,” I go on bitterly. “I loved you for fifteen years. And yeah, maybe the last few we failed a bit. We lost the way. But you either grow together or apart.”

“And we grew apart,” she finishes, her eyes shining in the dark. “And there is no going back.”

I stare at her, my whole world crashing around me. Then I head to the dresser, grabbing some things and shoving them in an overnight bag.

She watches silently as I pack. It matches her silence from earlier today. All this time, all while people were wishing me a happy thirty-ninth birthday, she was carrying her lover’s baby inside her, counting down until when she could tell me.

God fucking damn.

When I’m done packing and scoop up my work bag and laptop, I give her one last glance. “I’ll be at a hotel. I’ll get a lawyer in the morning. I assume you’ve already planned for this and are using Martina.”

She doesn’t say anything. Figures she’d swipe our lawyer first.

Then I head out the door. I know that when the time comes for me to return she won’t be there.

But she will be at work. Monday to Friday. Like clockwork.

The thought nearly chokes me on the spot.

When Sasha joined Mad Men Studios as general manager of the LA office, I never imagined it would backfire on me. I never thought I’d get divorced. Never thought we would be anything other than a married couple working together.

Now I’m not only losing her, my wife, I might be losing my very job.

Happy birthday, fucker.





1





Jackie





Are there ever “firsts” that aren’t absolutely awkward and nerve-wracking?

There’s the first day at school (pee your pants, have the kids call you “Jackie Pee Pee” for the rest of the year).

There’s the first kiss (teeth clacking, not enough lip, zero tongue control).

There’s the first time you have sex (not enough lube, over in one minute).

There’s the first time you get drunk (vomit in someone’s shoes, wake up in a neighbor’s water fountain).

And then, of course, the first day at a new job.

In particular, your first day at a new job that could provide a fantastic opportunity for you and change your whole entire life.

That kind of a first day at a new job.

And to say that I’m a nervous wreck is a ridiculous understatement.

I stare at myself in the bathroom mirror and take a deep breath in through my nose, out through my mouth, like they try and teach you during yoga, only I’ve never taken a yoga class in my entire twenty-five years. I’m starting to think that maybe I should, if it can help prevent me from hyperventilating.

“You’ve got this Jackie. Breathe,” I tell my reflection, hoping no one can hear me. It’s a full house these days.