The Escape Collection: (The Escape Collection) (47 page)

“I’ll carry her up to her bed,” Jon whispered when we pulled into the driveway.
 

I nodded and gathered our things from the back seat.
 

***

I was putting the leftover cake into the fridge when Jon came into the kitchen with a wrapped box.
 

“You didn’t think I forgot about your present, did you?”

I did think that. “Of course not,” I said.
 

“Come here,” he said and put the box on the table.
 

I went to him and let him pull me into his arms. I inhaled his musky familiar scent and closed my eyes. It was nice. Especially after our argument. Maybe he did understand that I just wanted to feel close to him. I needed to remember that feeling. Sex would come. I nuzzled into his shoulder and let him hold me. Too soon, he released me, and handed me the box.
 

It was beautiful. Obviously a professional job because Jon couldn’t even square the corners of the wrapping, let alone manage the curly ribbons that adorned the package.
 

“It looks fancy,” I said and ran my fingers along the shiny surface
 

“Open it. I think you’ll like it.” He tried to suppress his smile. His excitement was contagious. I smiled and my fingers shook a bit when I slid them under the paper, popping open the seam.
 

Carefully, I peeled the wrapping away and exposed a pink box. It should have looked familiar, but I was too caught up in Jon’s excitement. I lifted the lid, pushed back the pink tissue and—

Lifted out a nightie. It was red. It was silk. It was small. It was nothing I would wear.
 

Ever.

I held it out by the straps, staring at it as if it would slink away. It didn’t.
 

“Well,” Jon said. “What do you think?”
 

I looked from the nightie to Jon. “Really?”

“Do you like it?”
 

He looked so eager, so earnest, that for a moment I thought I shouldn’t say anything. I had the sudden and completely bizarre notion of not upsetting him. Upsetting him. As if that was the problem.
 

“It’s a…”

“Negligee,” he finished for me. “I got the matching robe, too.” He reached into the box and pulled out a scrap of fabric that must have been the robe. He smiled as he held it out to me.

“Why?” I managed to say.

That’s when he looked at me, really looked at me. “You don’t like it?”
 

“I don’t…I guess… I don’t understand it.”

The smile fell off his face and guilt flooded through me. I should have liked his gift. But…it was a negligee. Was I really supposed to like a present so obviously for him?

“I thought it might make you feel better about yourself,” he said. “You know—sexy. The salesgirl said every woman should feel sexy about themselves, especially on their birthdays.”

“You discussed me with the sales girl?” I balled up the negligee and dropped it back into the box.
 

“Well, of course,” he said. “I mean, I had to get you a gift.”

“And when you thought of the perfect thing to get me for my thirty-fifth birthday, a silk nightie came to mind?” I couldn’t keep the edge out of my voice.

Jon held out the robe again. Instead of taking it from him, I let it fall to the floor. “I was just trying to get you something nice,” he said. “I thought you’d like it.” He kicked the puddle of silk and moved past me to the wine cabinet.
 

“Why would you think that?” I spun around to face him. “Do I usually walk around in silk lingerie two sizes too small?”

“Well, maybe you should,” Jon said as he popped the cork on a bottle of wine. He didn’t offer me any but poured himself a glass and drank deep. “Maybe if you wore something besides your sweatpants and old t-shirts to bed you might be in the mood for sex once in a while.”

“I knew it,” I said. “That’s what this is all about. It wasn’t a gift for me at all was it?” Anger boiled through me. It was my birthday, for God’s sake, and he was thinking only of himself and his need to get laid. I snatched the nightie from the box and threw it at him. “If you like it so much, you wear it.”
 

Jon’s wine splashed over the rim of his glass as he moved to catch it with one hand. “Becca, you’re being ridiculous.”

“Am I? Because I thought it was my birthday and this is quite clearly a gift for you. At least you might think it was until you saw me try and squeeze into it. Maybe I should put it on just so you can see what a bad idea it was. Here.” I tried to snatch the nightie back from him but he held it tight.

“Cut it out.” His voice was low with warning. Jon turned his back to me and tipped his head, draining his glass. He had no reason to be angry with me. I hadn’t bought him lingerie. My own anger burned brighter.
 

“I’m serious,” I said, not ready to let it go. “You know how I feel about my body, about…what the hell were you thinking?”

Jon slammed down his glass. “What the hell was I thinking? Maybe that I can’t remember the last time I had sex with my wife and that it used to be something we both enjoyed. Lately all you do is bitch and moan about how tired you are, or how you look, and I, for one, think you look fantastic.”

“Stop it.” I wrapped my arms around my middle.

“I won’t.” His face was hard. “I thought maybe if I bought you something beautiful to wear, you might feel good about yourself and maybe even a little sexy. And before you can say it again, I was not thinking of myself. It’s not just about sex, Becca. It’s about a whole lot more than that.”

I stared at him. There was nothing to say. My rage had burned out as quickly as the fuse had lit, leaving me with a headache that pulsed in my temples. I knew he was right. This wasn’t about lingerie anymore. I hated the gulf growing between us. We’d been inseparable from the time I’d met him in my second year of art college. He was in his senior year of commerce and ready to take on the world. Or at least the real estate world. He was handsome, charming, and the exact opposite of the art majors I’d dated. Jon had dreams and goals, but more than that, he cared about mine, too. Lying in his arms after making love every night, he’d stroke my hair while we talked. He’d ask me questions. So many questions. He wanted to learn everything. And he did. In only a few months, it felt like I’d been with him forever and I couldn’t imagine my life without him in it.
 

The memory of those days, so long ago, flashed sudden and unexpected. Looking at him, standing in the kitchen with anger burning in his eyes, his posture hard and cold towards me, it was impossible to remember that time. The girls had been a blessing in our lives but they’d also been the start of a life I was never sure I wanted. Jon was right; this was about more than just sex. A lot more.
 

We’d been happy. Foolish, young, and in love. When he graduated, Jon had taken a position at a local real estate firm so I could finish my art degree. He never told me pursuing painting was silly; in fact, he encouraged it. And for a while, everything was perfect. But two months into my final year, I missed my period. I was pregnant. Jon wanted to get married right away, so I dropped out of school, moved into a house on the edge of town, and planned our wedding in record time. At the time, I was so busy with wedding and baby preparations, I didn’t have time to think about everything I was giving up. No one realized until Jordan was born six months later why we rushed things. I hadn’t picked up a paint brush since, and the days of lying in each other’s arms, just talking, were a distant memory.

“You don’t have anything to say?” he asked me, jolting me out of my thoughts.

There was so much that should have been said. So much that we should have told each other. I looked at him and willed myself to say what I had been feeling. That I wanted that again. Those moments, the closeness. I wanted them back. And I wanted myself back, too.

I blinked hard and opened my mouth to tell him. “I’ll go pick up Jordan,” I said and looked away.

Before he could answer, I grabbed my purse from the table and left.

***

When I got to the theater, I still had thirty minutes before the movie was finished, so I parked and went next door to the bookstore. I might as well spend the gift certificate from Connie and Dad. As I pushed through the main doors, I inhaled deeply. I loved the scent of books. It calmed me. There was so much promise in all those printed pages.

 
I’d barely made it past the magazine rack when my cell phone rang. So much for a moment of peace.
 

“Becca?” Steph’s voice crackled over the line. “Happy birthday. I tried you at home, but you weren’t there.”

“Which is why you’re calling me on my cell.”
 

“Jon said you went out. He sounded mad. Or drunk. Or both,” Steph said. “What’s going on?”

I steered myself straight to the self-help section of the store. It’d been years since I’d read a novel.
 

“Nothing’s going on,” I said. “I didn’t like the present he got me and he got upset.” It wasn’t a total lie.

“Well, what did he get you? A power tool or something?”

“Worse—lingerie.”
 

“That’s awesome,” Steph squealed. “And you didn’t like it?”

“Of course I didn’t like it.” I stopped and made a detour into the sexual health section. I picked up a title. Lighting The Spark: Rediscovering The Passion For Your Partner. I put it back. I needed more than a spark. As Jon had pointed out, whatever was going on wasn’t about sex.
 

“Maybe you should tell him you want to come to Europe with me. Now that would be a good birthday present. Imagine the art galleries. The history. You’d love it.”

Of course I’d love it. I walked towards the travel section. Another area of the store I was unfamiliar with.
 

“So,” Steph was still talking,“what do you think?”
 

I tucked the phone under my chin and reached for the travel guide to Paris. “I think…,” I said, as I opened the book, landing on a page of the Louvre. So much inspiration within the walls, artists gathered outside, soaking up the greatness inside by sheer proximity. “It sounds great,” I said with a sigh. “But it won’t happen. I have kids, remember?”
 

I closed the book and returned it to the shelf. It was a nice dream. But it didn’t matter. I didn’t paint anymore.
 

“Well, it’s something to think about,” Steph said.
 

Because that’s what I needed—something else to think about.
 

“There’s no point,” I said.
 

I hadn’t realized I’d spoken out loud until Steph said, “Of course there’s a point. Maybe that’s what you need to get started painting again.”

“You don’t understand,” I said. “It’s not that easy.”

“Sure it is. Pick up a brush and get to it.” Steph laughed. She was always doing that. Making light of my life and how I handled it.

I stopped and watched a mother pull down a book for her young son. She handed it to him and hand in hand, they walked away. “You have no idea what it’s like,” I snapped. “You don’t have kids or a husband so you can’t possibly understand the demands I have on me every day.”

“Becca—“

“No. You think it’s so easy to just drop everything and run off to Europe. Well, it’s not, Steph. That might be your life, but it’s not mine.”

“That’s not fair.” I could hear the hurt in her voice and instantly regretted my outburst, but I couldn’t bring myself to apologize. What I’d said was true; she didn’t have a clue what it was like to be me.
 

“Steph, I gotta go,” I said instead. “I have to pick up Jordan in a few minutes.”

I clicked off the phone before she could say anything else. Or me. I’d already said too much.

A quick glance of my watch showed I wasn’t late yet. The movie would be finishing any minute, which meant it would take Jordan another five to get outside. I still needed a book.
 

I left the travel section and made my way back to the self-help aisle I was more familiar with. I ignored the parenting books for today. While that was usually the pressing issue, clearly, other matters had taken priority.

A red spine caught my eye. Reenergizing The Connection: Reconnecting With Your Spouse. Perfect. Maybe there was something more I could do? Of course there was something more I could do. It wasn’t just Jon’s fault we were so far apart. I was mature enough to shoulder some of the blame. Sometimes.

Flipping through the pages, a chapter heading jumped out at me. When Sex Is A Chore - How To Bring Back The Fire. I took it, and another book that caught my eye, Relationship Repair: How To Heal Life’s Important Relationships, to the front of the store. Maybe that one would have something on apologizing to a best friend.

The line at the till took longer than normal, but mostly because I stopped to flip through the magazines before I got there. I couldn’t help it—something about the glossy covers, showcasing delicious-looking dinners and perfectly put together living rooms, drew me in. I never actually bought them. I’d stopped doing that years ago. The magazines filled with pictures and articles on how to be a perfect wife and mother depressed me rather than inspired me. And the last thing I needed was anything else to feel bad about.
 

I was ten minutes late by the time I left the store and headed down the sidewalk to pick up Jordan. I knew she’d be mad, and packing attitude, so I braced myself for the teenage monster I was sure to meet. I was ready for a hormonal meltdown. I was ready to deal with crossed arms and eye rolling. What I was not ready for was what I saw instead.
 

***

“I don’t know what the big deal is,” Jordan yelled, as she stormed into the house.

“The big deal?” I said when I caught up with her. “Really?”

Jon came out from the kitchen and met us in the living room. “What’s going on? What’s the big deal?”

“There isn’t one,” Jordan said. She threw her hoodie on the couch and moved to go to her room.