Page 12 of Recipes for Life

I raised my eyebrow at her. "A bottle?"

"A bottle."

Since Wynn had such a dislike for the series I loved, she demanded we make a drinking game out of it. Every time she deemed something cringe-worthy, we took a drink. We were on our way to being intoxicated before either of us knew it. Thesecond movie was coming to an end when Wynn looked over to me, and I couldn't help the tears that flowed. I laid down on my back with my gaze to the ceiling, hoping that would get the tears to stop.

"I wish I could take the pain away," she whispered.

"He changed." It was all I could bring myself to say. I had told myself no more crying, and here I was, not even twelve hours later, a sobbing mess.

"He did."

I forced myself to look at her. "You think so?"

"He's a douchebag now, sis," she said almost sadly.

"You know I didn't even really notice until I caught him? He'll always be the guy who taught me how to ride a bike when I turned seventeen because no one ever did. The guy wasn't mad when I crashed his car, which he spent two whole summers saving up for. He used to cut all the crusts on my sandwiches because I hate the crusts. He used to spend hours playing with my hair while Lux slept on either his chest or mine. I used to fall asleep while he whispered how much he loved me, used to fall asleep while he kissed every single one of my stretch marks because I was embarrassed by them." The tears were cascading down my face now, and I couldn't stop them.

"When did he stop being that guy? How did we get here?" I cried, not able to stop the body-wracking sobs that took over.

Wynn did what she did best and held me together while my soul poured out in my tears.

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A banging, which I was pretty sure was inside my head, roused me from my unconscious, wine-filled slumber.

BANG. BANG. BANG.

I'm never letting Wynn talk me into this again, if this is how my head is going to feel after.

BANG. BANG. BANG.

Why is that so annoying? Why is it getting louder? I opened my eyes and realized it was not my head that was making that noise, but someone banging on the door.What the fuck?

"Odette!"

BANG. BANG. BANG.

Oh my god, it was Murphy. He was outside, banging on the door. I might still be a little drunk, but I was quickly sobering up. I turned on the entryway light so he knew I was here.

"Odette, please, please let me in."

I couldn't, I wouldn't.

I was nowhere near ready for this. Why couldn't he just do theone thingI had asked of him? Will it always be like this?

"I know you're in there."

I heard a shifting sound, then a bump on the door, and I figured out with a quick look out the window that he had sat down with his back to the door, his head in his hands. It looked like he was tearing at his hair. I backed away from the window as fast as I could so he wouldn't be able to see me.

"Okay, I don't know if you're there or not..."

I heard him sigh and then what sounded like him choking on sob.

"I need you, baby. I just...I need you. When I saw you, I was so sure you would leave with me." His ‘S’ were slurred, and I knew he had been drinking. "Please, Odette, don't leave me. I thoughtour life was boring; I don't want to tell you this, but I have nothing left to lose, so I might as well be honest. I was wrong...so wrong, so s-s-stupid, selfish."

He was talking in circles, but he was crying. I've known my husband for a decade, and I've seen him shed exactly two tears. One, when his daughter was born, and one in that mediation room. It brought me to my knees, and I hugged myself at the door, mimicking his position on the opposite side.

"I waswrong!" he shouted, whether it was to me or to himself, I'll never know.

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