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Authors: Victoria Lexington

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JULIA

The next day should have been deemed a terrible day. I overslept and ended up getting to my first yoga class late. I felt out of sync during class; no one else seemed to notice, but I just felt out of sorts. Afterward, I was going to meet Liz for lunch, but right before noon I got a call from Arielle’s preschool saying that she was running a fever. When I picked her up, her face was flushed and she looked sleepy.

My first inclination was to be annoyed that my plans had changed, but instead, I felt bad that my baby girl was sick. I had been raised by critical parents; they were critical of me, of each other, and of the world in general. They saw everything in a harsh light. Ty was helping me to see things differently. Suddenly, my world looked brighter, and not just when I was with him. His positivity was rubbing off on me. My once empty glass was now half full. So I wasn’t upset that my day had been ruined. I was grateful I got to spend it snuggling with my best girl.

When we got home, I told her to climb into my bed and that I’d be right up. I made her a sippy cup with Gatorade and stuffed a couple lollipops in my pocket.

She perked up when I came back.

“I brought you some treats, sweetie.” I held out my hands so she could pick which flavor lollipop she wanted.

She pointed at the blue one. “In bed?” she asked, sounding surprised. She knew that Aaron forbade eating upstairs. I never really thought it was a big deal, and today, I decided to overrule the king.

“It’s fine, lovey. What movie should we watch?”

“Snow White?” she suggested.

“That sounds perfect, sweetheart.” I popped in the DVD and spent the afternoon cu
ddling with my baby girl. There was no place I would rather have been.

GABBY

At around 3 a.m., I woke up in a daze. It took me a few minutes to remember where I was and why I was there. Vodka was churning in my stomach, making it feel like it was turning back flips. I dragged myself to the bathroom and tried to throw up, but had no luck.

Floyd was passed out on the bed, and Todd was sprawled across the couch in the living room. I had to get out of there before they woke up and started in on me again. I grabbed my b
elongings and tiptoed out of the hotel room. As soon as I was on the other side of the door, I sprinted to my car.

I looked back, and thankfully, no one had followed me out. My keys were shaking in my hand as I started the car, and I sped out of the parking lot as fast as I could.

Steven didn’t expect me home until tomorrow after breakfast, so I couldn’t show up now, and certainly not in this state. With nowhere else to go, I checked in to the River Heights Motor Inn. The night attendant looked at me curiously, but what was he going to say? “Hey, lady, did you just get gang-raped?”

His sympathetic eyes told me he knew something was amiss, and he handed me my room key. “Here you go, Mrs. Smith. If you need anything at all, please don’t hesitate to ask.”

I thanked him and hung my head in shame as I walked to the elevator. When I was in my room, finally alone, I let it all out. I threw myself on the bed and started crying hysterically.

Actually, crying doesn’t really describe it. I was sobbing. My body hurt, my head ached, my insides felt like they were on fire, and my heart was shattered into a million pieces. No nightmare I’d had could have prepared me for how scared and horrible I felt. The worst part was that I had asked for this. I had wanted it. I had agreed to meet Todd, told him I had fantasized about a threesome. I was no better than a trailer park whore, and I deserved exactly what I got.

After two Amstel Lights and thirty minutes or so of body-racking sobs, I had to think clearly about my next steps. Sleep was the only thing that made sense, so I took a couple painkillers and curled up in the fetal position. The alarm was set for 8 a.m. so I could shower, have a little coffee, and be home when Steven expected me.

The alarm went off, but I don’t think I actually slept for more than ten minutes at a time. I woke up dozens of times feeling like I was being raped, over and over again. It reminded me of when I was a kid, and we used to go to the Jersey Shore Amusement parks. We would ride the rolle
rcoaster over and over again, and those nights my dreams were only of rollercoasters, my body reliving the high and now reliving the trauma. Would I ever sleep normally again?

I showered for thirty minutes, scrubbing myself as hard as I could, trying to erase the marks of my real-life nightmare. I couldn’t escape the smell of Floyd’s cigarettes or of his putrid breath. I couldn’t brush my teeth long or hard enough to erase the taste of Todd’s whiskey. I was scarred by the semen that was adhered to my leg and matted in my hair. Maybe I should have gone to the hospital and done a rape kit. Yeah, that would have been funny once Todd showed the police our texts. No one anywhere would believe that I hadn’t asked for this.

Shampoo cascaded off my hair onto the shower floor, mixed with my tears and the DNA of those monsters. The evidence washed away in a matter of seconds. If only my memory could be washed clean as easily.

My skin was raw from scrubbing; no matter what I did, I couldn’t erase the memory of last night. I decided to dry off. The mirror was all fogged up, but I needed to see myself. I needed to see what I looked like after being fucked by two guys. Surely I would look different. I grabbed the washcloth and angrily wiped the condensation off the mirror. And there I was: the world’s biggest whore staring at me in the mirror. My eyes were hollow and my nipples were bruised. I hated myself. I had never had such loathing for anyone or anything as I did at that moment.

The bottle of Amstel Light teetered on the edge of the sink. I grabbed it and took a swig of its tepid nastiness. I started to walk out of the bathroom and peeked over my shoulder at my reflection in the mirror.

“Stupid bitch!” I screamed and threw the bottle at the mirror. The mirror shattered into hundreds of pieces. I barely flinched. “Good,” my irrational mind thought. I didn’t have to see that slut again.

I got dressed in my Miss Me jeans, J. Crew Cardigan, and leopard print flats. I slapped on a little bit of makeup and jewelry, and now I was back to being Miss Happy Housewife of 90210. I wasn’t hungry, but I forced myself to eat a protein bar so I could absorb some of the vodka that was wreaking havoc on my stomach.

I sent Steven a text to check in with him.

 

GABBY: Hey, how are things at home?

STEVEN: Great, how was last night?

GABBY: Good, tiring, I’m beat.

STEVEN: Well, we’re off to church and then meeting my parents for brunch. Maybe you can go home and take a quick nap.

GABBY: Thanks, I will!

 

Now that was lucky, and Heaven knows I didn’t deserve it, but I was grateful for the chance of quiet at home. I sped back so I could relax for a while before Steven and the girls r
eturned.

I unlocked the door and stepped into my fabricated “reality.” Toys were strewn about the playroom floor, and breakfast dishes were stacked in the sink. The scent of waffles and syrup hung in the air. Of course, Steven played “Dad of the Year” when I wasn’t around and had made the girls a homemade brea
kfast.

The dishes and toys would have to wait. I needed to get in my bed immediately. Roxie, our twelve-year-old beagle, came meandering into my room. She kissed me and wouldn’t stop. Roxie always does that when someone gets hurt. She wants to mend, to heal with her love. Amazingly, I wasn’t even crying yet, but Roxie knew. She knew me, and she must have felt my wounds from the inside out. Roxie would forgive me, even if no one else would.

I cried for twenty more minutes and then decided I’d better get up and make myself presentable. I took another shower and tried to wash away the tears. Would any amount of water ever make me feel clean again?

How was I going to face Steven and Kerri and Katie? Would “whore” be written on my forehead for the world to see? Cleaning up the kitchen and playroom kept my mind off my mi
sery. Steven texted me to say they were on the way home. New makeup, new hair, clean house: I’d done the best I could.

Our reunion was uneventful. The kids smothered me with hugs and kisses and talked a mile a minute to fill me in on the details of their fun morning.

MARIA

The morning sunlight surged through the window. The warmth and promise of a new day felt great. But as the rays streamed through Enrique’s bedroom window, my headache was rea
ring its ugly head, making me all too aware of the difficult path that lay before me.

Enrique was in the shower when I got up, which gave me a few minutes to take some deep breaths and figure out what I was going to say to him.

He poked his head in to see if I was awake.

“Hey, beautiful. How’d you sleep?” Enrique walked over and sat on the edge of his bed.

“Did we actually sleep?” I joked.

He chuckled. “For some strange reason, I was exhausted. You know, burying your mom, making love to your long lost love . . . those types of things can really wear you out.”

I was cracking up and loved that he could joke when I knew how much he was hurting. I imagined that he had a lot of questions for me.

“Here, put on my robe and come have some breakfast.” He held it up for me, and it smelled just like him, a mix of his hair gel, cologne and his manly essence.

Coffee had never tasted so good. The caffeine and a side of buttered toast was all the courage I needed. I knew Enrique had questions for me that I had to answer.

“So Maria, are you going to tell me why you’re really here? Where do Zack and the kids think you are?”

“The kids are at Liz’s house, and I left a note for Zack saying I was visiting my grandma for a few days. I figured that would buy me some time to figure things out.”

“And has it? I love that you are here, but after last night I have a feeling you didn’t come here solely for my mom’s funeral.” Enrique’s eyebrows furrowed as he waited for my answer.

“I heard about you and Claire splitting up, and I had to see you. I had to look into your eyes to see if there was any hope for us. Do you ever wonder if you would do things differently if you could go back in time?” I needed to know.

Enrique inhaled and let out a deep
breath. “Yeah, of course. I’m divorced; I get to see my kids three days a week, every other weekend, and some holidays. This is not the life I’d imagined I would have. So yes, I do think that sometimes. Maybe there is an alternate universe out there where I made the right choices and I get to eat dinner with my kids every night and tell them a bedtime story before I kiss them goodnight.”

“So what would you have done differently? Would you still have married Claire?”

“That’s a hard one. Without her, I wouldn’t have Ashley and Brooke. I love my girls more than anything. So if I had to marry Claire to have my girls then yes, I’d do it all again. But if I could have married for the right reasons and still had these exact girls then no, I wouldn’t have married her.”

“It stings, doesn’t it?”

“Yes, it does. The reality of our lives can suck sometimes.”

“Why did you marry Claire in the first place?”

“I thought she was what I wanted. She was smart and confident, had her own great job. She didn’t need to be taken care of, and I admired her independence. I grew up the only boy and the oldest child in my family. My parents needed me; my sister always looked up to me. What I didn’t realize was that I need to be needed, and Claire never needed me. Not then and certainly not at the end of our marriage.

I started to resent her, and she said I was trying to control her. I don’t think that was true. Really, I don’t. I just wanted to be let in, to be part of her decisions, to be someone she could count on. But I realized when you’re that strong, that rigid, you become like a statue: pretty to look at but cold. And statues don’t need people to lean on.”

“I’m sorry, Enrique. That must have been a difficult realization,” I added.

“It was and it is. How fucking pathetic is it that I’m the needy one because I need to feel needed?” We both laughed. “I think that is why I am drawn to you, Maria. Not just because you are so beautiful and sexy. Which you are; don’t get me wrong. Take last night, for example. I just lost my mom, I was devastated and broken, and still you showed up, not afraid to be vulnerable with me. I knew from the moment our eyes met. And that, for me, that willingness to share yourself without any barr
iers makes me feel whole and loved.”

I was stunned that a guy could be so perceptive. Most men I knew were too preoccupied with their dicks or their jobs to observe something as subtle as need in a woman’s eyes.

I wasn’t going to bother denying anything that Enrique said. “You’re right, totally right. I felt and feel lost. I’m not sure if I still love Zack, and my kids are driving me nuts. Ever since we broke up last summer, I’ve been a wreck. I haven’t slept well in months, and when I dream it’s about home, about here . . . about you.”

“At first, I thought my dreams were just about wanting to come home, about seeing my childhood place, what I defined as security and love. But my dreams became less and less about my home and more and more about you. Don’t laugh, Enrique, but I felt like you were ‘calling’ me. Like you were watching the same moon and wishing upon the same stars as I was, wonde
ring what I was doing.”

Enrique nodded as I went on
.

“I’d sit outside on my back deck, drinking too much wine, and sometimes I’d see a falling star, and I’d make a wish. I pictured you making that same contemplative face you are making right now, wondering what I was doing. I felt like you told me to come here.” I searched his eyes to see if he thought I was crazy.

Tears were streaming down his stubbled face. He walked over to where I was standing. He held my face tenderly in his hands. “Maria, every night. Every night I prayed to God that you would feel me across the miles. I prayed that I wasn’t nuts that you were reaching out to me. That when I’d turn on the radio, it wasn’t a coincidence that “Faithfully” or “Open Arms” was playing.”

Enrique’s iPod was playing on the holder. At first I thought it had just been random songs, but then it hit me. The last three songs that played had been “Maria, Maria” by Santana, “Maria” by Michael Jackson, and “Maria” by Blondie. As I listened to the lyrics, I realized that these were some of the songs that were on my windshield week after week.

“Oh my God! Enrique! You? You are the one who put all those letters with the lyrics on my car?”

He just stood there smirking, his big, brown eyes twinkling.

“But wait, how? You live an hour away. How did you get them on my windshield like that?”

“I drove, baby. I’d have driven a hell of a lot farther to see your face light up like it did.”

“Wait. You mean you were there? You saw me get the letters?” My voice went up an octave.

He nodded. “Yup, every time. I’d wait across the street at that outdoor café and sip my coffee. I had on a baseball hat and sunglasses just in case you peeked over.”

“I don’t get it. Why didn’t you tell me you were there? You drove all the way to deliver them. Didn’t you want to see me?”

“Of course I wanted to see you. I felt horrible about having to break things off so quickly when Claire became suspicious. I had already hurt you so much. I just wanted to see you smile, and when I saw how happy you got after the first song, I decided I had to hand-deliver each su
bsequent letter. I wanted to kiss you and hold you and tell you I wanted to be with you.”


I wish you had, baby. I missed you so much.”


When Claire and I split up, I came to tell you in person, but I saw you with that young blonde guy. I thought you’d moved on. I thought you must hate me for leaving you the way I did. I knew if you ever wanted me, you would come find me.”

Tears were streaming down his face. “Maria, when you showed up at my house on Friday, I knew that yo
u finally came for me, amor. At least I had to believe that.”

“Enrique, I can’t believe you thought that guy meant anything to me. Baby, he was just someone I was seeing, a simple distraction from my broken heart.”

By now I was crying too. The past couple days were too much to hold in. We sat on the couch and cried again together. Two days ago we cried on our park bench for everything we lost. Today we were crying for everything we hoped was still there.

“So now what, Enrique? How would we even begin to try this? The logistics of our kids and the distance.”

Enrique grinned. “You remember what my mama used to always say when I’d say ‘I can’t’?”

“There is no try…there is only do.”

“Exactly! Listen, Maria, I work for myself. I can live anywhere. You’re the one who needs to work out the logistics. I have no doubts, amor. You need to make sense of all of this in your heart and in your head. You need to be sure you’re ready to leave your husband, your home, life as you know it. Kids on weekends, holidays without them, everything that comes with a decision like that.”

I paused for a second before I answered. “Do you know what peaceful feels like, E
nrique?”

“I think so.”

“I do. For me, it’s waking up in your bed, kissing your lips, looking into your eyes, knowing you see me. The
real
me. You see it all and you still love me. With you, I’m able to be myself. I don’t have to put up walls or pretend to be something I’m not. I can’t remember the last time I felt like I could do that. You don’t love me in spite of my shortcomings; you love me because of them.” I took a deep breath before I continued.

“Enrique, I feel safe and loved when I’m with you. And that makes me feel peaceful. I never knew how physically uncomfortable being unhappy was. I had accepted it as reality, as my life. But the contrast is so strong I can feel it in my body, in my bones. You make me feel whole. So yes, I will be giving up a lot by leaving Zack. My kids will be sad, and it will rip my life apart for a while. But I know I am doing the right thing because today, for the first time in a long time, I feel peace.”

Enrique smiled and the reassurance in his eyes told me he knew exactly what I meant.

The kids and I would be better off if I was happy and able to give myself to them when I saw them. Lately, I had been a horrible mother, feeling so empty without the kind of love I so desperately needed. Even though math was not my best subject, I knew one hundred percent of me fifty percent of the time was still a lot better than zero percent of me one hundred percent of the time. Suddenly, it didn’t hurt to be in my own skin because, for once, I was being true to myself.

I remembered in high school, when Enrique and I were together, we would say that neither one of us could ever be an “us” with anybody else. I didn’t realize the significance of that until we weren’t. But it was true: we were never truly an “us” when we weren’t together. Enrique and I belonged together. I couldn’t wait to be the “us” we were always meant to be.

I had to go to the hotel and grab my bag before I headed back home. Enrique and I kissed for a few minutes on his front porch, but none of the desperation or the questions were there anymore. I wasn’t worried that it would be our last time together. I knew it was just the b
eginning.

Enrique handed me a card. “Don’t open this until you get home, okay, babe? Drive safe. Call me when you’re home and settled.”

I hugged him one more time. “I’ll call you. I promise. Te quiero, Enrique.”

“I love you too.” He kissed me softly once more, and I was off to face Zack.

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