Page 37 of I Do With You

I don’t know why I care. Force of habit, I guess. Maple Creek is a small town where everyone knows everyone’s business, and I’d be lying like cheap linoleum if I said I wasn’t usually part of the town’s grapevine. Goodness knows, people start treating me like their personal therapist while I’m scraping their teeth, so I’ve heard some doozies. I’ve just never been the focus of it. Gotta say, so far I’m not a fan.

“Stop, stop, stop,” Mom orders, waving her hands back and forth to hush me and Joy. “Let’s go back. To the wedding, or before, or wherever we need to go for you to explain what had you running like Usain Bolt for the trees, looking like you’d seen a ghost. I need to know about that.”

This is gonna be hard. I knew it would be. I don’t want to disappoint them, but I also can’t force myself to live a life I don’t want. And I’ve come to realize that I don’t want the life with Roy that I planned. The only thing left to do is admit that and pray they understand.

“I want you to know that Roy didn’t do anything,” I start. “And I’m glad you didn’t go after him, because I already talked to him.” I look pointedly at Shepherd, who lifts one shoulder dismissively, making me think there’s a real possibility he actuallydiddo something. I sigh, rolling my eyes. I love my brother, but damn, he makes life hard sometimes. He has less than zero finesse and prefers a fight-first-apologize-never style. “I’ll admit it didn’t go well, but I think with time, he’ll see I did the right thing. For us both.”

“Your sister said you were having doubts about you and Roy,” Dad prompts. There’s a big teddy bear underneath his rough exterior, but he’s a no-nonsense kinda guy and is done tiptoeing around. He’s ready to get down to brass tacks and get those answers.

“Yeah, I’d been trying to talk to him about wedding stuff, and he didn’t ...” I struggle to find the right words and settle on, “I was doing everything, which was fine. I’ve always been the planner.” All four of them must be fighting backduhs because yeah, that’s a major understatement. “But I wanted it to beourwedding. I tried to pick things Roy would like, or show him options on things, and he didn’t care aboutanyof it. I’d be talking about an important decision, wanting his opinion or advice or something, and his eyes would glaze over or he’d start looking at his phone, taking for granted that I would figure it out. I would take care of it, the way I do everything.”

As the words I’ve been stuffing down for too long come to the surface, pouring out of my mouth and spilling past my lips to flood the room, the overwhelming emptiness that’s been a part of me fortoo long comes back in full force. I have to blink hard to keep it from swallowing me whole, but then my eyes return to unseeingly searching left and right, left and right, for understanding that never comes. “I started having nightmares, obsessively checking and rechecking lists, and thinkingWhat’s next, what’s next, what’s next?Until I just couldn’t do it anymore. I couldn’t breathe; I was numbly letting myself drown day by day, drop by drop, until I realized that what I felt was ... trapped.”

The outpouring of what I’ve been struggling with changes everyone’s mood instantly, making the room feel heavy.

“Why didn’t you say something, honey?” Mom asks gently, her hands clutched to her chest in pained sadness. “We would’ve helped you.”

I smile grimly. “I know, Mom. But that’s just it. It shouldn’t have been you helping. It’s this huge day that’s supposed to be so meaningful for both of us, signaling the start of our lives together, and I realized that’s what my life would always be like. Roy never engaging, never getting involved, or ever being excited about the things I am. If he cared at all, he’d simply say,This is what we’re doing, and I’d be left to make it happen. And if he didn’t care, well, it was still me. He always leaves it to me, and I end up doing everything alone,” I admit.

What goes on in the privacy of a couple’s relationship isn’t something other people are usually privy to, and I worked hard to make my relationship with Roy seem flawless. Not only to others, but mostly to myself. I can see now that I wasn’t doing anyone any favors by hiding the truth of our relationship. To outsiders, my running away is out of left field. For me, it’s been a long time coming, requiring courage I wasn’t sure I possessed but have been slowly building until it was enough.

“I got so caught up in us being the perfect couple, having the perfect life, being perfectly in love that I never stopped to consider, What if we weren’t?” I blink back tears, not at the thought of losing Roy but at losing so much time. “He doesn’t consider me. I’m like a table or a lamp, just a part of the scenery, and I don’t want to spend forever knowing that all I’m doing is sitting on the sidelines ofhislife. I want more thanthe same lonely day on repeat until all the boxes are checked, except putting me in a pine box that I’d probably have to come back from the dead to pick myself, too, because fuck knows Roy wouldn’t do it.” I mime marking that last box by drawing a check in the air.

“Hope,” Mom hisses, aghast at my dramatics.

But it’s true. Roy doesn’t want me, Hope Mercy Barlowe. He wants a secretary, a cook, a maid, a hole to use, and a trophy on his arm. I’m ashamed to say I’ve willingly been all those things for him and not much more.

“‘It ain’t always easy, but if you do it right, it’s the foundation for everything else in your life,’” Dad quotes, looking at me pointedly.

He lives by that saying. He loves Mom by that saying, and they’ve built a happy life on it, so it feels like a judgment being handed down from on high, like I’m the one lacking in my relationship with Roy. I look down at my hands, picking at my nails. They’re still picture-worthy, a classic wedding-day french manicure, which feels strange, given everything that’s happened since then.

Ben reaches over and stops my picking, wrapping my hand in his warm one. I stare at his fingers, long and strong, with calluses and jagged cuticles, toughened from his guitar playing. And when he runs his thumb over the sensitive skin on the back of my knuckles, the pounding of my heart slows because, like magic, he can settle me with a mere touch.

When I glance up, everyone’s eyes are zeroed in on our interlocked hands. Joy’s smiling wide. Everyone else, not so much.

“Dad, I—” I try to say, but he holds up a finger, silencing me.

“The most important part of that is the ‘do it right,’ you know?” he tells me. “Don’t try to build a forever on shaky ground. If Roy isn’t willing to be a partner when things are easy breezy, he sure as shit ain’t gonna do it when it’s hard. And as much as I wish I could tell you it ain’t, life’s damn hard, honey.”

“What?” I mutter. “You’re not mad at me?”

Mom and Dad lock eyes, then turn back to me.

Dad speaks first, his voice low and emotional, amused and angry but also full of love. He likes to claim he’s a simple man, but Dad’s got layers and levels that’d put the Empire State Building to shame. “Oh, I’m mad as hell that you didn’t come to us. That you didn’t tell that boy to man up and handle the cake, or the flowers, or whatever it is you needed him to do. That you pushed your own feelings so far down that you almost saidI doto someone you don’t love.” He ticks the things he’s mad about off on his thick fingers and then points at me. “Yeah, I’m mad at you. But that don’t mean I don’t love you, Hope. It means I expected better from you.”

Shit. The only thing worse than pissing your parents off is disappointing them, and I can see the disapproval in Dad’s eyes.

“Hope ...” Guess it’s Mom’s turn to whack at my heart like a piñata. Spoiler alert: There’s no candy inside. Just broken glass.

“Hope, you’ve been with Roy for so long, and we’ve watched you both grow up. Sometimes, we worried about you; other times, we worried about him. But you’re not kids anymore. To make a marriage work, both of you have to be willing to grow together. It’s not always at the same pace or even in the same direction, but you do it together. Or you don’t do it at all.”

Mom talks like she’s baby-stepping me somewhere uncomfortable, like the time she asked if I was really sure I wanted to know the truth about Santa Claus. Another spoiler alert: I didn’t, and was mad at her for the whole month of December for ruining Christmas. But Christmas morning, instead of being awed by the magic of a mythical guy flying around the world to deliver presents, I saw Mom smiling at our reactions, and then I really understood. She was the magic. But I don’t think she can wave a wand to fix this.

“I loved him,” I confess quietly, the past tense coming naturally. Even as I say it, I grip Ben’s hand, not wanting him to let go.

“We know you did, honey,” Dad agrees. “But love changes too. Sometimes it’s white-hot and all-consuming. Other times, it’s cozy and comfortable. And everywhere in between, sometimes at the same time.But what it’s not, and should never be, is lonely. It sounds like you’ve been lonely for a long time.” He presses his lips together, then adds, “A relationship—a marriage—isn’t one person’s responsibility to bear. It’s too much; that’s why there’s two of you to carry that weight.”

He does understand. They both do.

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