Page 58 of Married with Mayhem

I pick up the folded Gino’s Pizzeria shirt. “You can have this back. I gave it to you.”

She crosses her arms and lifts her chin. “You probably need it more than I do.”

If she doesn’t want my shirt, I won’t push her to take it. For now I throw it in the general direction of my duffel bag to get it out of sight.

“Is this painfully awkward conversation over now?” she asks.

“Not quite.” I set my elbows on my knees and lean forward. “I need to ask you what you meant.”

She winces. “I was hoping you were too drunk to remember that part.”

“Who hurt you, Sabrina?”

A wary shadow mingles with sadness. Maybe even shame. She hugs herself more tightly and won’t look me in the eye. “A couple of years ago I had a bad relationship. It kind of messed me up.”

“What does that mean? What the hell did he do to you?” A dozen terrible scenarios gallop through my head. All of them make me want to commit murder.

She’s already shaking her head with impatience. “Calm down. He didn’t hit me. And whatever we did was consensual so relax.”

No, I don’t think that I will relax. “What else?”

She shrugs. “He was just a manipulative bastard, that’s all. Had some really clever ways of making me feel worthless. Look, I really don’t want to talk about this, okay?”

I can’t make her confide in me. Besides, I’ve already done enough damage tonight.

“Okay.” I take the pillow she threw at my head and gently hand it back to her.

She fluffs the thing and tucks it underneath her head before lying on her side. “I really am tired.”

“Want me to turn off the light?”

“If you don’t mind.”

I walk over to flip the switch by the door. The only light left in the room is a faint glow from the bathroom. There’s a rustling of blankets as Sabrina gets comfortable.

“Hey, Monte Carlo?” she says.

Suddenly weary to the bone, I tug the comforter off the second bed. “Yeah?”

She burrows more deeply under the covers and flips over to face the other direction. “You’re a really shitty drunk.”

“Don’t I know it,” I mumble and crash down on the mattress.

11

SABRINA

This must be what the aftermath of a battle feels like. Everyone is bruised and wandering around in a stupor while trying to shake off the shellshock.

Today, Monte and I are being overly polite but we’re on unsteady ground. The echoes of last night’s explosive argument still hang in the air.

I’m not angry anymore. A little embarrassed, but not angry. I don’t believe he’s angry either.

But things were said that can never be unsaid. This puts us in a strange state of purgatory the morning after.

The confines of the motel room feel cursed and we’re stuck here until tomorrow. There’s a coffee shop a block away and Monte demands the right to walk me down there, although he’s not cranky when he insists.

Instead, he’s almost shy. Excessively courteous. The opposite of the real Monte. And I don’t like it.

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