Page 68 of F*ck Marriage

“You laugh like a villain,” I said, pouring wine into two Solo cups.

“Oh, it’s going to be fun getting to know you,” she said, taking the wine from me.

I tilted my cup toward hers and touched it lightly in acheers. “Ditto.”

When I look up, Woods has joined Billie at the bar. Her hair is long, almost to her waist. She still tucks it behind one ear, but somewhere in her twenties she lost her taste for leather jackets and handgun earrings. I miss the old, reckless, unpolished Billie. The one who’d tell Woods to go fuck himself.

“Ready to go?” I ask Jules, squeezing her knee.

“So soon? Don’t you need to stay a while longer?”

My eyes flicker up toward the bar. They’re standing close, only a drink between them.

“No. Let’s go back to my place,” I say.

Jules nods. We hardly spend time at my condo, but I don’t want to risk running into Billie tonight. We say our goodbyes around the table and head for the door, Jules’ hand in mine. I hear Billie call my name, but I pretend not to hear.

“Bathroom,” Jules says, letting go of my hand.

She veers left and I wander over to the door, hands in my pockets. It’s raining, the street looks oil slick.

“Satcher…” I hear my name from behind me and I turn slowly.

“You didn’t say goodbye…” Her eyes are hurt. She looks vulnerable, hands clasped at her waist, hair falling over one eye.

I don’t say anything and she takes a step toward me.

“I don’t know that I’ll see you again ... before Christmas…” She looks over her shoulder and then in three birdlike steps she’s in front of me. She takes my hand, gently unfolding my fingers from my palm.

I watch the dark splay of her eyelashes as she looks down at my hand. She lifts her fingers and places something in my palm. Then she folds my hand closed over it.

“Merry Christmas, Satcher,” she says.

I watch her walk away. When she’s gone I look down at what she placed in my hand. At first, I don’t know what I’m seeing: it’s small, the size of a pea, and iridescent white. I think it might be a pearl, but then I see the tiny hoop on the back. It’s a button. I touch it with my forefinger, pressing it into my palm. When Jules finds me, she laughs at my expression.

“What is that?” she asks, peering into my hand.

“Nothing,” I say quickly. “It’s raining…”

I stuff Billie’s gift into my pocket as Jules directs her gaze outside.

“Let’s run for it,” she says.

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Once we’re back at my condo I can’t stop thinking aboutthem:Billie and Woods. How they looked at the bar, their heads bent together like the old days. In the beginning of their relationship they were like that: whispering, touching, trading inside jokes. They made the rest of us feel like outsiders anytime we were around them. But they hadn’t cared, they’d existed in a heart-shaped world of their own.

I don’t know when exactly their relationship went south, but I distinctly remember noticing the way they started bending away from each other, the sweet looks they used to give each other replaced with arched eyebrow annoyance. Tonight though, tonight had been a flashback of those earlier years, and that made me worry: rosy retrospection.

Jules has fallen asleep in my bed. The covers are pushed down to her waist and her hands are pressed under her cheek as if they’re engaged in a prayer. She’s wearing the white silk nightgown she leaves at my condo. I can’t help but wonder if she chose the color to hint at the marriage she wants so desperately. The subtlety of women has always confounded me. Where men directly say what they want; women leave Easter eggs, making knowing their hearts a game. I suppose that’s why I’ve always been drawn to Billie; while she can play the games too, before long her directness wins out.

I get up quietly and move to the living room, making myself a drink.

We are made to suffer in this life. You can’t tell me otherwise. When we don’t get the things we want, they get us instead, becoming an obsession, controlling our thoughts and behavior. That’s what Billie is, I decided that long ago. I check my email, type up the responses. I think about texting her, but no, that wouldn’t be right, not with Jules sleeping in the next room. I pace across the window, the city sluggish below me. Woods, I could try him, but he probably wouldn’t answer.It’s none of your business, I tell myself. It’s the same thing I’ve told myself for years. And I’ve never been able to keep my hands out of her business: literally and figuratively. I glance at the clock: 4:49. I need to sleep. Billie is probably sleeping, having gone to bed hours ago. There is no need to worry. It’s then that I remember the button she placed in my hand at the party. I find my pants in the dry-cleaning pile and rummage around in the pockets until I feel the round hardness between my fingers. Holding it up to the light I study the button, trying to understand what she meant by giving it to me.

“Satcher…?”

I squeeze my eyes closed before I turn around, the button buried in my fist.

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