“I did. But I don’t want some man stretching out my favorite pair of yoga pants and sexy underwear. I don’t care if he’s wearing a thong, it just better not be mine.”
I smirked. Even so, the curve of my mouth felt sad. Everything about me felt sad, forlorn, helpless. I hated the helplessness most of all.
“What am I going to do, Marie? How can I just sit here and do nothing?”
I heard her exhale, but she said nothing for a long time. I pressed the base of my palms into my eye sockets and rubbed.
“Sometimes,” she started, stopped, exhaled again. “Sometimes doing nothing is what we’re called to do, I think. Does that make sense? In any relationship, sometimes we play the lead, and sometimes we follow.”
“He left me,” I said to the dark, and it sounded like a confession. I added, speaking mostly to myself, “He’s always leaving me.”
“Why does he leave you?”
“He would say he left me for my own good, to protect me. But I don’t need his protection.”
She was quiet for a moment, then asked, “What do you need? From him?”
I huffed a laugh. “You mean other than for him to live so I can murder him?”
“Yes. Other than that. I know you love him, but what do you need from him?”
So much, I wanted to say. So much more than he is giving me.
Instead I said, “Why do you ask?”
“Because he said something this morning—”
“Wait, you talked to Greg too?”
“No. I listened in on his call with Alex and that CIA prick, Spenser Banks—what a fuckwad. What’s his deal anyway?”
I ignored her dislike for my former handler. “What did Greg say?”
“When Alex asked Greg why he didn’t want you to help move the money and accompany him and Dan to Lagos, Greg said, ‘I need her much more than she needs me.’”
I closed my eyes, a heavy weight settling on my chest, my eyes stinging. “How can he be so clueless?”
“Have you told him?”
“What?” I asked, my throat dry and my stomach in knots.
“That you need him?”
I started to say, Yes, all the time. But then I stopped myself. Because I couldn’t remember the last time I’d admitted to my husband, I need you.
I remembered the last time he’d said it, just this morning at the hospital in Enugu. Before that, he’d said it at least twice while we were in Chicago. In fact, he was always saying it. This realization made me feel miserable.
Finally, I answered Marie’s question. “Not enough. I haven’t told him enough.”
After my admission, we were silent for a time. I promised myself the first words out of my mouth to Greg the next time I saw him were going to be, I need you.
“I think David left me because I was too independent,” Marie said. She was referring to her ex-boyfriend. If memory served, they’d been together for seven or more years. He’d left her last spring after she wrote an article about body builders and their small penises.
“Some men need that, I think. They need a woman to need them, depend on them for all decisions, crave their approval and praise.”
“Perhaps some men prefer to nurture rather than be nurtured.” My offered thought was an echo of Greg’s earlier wisdom.
“Exactly. David was a nurturer. I didn’t need constant nurturing.”
“Because you’re a nurturer, too?”
“Maybe . . .”
“What do you need, Marie?”
“I don’t know . . . I know what I’d like, but I have no idea what I need.” She sighed loudly and the cot below me creaked. We were quiet for a moment before Marie blurted, “I was worried about you, Fiona.”
I smiled into the darkness. “I was worried about you, too. Thank you for coming down here, for all your help.”
“I don’t know how much I’ve helped.” She laughed self-deprecatingly and then stretched. “Can we hug now? I think I need a hug.”
I was already climbing down from the top bunk when I answered, “Sure.”
Marie stood and we reached for each other, nearly bumping noses. I was soon enveloped in the soft warmth of my friend’s embrace. She always gave high-quality hugs—lingering tight squeezes with her entire body. I leaned into her, recognizing almost at once how badly I needed to be held by someone who loved me.
A decision formed and was instantaneously ratified by my brain. I would stop rationing my needs and wants. I would no longer use cake to rationalize calling Janie for a car when faced with blizzard conditions. If I needed a hug, I would announce to my people, I need a hug! And then I would accept a hug. Or perhaps several hugs.
And I wouldn’t feel guilty about it.
Just as Marie and I separated, but before I could thank her for the embrace, a succinct knock sounded on the narrow door leading to the surveillance space.
Dan stuck his head into the room, saying in a rush, “Fiona, they’ve arrived, Greg is talking.”
CHAPTER 19
Dear Wife,
I'm sorry I'm the worst. I love you.
<3 -Your Husband
Letter
Alabama, USA
Married 3.5 years
Present Day
Fiona
“What happened to the transmission?” I glanced between Dan and Quinn. “Why can’t I hear anything?”
“We just had it,” Quinn cursed, fiddling with the frequency settings.