I Love My Side of the Story (5 page)

A Tuesday Night – Early Summer

The Night David Dumped Jessica

“Honey, I
just think you could be a little more proactive, that’s all,” I say as I hand-wash
a pot in the sink, doing my best not to get suds on my favorite silk summer dress.
I wore this because Josh complimented me in it once, and I was hoping that he’d
see it and jump my bones. No such luck. We’re having a bit of dry patch lately
– okay for weeks now – and I don’t know why. It may be because
since the commercial, he’s not booked anything, even though I keep suggesting
there is more he can do to get himself out there.

“I had
two auditions this week, Amber,” he calls from the couch where he sits with his
laptop opened up to something inane on YouTube.

I almost
sing, in an effort to not sound bitchy, “Do you think maybe you could help me
with the dishes?”

He
strains his head to see over the island and slouches back down saying, “You’re
almost done.”

Oh man. I
am
almost done, but that’s not the
point. I’m self-sufficient but this is nuts-town. Right after he moved in, he’d
wash the big pots. Then he’d just dry them. I washed them first, because he’d
let them sit for days if I left them. He’d empty the dishwasher, but then less
and less often. I didn’t notice he’d stopped until five nights in a row came
with no help... me doing all the work. I’m such a cleaner that it didn’t occur
to me I was all alone in this venture.

It took
less time to realize sex was dwindling. That I noticed right a-fucking-way
because when you go to bed with your new live-in boyfriend who used to jump
your bones every single night… and you only see his back, and moans are
replaced by snores, you know you have a problem. He likes to say he’s too
tired, when I ask him about it. Tired from what, I don’t know.

“You
haven’t asked me about the job I’m working on,” I say.

“What job
are you working on?” he repeats like a parrot. I think he just mocked my voice
a little.

I choose
to ignore the voice-mock. Maybe I imagined it. “They brought me in to cast a
pilot. It’s a rough job...everyone speaks Spanish. It’s for Telemundo. Do you
speak Spanish? I’ve never asked you.”

“Nope.”
He didn’t even look up when he said that. We both know he doesn’t speak
Spanish. But I’m not screwing myself, like I did with that film. I want
him
to screw me, and sometime this
century. My body is screaming at me daily, and I just pat myself down. Over and
over. With my bittersweet vibrator.

I rinse
off the final pot and call out, “Me neither, but Annie has a friend who’s
fluent so we’ve added her to the budget. She’s been amazing. Such a cute girl,
and such a hard worker.”

“Unlike
me, you mean,” he mutters.

I jolt and
splash myself all over the front of my dress. Well, so much for looking good. Grabbing
a towel and wiping furiously I shoot out, “That’s not what I meant, Josh.”

“Sure it
is,” he says flatly, head down. It’s like I’m dealing with a teenager!!

“You know
what? I don’t know what is going on with you, but I don’t like being talked to
like this. Especially when I’m over here cleaning your mess!” I storm out of
the kitchen, past him and into the hallway. Oh my God. I’m his mother.

“Amber!”

I flip
around and see him standing there. I’m surprised the laptop isn’t stuck to his
pants, fused permanently! I motion to my wet dress and give him an angry look
that says, don’t mess with me right now, buddy. I turn around and walk past the
bathroom, into our bedroom and shut the door hard. I don’t slam it. Okay, I kinda
slam it.

“Amber?”
he asks through the door, afraid to come in.

“I’m
changing, Josh. And I need a minute to cool down before I say something mean.
Unlike you, I don’t want to be a jerk today.” I tear off my dress, my bra, my panties;
pull out my comfiest sweats and a tank top. I need a little softness.

He waits
silently for a second and then, “Amber. I’m sorry I used that tone with you.
It’s just hard because the auditions haven’t been going well. It ain’t easy, ya
know?”

Sliding
the tank over my head, I look at the closed door to where my love is standing
on the other side. I shake my head and sigh. I wish I could help him, but I
don’t know how. I walk over. He’s leaning on the other side and almost falls in
on me as I open the door. I would call him in for this TV pilot if he spoke
Spanish. I plan to call him in for everything I ever work on now. Not that he
knows this, but I don’t reward men for acting like babies. He stands straight
and smiles sheepishly as I lean on the door jam. “I’m sorry Josh.”

“Me too.”
He pushes a bit of hair away from my forehead. “We’ve been doing a lot of
things with David and Jess lately…”

I add,
“And Nico and whoever her guy of the moment is…”

“But when
we’re here, we’ve been kind of separate. You want to watch a movie tonight?”

“Go out
and watch one?” I ask, hopefully.

“Oh… I
was thinking just here, on the couch. You and me…” he smiles so cute, I don’t
want to say no. Plus I’m fucking ecstatic he’s making an effort to spend time
with me.

“Sure.
That sounds nice,” he goes to kiss me, but I say, “Oh no. I have to brush my
teeth after the pesto.”

I have no
idea why, but an impatient look flashes over his face. “Okay. I’ll be in the
living room.”

“Great.” You
know what. I’m just going to let that look go. In the bathroom, I hear a quiet
knock at the front door. Josh always answers at night, so I put the toothpaste
on my toothbrush and am just about to put it in my mouth when I hear a very
worried Josh yell, “Amber?!”

“Yeah,
honey?” I step out of the bathroom, my toothbrush primed in my hand and ready
to go. Standing before me is my Jessica, wearing pajama short shorts, a
t-shirt, her favorite sneakers… and her face covered in dried tears and shock.
Her eyes are swollen and pain-filled, propelling me forward to pull the poor
thing into my arms. She breaks down as I hug her. Over her shoulder I see Josh,
looking worried. He takes the toothbrush from my hand so I can hold her tighter
and makes a gesture asking if he should go to the bedroom. I gesture back that
that’d be great -
thank you
–
and tighten my grip on her, leading her to the living room to set her down on
my couch. I grab the entire tissue box and give it to her. “I’m going to get
you some wine, honey. I can call Nicole, too. Do you want me to?”

She nods,
tears streaming. She is breaking my heart. I run over to the kitchen, open the
fridge, pour three glasses of wine; one I leave in the fridge to stay cold. I
pick up my phone that’s plugged into the wall where I always leave it, and text
Nico. I go back and hand her the chardonnay, put my hand on her leg, and
inhale. In a huge stream of consciousness that would barely make sense to
anyone but someone who knows her really well, Jess tells me the whole story. I
am stunned. I shake my head at parts. Nod at others. And all in all say, “I
can’t believe it. What a jerk,” over and over, meaning every word.

When
Nicole comes, Jess says it all again, and it helps her… as much as it can. They
say shared joy is double joy and shared sorrow is half sorrow. We do the best
we can, but both Nico and I share looks knowing that it is about to be a rocky
path for our girl. This kind of betrayal you do not bounce back from quickly.
When Jess, sobs, “I can’t go back there.”

“You’re
staying here with us, until we find you a place.”

“I was
going to offer, too. Either way. We’ve got you,” Nicole assures her. I nod, as
Jess looks from one of us to the other with gratitude and helplessness.

“I can’t
believe…” Jess trails off, her eyes clouding over, distant. It’s as if her body
just shut down. Nicole and I look at each other again, worried.

“Whatever
you need. I’ll go get some clothes for you tomorrow,” Nicole says.

“I’ll
find a place for you. Annie can help me because her brother is a broker.”

Jessica
doesn’t reply. I don’t know if she heard me, but that’s okay. All I want for
her is to know she’s taken care of – and she must know that.

“Honey,
why don’t you lie down,” Nicole suggests gently.

“Let me
take that,” I remove the suspended still-full glass from her hand and bring it
to the kitchen. We watch as Jessica sinks down to a lying position. Nicole
scoots to the end of the couch, pulls up our girl’s feet onto her lap, and
takes off her sneakers. I run to get a blanket and cover her. Nicole stays on
the couch, her hands on Jessica’s legs on her lap for comfort, just so she
knows she’s not alone. I sit down in the chair.

Soon Jess
falls asleep, but we don’t move. Josh, hearing the silence, comes out to see
what’s happening. Nico keeps her eyes on Jessica as I look to Josh and mouth
the word David. He nods, and leans on the wall, looking at our sleeping
heartbroken friend. With friends like us, she’s in good hands.

 
Present Day

Jess stayed with us until Annie’s brother, the
broker, showed me a cute little apartment in the East Village that was perfect
for her. I went to their old place with Nicole and faced David for what I hope
will be the last time. How do you cheat on someone who loves you? I will never
understand it. David wanted to explain etc. Nico and I wouldn’t have it.
Fending him off was immensely annoying because all I wanted to do was scream at
him. I didn’t, though. Truth? You never know if your girl is going to get back
with a jerk, so you can’t do anything she’ll hate
you
for, if she does. It’s a sad fact of life, isn’t it?

Josh was great right after that. I’m sure seeing the
disintegration of a relationship we were so close to, and one we thought was
rock-solid, made us cling to each other more than a little. That and for a
while I thought my losing that job was the answer to the prayer I sent up, the
one to help Josh and me.

But then the shiny
we don’t want to be like them
effect wore off, and maybe the prayer
too, because Josh now treats me like he’s holding a grudge. He’s definitely
trying to make me pay for something – or holding back his affection and
attention as some form of punishment. It’s driving me to insanity!

There were a couple times other than the normal
slow-fade to disinterest where he pushed the limits to see what I would take,
like the time we had lunch with my parents when they came to town. He’d backed out
of it at the last minute, then showed up right before the check arrived, all
apologies. Since he’s charming and handsome, my mom forgave him on the promise
that he’d have a cocktail with us. Since he bought the cocktails, my father
forgave him next. After a few drinks and some cigarettes (dad still fails to
quit smoking to this day) the three of them were best friends, but I didn’t
forget his rudeness. I let him know with my lack of gaiety that I wasn’t
impressed.

Then there was the time I walked in and found him
rehearsing a scene from his class with a pretty blonde who looked more Russian
to my Irish. I had known he was working on a scene but I didn’t know her tits
were the size of Montana. Time to go, Natasha or whatever your name is, said my
stomping foot. He looked pretty amused at that one, so I knew I didn’t have
anything to worry about. But the fact that he was testing me was really
beginning to get on my nerves. And like I said, none of the sexy tactics I
tried helped. We did have one rabbit-sex quickie in the middle on the night
recently, but that soooooo does not count as affection let alone sex. I don’t
even know what it was.

So last Saturday, when Nicole and I escaped to get
a drink near Jessica’s place in hope to catch her after work? I held myself
back from venting to Jess and asking for her help. It wasn’t easy, but I didn’t
want to crash her high! I’m so excited for her. Really. Nicole and I love her
new man. She’s been through so much. How could I bring up my stupid problems to
ruin the party? I couldn’t. And then with the frenzy of Fashion Week’s final
days, we couldn’t get together. It finally ended yesterday but when I called
her, she said she couldn’t see me tonight since she’s spending time with him.
Maybe tomorrow
, she’d said?

I don’t blame her. I just need her.

 
“Honey, you didn’t put the lettuce in the
crisper again. Remember, it goes bad faster if you leave it on the shelves like
this.” I open the drawer and drop it in. There’s more than enough room in the
stupid drawer. Why doesn’t he just use it? I quickly reorganize everything
– especially the open bag of bread. How hard is to twist and close
it?
 
I look over to see if he heard
me, if he has anything to say for himself. No reaction.

“Josh?”

“Okay.”

I frown deeply. He’s never going to put the
lettuce in there. I
know
it. “What
are you reading, honey?”

“Nothing. The news.”

I look again to the refrigerator but the thought
of cooking sounds horrible. I’ll cook and then he’ll want to watch TV as we eat.
And if I ask him not to, he’ll act like I’m burdening him, which nobody wants.
Then I’ll clean up because he likes to put anything that could be remotely
regarded as work, off for as long as possible.
Let’s just do it in the morning
, is his motto. I can’t go to bed
with a dirty kitchen. It makes me feel bad. Plus, it’s gross.

My eyes fall on a photo of Josh and I, taken a few
months before we moved in together. I think it was even before we’d said
I love you
. Such a cute photo; we’re
standing on the Brooklyn Bridge wearing winter coats with Manhattan in the
background. We look happy, him behind me with his hands in the front pockets of
my jeans. My head is rested against his chest because that’s how high it
reaches. We’ve got huge smiles on our faces. The tourist who’d taken the photo
had asked
just get engaged
? Josh told
her,
not yet
and had kissed me on the
crown of my head. Awesome fucking day. Unlike this one.

Tearing my eyes away from the past, I fold the
empty reusable bags and tuck them under the sink. Even though he’s right over
there, I feel lonely. How did we get here? I look to the garbage. It’s past its
due date. “The garbage is starting to smell, honey.”

“Yeah, it is,” he mumbles.

Yeah… it
is?
Awesome. Alright, fine. They
say if you can beat him, join him, right? Maybe I can reach through to him by
feigning interest in the stupid news, which I hate with every fiber of my being
because it’s so incredibly depressing. “You reading anything interesting?”

He looks up, surprised and I smile for the
attention. I have to admit, he’s very cute; soft dark brown hair cut shorter
now, green eyes, strong chin inherited from his father’s side. I am very much
in love with him, regardless of our current state. He makes my heart skip and
my stomach flip when he looks at me sometimes. This is one of those times.

“On the news?” he asks.

My smile grows wider. “Yeah,” I say, thinking maybe
I’ll get a little action tonight. That’d be a nice change. I lean my hip on the
counter in an attempt to look seductive and aloof. While smiling.

“Are you serious? It’s everything that’s going on
in the world, Amber. Of course it’s interesting. What’s happening in Egypt is
terrifying. Unemployment in America is ridiculous. Our government is insane.
It’s not exactly
shopping
, but it’s
pretty interesting.”

Ouch. Ouch. Ouch.

Not so cute anymore. Fucker.

I lean deeper onto the counter in discouragement
as that stomach flip turns into an ache. “Sorry for interrupting.”

He turns away and shakes his head like he’s
dealing with a moron. He’s right. I am a moron because what have I been doing
for weeks now? Nothing. Have I been speaking up, other than the hints I think I
constantly give? Nope. Has he been reciprocating anything at all, what so ever?
Nope.
Amber… what are you waiting for
,
I ask myself. The answer slams into my consciousness with a strength that is
shocking.

I walk to where I left the bag of Gala apples on
the built-in island that separates us. I rest my hands on the counter beside
the plastic bag, my fingers very close to a shiny red apple with his name on
it. I brace myself to give him one last chance, and ask steadily, “Honey. Wanna
do something tonight?”

He doesn’t look up as I tear open the bag, pull
one out, small and perfect, and listen to his response with it bouncing in my
hand. “I’m beat, babe. I wanna watch television tonight.”

Huh. You want to watch television tonight? Of
course you do. This apple has a good weight to it. I was pretty good at
softball when I was in middle school. I hated playing it. I wanted to be a
ballerina but my dad said,
only sissies
dance on their toes
. He’d wanted a boy and I wouldn’t dare disappoint him
again by not acting like one, so softball it was. Looks like it’s going to
serve me after all.

I gauge the distance. I can nail him easily, despite
lack of recent practice. Maybe fury and disillusionment helps one’s aim?

“You sure, honey?” I ask, smiling.

Annoyed, he mumbles into his laptop, “Yep.”

“That’s what I thought.” I reach my right arm
back, get some strength and balance behind my throw. Then I take focus, aim, and
let it rip.

The apple misses Josh completely and hits the
computer, knocks it right off his lap!

He turns to me, amazed, mouth wide open. “WHAT THE
FUCK!”

I purse my lips, shrug and say, “That’s what I
think of your fucking laptop, honey. I’m through. I’m done. DONE.” I pick up my
bag from the counter; flounce out of the kitchen and into the hallway. Do I
look back? Hell no. I grab a coat that’s waiting quietly on the hook, throw it
over my arm and I’m out the door.

“AMBER!” he calls but the sound is muffled as I
run down the stairs.

I don’t have to take this shit. I’m done.