Better Than None Page 19

  For the first time in my life, I was in a relationship. It might not have been the most conventional, but I wouldn’t have expected anything truly normal for me. So the fact that nobody knew about us wasn’t that strange to me. I think it would have been stranger actually saying the word ‘boyfriend’ out loud, so it was good I didn’t have to.

  Because I was my mother’s caretaker, there wasn’t much time to go out and do what most couples do in the beginning stages of dating. No movies and few dinner dates out. With the limited time that I had in a given day, he’d typically just come to my home after work. All those years of never having anyone over felt like they were fading quickly into the past for I wasn’t just in a relationship, I was actually playing house with someone. And I liked it. I was getting used to falling asleep and waking up with him. I was also getting used to what happened before, after and in between. Like so many other things with Brad, I was having sex on a regular basis for the first time ever. I was learning that it could be fun and playful, sweet and tender, rough and sexy. I was finally letting my guard down all the way to experiment with new things as well as relax and receive. What I was experiencing with Brad was so different than what I’d done my whole life, it was becoming clear that up until being with him, I really had no idea about sex and pleasure and intimacy.

  Unfortunately, the better things got with Brad, the worse my mother’s health declined. I’m sure if I were spiritual I’d see it as one relationship ending, making room for the one that was just beginning. But of course that wasn’t it. It wasn’t anything as beautiful as that. My mother was dying a slow, horrible, painful death. We continued the chemo, which did retard the growth, but didn’t shrink the tumor which meant it pressed on organs and ducts and systems that couldn’t handle its intrusion. Within the five months since her diagnosis, Barb had been in the hospital four times, underwent a couple procedures per visit, each stay making her weaker and weaker. They were necessary of course, but we both started to wonder just how much more she could take.

  I couldn’t help but feel guilty enjoying what was growing with Brad. Part of me wanted to share it with my mom, to talk about something other than her health so that she wouldn’t feel like there was nothing other than cancer. But I couldn’t. I couldn’t because he was her doctor, but more than that, I was still getting comfortable with the whole idea of a relationship. Not to mention the fact that he and I were still getting our bearings with each other. While for the most part we continued to move forward, there were still hiccups along the way where Brad would turn cold or I’d want to leave. Almost as soon as I’d feel my walls going up, we’d talk things through and resolve most issues before they became real ones.

  ****

  It was Halloween and given our pretending in his office, I thought it would be fun to dress up at home. I bought a sexy nurse outfit, put on the wig that I’d bought with my mom and Sherri and greeted him at the door.

  “Happy Halloween, Dr. Rosenberg, I’m Nurse Stephanie.”

  He stared at me, but not in the way I had hoped he would. I was getting used to his stares but this made me shrink back and want to retreat. It had been a while since I felt that way with him so my kneejerk reaction wasn’t anger like it used to be but confusion.

  “What the hell is that?” He spat.

  “I thought you might like me as a sexy nurse, that’s all.” This wasn’t going down as I had planned at all. I was trying to be sexy and somehow he was mad.

  “Take it off.” He said and looked at the ground. I took a step back, completely freaked out. I wasn’t afraid he’d hurt me, but there was something so angry in his tone.

  I started unbuttoning the outfit and he shook his head. “Not that. The wig. Take the wig off.” He could barely look at me but when he did, he obviously saw my fear and he softened.

  “I just like you the way you are, Steph. I want to be with you, not you pretending to be someone else.”

  That helped, but I was still shaken as I pulled the wig off. The minute I did he relaxed and looked me up and down, taking in the rest of my outfit. He motioned with his finger to turn around, which I did, and when I came back to facing him, he had the look I’d been hoping for. “Damn, you’re sexy Nurse Stephanie.”

  I tried not to wonder why the wig triggered whatever it did and once he started playing along I pushed his reaction to the back of my mind and didn’t consider it again. Something was changing with him, I just didn’t know what.

  ****

  Just as I started getting used to having Brad in my life, just as I started to truly let my guard down, I had a nagging feeling that all the steps forward that we’d taken were stalling out. I ran through a whole list of what could be happening, from me being extra sensitive due to the pill to perhaps our relationship was just taking its natural course. Things had gotten so good so quickly that maybe we were just plateauing. I had no one to ask and no point of reference. After the Halloween incident, we went from seeing each other most nights for a month to just a couple nights per week. And on those nights, he seemed like he was retreating, or more accurately, fighting some inner demon. I pressed lightly, but was typically met with long stares followed by an apology and then intense sex. It seemed like whatever was going on with him, he was able to temporarily forget it when we were in bed. I chided myself for worrying and chalked it up to all being part of a new learning process.

  I even tried to push myself farther outside of my comfort zone by asking him over. For that first month, he was almost always the one making the overture. But I thought perhaps he was tired of always doing the pursuing and maybe that he needed to see that I wanted him as much as he had wanted me. When I sent a Date 29 tonight? text, the few times I did, they were met with excuses of rough days at work or early morning meetings. I forced myself not to read too much into it even though in the back of my mind I knew I should.

  ****

  Bel Air after work?

  It was the first text that didn’t count the date number. Every time we’d get together, even though it typically just meant he was coming over, he’d text Date 17? or whatever the tally was. Each number that ticked up made me feel more and more like a normal person in a real relationship, and farther from the person I’d used to be. This text itself was terse, but that wasn’t all that unusual for the man of many changing moods. I chuckled to myself as I drove up the long hotel driveway that if he were a Native American, that would be his name. Kevin Costner was Dances with Wolves. Brad was Changes Moods with the Winds.

  It must have been a strong wind blowing that changed him into the man I saw sitting at the bar. This wasn’t the man I’d been falling in love with. Even from a distance it was clear that something had changed in him. His posture was rigid but his expression was defeated. I was almost afraid to walk up to him, but I took pride in the notion that whatever mood he was in, I’d be able to help him out of it. I liked that about our relationship. I could help him out of his funks and vice versa. I had started to believe that we were good for each other. Both fucked up, but if we worked together, we could figure things out, or at least our relationship. I had convinced myself that in our case, two wrongs could make a right.

  I berated myself for my insecurities and slid into the stool next to him. He barely regarded my presence as he glanced over his shoulder and then downed the rest of his drink. Ok, must have been a bad day at work. Perhaps a patient died. I worked with ad campaigns, so what did I know about dealing with life and death every day?

  “Hey, you ok?” I asked softly as I kissed his cheek. I tried not to take it personally when he flinched away from me, but this whole setup was starting to raise the hairs on my neck. I wasn’t very good at reading my own signs. I’d gone through my whole life not trusting my instincts, shoving them down and listening to something that I’d manufactured. Perhaps gut instinct was like a muscle. Those who learned to listen to theirs, to read the warning signs, see the red flags, could rely on their muscles like a sprinter could rely on the spring in their
thighs to propel them forward. I’d never developed those muscles. I was like a gangly foal learning to walk when it came to that which most people my age had already developed.

  Still, when he jerked away and didn’t look me in the eyes when he returned my “hey”, I started to realize that something was wrong. Very, very wrong.

  Scott caught my eye and already knew my drink. We communicated silently, but with a hell of a lot more warmth than what Brad was giving me.

  “Brad?” I asked tentatively. Part of me still wanted to say ‘fuck it’ and walk out, but I felt like I’d come so far, that we’d come so far. Neither of us deserved that.

  When he finally turned his body to me, I wished he hadn’t. The look in his eyes said it all. Whatever it was, it was bad.

  “I never expected this.” He said softly with a little slur, making me wonder how many scotches he’d had before I got there.

  “Expected what, baby?”

  “Don’t call me that. Not now.” He bristled and I froze. Rejection wasn’t something I had ever made myself ready or available for. I tried to sound strong when I spoke next.

  “Brad, what’s going on?” I stared at him, actually at the side of his face. He couldn’t even look at me.

  “My, my… oh fuck it, my wife’s cancer is in remission.” He spoke like he was delivering bad news even though, on the face of it, it was the exact opposite.

  I nodded, but was still shell-shocked enough by his mood not to say anything.

  “You know, she wanted the divorce because she thought that I’d stay with her out of pity. Even after cheating on me. And she didn’t want my pity. Fuck, she didn’t want me or my pity.” He chuckled to himself and signaled Scott for another.

  Then he looked at me square in the eyes. It didn’t matter how drunk he was, I understood the importance of what he was trying to convey.

  “I never signed the papers, Steph. I never legally divorced her.”

  “Okaaaay.” I still wasn’t clear where this was going as I downed half of my martini. They’d been separated and living apart for about a year. For all intents and purposes they weren’t a couple. Papers or not, it seemed to me that there wasn’t a marriage anymore.

  “She wants to get back together.”

  I let that sink in and drained the rest of my drink. I may not have known dick about relationships, but I knew enough to know that if he was telling me this, it was far past the stage of just her wanting it. I signaled Scott for another.

  “She’s beat cancer, Stephanie.” He said like I was supposed to understand that even though their marriage had been in the toilet, even though she cheated on him, none of that mattered. I nodded and waited for the other shoe to drop, because it was clear, there was more, and whatever it was, it was a doozy.

  “I’m sorry.” Was all he said and it was finally clear. He was going back to her. And the fucker didn’t even have the balls to say the words.

  Scott set my martini down and I smiled at him before I downed the entire drink in one smooth long swig. I felt it burn every part of me from my tongue to my throat all the way down until I could feel it burning my stomach. It helped being able to focus on that feeling, that brief pain. It was a slight distraction, but not nearly enough to eclipse what I was hearing. My head felt fuzzy from the vodka, but I was surprisingly clear.

  “You asked me here so that I could walk away.” I said flatly.

  He didn’t even try to deny it. “I’m sorry, Steph.” He said again as he looked down into his scotch. He couldn’t even make eye contact with me, he just kept talking to his glass. “I already failed her once. I’m the reason she strayed, the reason our marriage fell apart. I owe this to her.”

  What could I possibly say? Beg him not to go back to his wife who’d just beat cancer? Ask him why it was ok to fail me? Throw his words back into his face about the absurdity of owing someone when it takes two to tango? I could have said any or all of those things, but it wouldn’t have mattered. He’d made his decision long before I walked into the bar. Whether or not he was happy with it was on him. Though part of me, perhaps the most pathetic part, actually felt sorry for him. I felt sorry for him and he was dumping me. I didn’t blame him. It was hard to when he already looked so miserable.

  It felt like a joke, like some colossal joke. Of course, it wasn’t, but I laughed anyway as I shook my head. Fool me once shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me. So many years after getting my heart broken as a teenager, I felt as raw as though I was 16 again. Perhaps all those years of never letting anyone in weren’t so ill-conceived after all.

  I thought that I’d had the whole loaf with Brad. That’s what it had started feeling like once I’d become comfortable being with him. Not once did I feel like I was settling, not like my mom did over and over again. I had the whole loaf. And just like that, I had none.

  ****

  I shouldn’t have driven home, but I did. Slowly and carefully. It wasn’t a good excuse, but the thought of sitting in my car waiting while the alcohol wore off wasn’t an option this time. I forced myself to simply focus on the drive home and not play back the events in my mind and thankfully, I arrived home in one piece without hurting anyone else.

  Vincent and Claude thumped their tails and seeing them temporarily brought me out of my funk. I put on my running clothes and their leashes and set out. We never ran at night. Typically, they got a good run in the morning and a quick walk to do their business when I got home. But tonight was different. So we ran. And ran. Far past our usual turnaround spot until I finally realized just how far from home we were and only then did I turn back.

  I’d never run buzzed before and I was surprised at how well I did. The adrenaline seemed to be pumping even harder due to the alcohol, or maybe it was just the idea that I could outrun the hurt. I knew it was coming. I’d kept it at bay in the bar and on the drive home, and even on most of our run, but by the time we were within a half-mile of the house, the adrenaline finally died down and my legs started burning. But far worse than any of that was the hurt that washed over me. It was almost like an orgasm, but one of intense pain instead of pleasure. The hurt started in my core and radiated out until it touched every nerve ending, every single tiny spot on my body so that the last few blocks the hurt became more than I could hold in. It washed over me until I exploded into heavy, heaving sobs that wracked my entire body. I jogged as best I could as I choked and coughed out my cries, as the tears and snot fell, as my limbs felt numb, and my heart felt irrevocably battered and bruised.

  When I finally got home and inside the door, the dogs tore towards their water bowl and I sunk to the ground and cried for the rest of the night.

  ****

  There had been many a morning in my past where I had awoken completely numb from the night before. But those mornings were ones of shame and embarrassment. Surprisingly, the hollow feeling though was the same. It almost felt like something physical, like a huge hole inside me, and even though it was empty, I often imagined cutting it out, like if I could just take a knife and cut the hurt out, I’d feel better. Of course, the pain wasn’t physical no matter how much I actually felt.

  I had tried to protect myself for so long, though it was never really protection at all, it was simply avoidance, or perhaps trading one kind of pain for another. So whether it was because of lack of practice or the simple truth that my heart had been broken, the pain that I felt this time was far, far worse. All I wanted to do was stay in bed and wallow, sleep, but the reality was that I had Barb to take care of and perhaps knowing that was the swift kick in my ass that I needed. So I got my heart broken. So what. It happens every day. It’s what country songs are written about. It’s a rite of passage, or so I’d been told. I chuckled to myself that this was one more first that I shared with Brad, he was the first man to ever truly break my heart. I was tempted to text him, but ego and pride prevented me from doing anything so foolish.

  While I felt like shit as I processed everything, I took solace in the notion th
at it wasn’t me he was rejecting. It was her he was choosing, but not because he didn’t want me anymore. The outcome was the same, but thinking this helped soothe my ego a bit.

  My pity-party and wallowing were quickly dismissed when I got to my mom’s house. I almost threw up when I saw her. She was shaking violently, uncontrollably, her limbs flailing. When I touched her, she was burning up.

  “Mom! Mom! Mooooommmmm!” I screamed but she didn’t respond. She just looked at me as she continued to shake and jerk. The cats were meowing and the dog was doing her happy growl as she pawed at me all begging to be fed. Their sounds and the beating of my heart all seemed uncontrollably amplified inside my head as I wrestled between calling 911 and racing her to the hospital myself. It wasn’t yet 6am and I knew I could get her to there faster and the thought of waiting until an ambulance arrived was unimaginable. I probably wasn’t thinking clearly, but I’d made my decision.

  Whether it was the adrenaline or years of working out or the fact that she was barely 100 pounds now, I scooped her up and walked as fast as I could, without banging her head down the hallway, out the front door and into my car. I barely even remember the drive to Saint Joes, and if it had been at any other time of day it could have taken a half hour, but at that time of morning, we got there in less than 15 minutes. As fast as I was driving, with her shaking and shaking it felt like the ride was interminable. When we finally got there I lifted her out of her seat and ran through the double doors and into the emergency room. The person at the front desk was useless.

  “We need a doctor, NOW!”

  “Ma’am, I’m going to need you to calm down.”

  “GET ME A FUCKING DOCTOR NOW. MY MOTHER IS DYING!”

  “Ok, ma’am, I’m going to have to ask you to”

  “HEELLLPP MEEEEEE!!!!!! HELLLLPPP!” I screamed and finally nurses and doctors came running out. I wasn’t about to waste my time with some admin person who needed me to fill out a form.