Page 75 of The Ground Beneath Our Feet
But the glimpse of hurt on her face I got before she steeled her facial features? Horrifying.
I had to fix this.
“Why’d you stop by?” I asked Cherry bluntly.
“I wanted to stop by and give you these,” she said. And she gestured at a box behind her.
“What’s that?”
“Some of your old clothes.”
Fuck. Not helping.
“Okay, thanks,” I said lamely, and I unlocked the door.
She walked in without an invitation. “You cleaned up.” An eyebrow arched up. “Wow. Mikey actually is getting his shit together?”
“Mikeyisactually getting his shit together.”
“Mikey’s also taken up talking about himself in the third person.”
“Ba ha ha,” I said. “Can I help you with anything else?”
“No, that’s it, thanks. I was cleaning out my stuff too. Guess we’re on the same wavelength.” She turned to Jessica. “I’d no idea that you and Mikey were, well . . . as my goddess Mae West says, ‘A hard man is good to find.’ Gotta run. I’ve got houses to show.” She tripped out the door, not knowing the bomb she’d left in my living room.
I was so glad to get rid of her.
Once Cherry left, Jessica tore up the stairs without a word, went in her room, and closed the door.
If I didn’t fix this, I’d never forgive myself.
I ran after her and rapped on her door.
“Can we talk?”
Her muffled voice came through the walls. “There’s nothing to talk about.”
Sniper came up beside me, rubbed against my legs, then darted out of reach when I went to pet him. “Jessica, it’s not what you think.”
The door opened. Vacant eyes briefly met mine. She held the door handle, then lingered in the doorway.
I stepped in past her and sat on the bed. Then I told her about Cherry. How I met her when I bought this house. That I’d married her too young, that we fought nearly constantly, and that when I filed for divorce, she put one of her damned Mae West quotes in her answering papers: ‘Marriage is a great institution, but I’m not ready for an institution.’”
That had made two of us not ready for the institution of marriage.
“I don’t want Cherry. I want you.”
Jessica didn’t say a word.
“Can you say something,” I pleaded. “You need to talk to me.”
“No, I don’t.”
“I know you. I know you’re scared to have a fight. This is our first fight. You’re terrified of being mad. Of showing your true feelings. But I want you to know you can say the foulest, rudest thing to me, and I’ll still like you. When I’m upset, I’ll tell you. You need to do me the same courtesy. You need to fucking tell me if you’re pissed, so we can talk. We need to work it out.”
“She was the one you were fucking when I moved in,” she whispered. She said the f-word like she meant it. Good girl. Now that she was swearing, there was nothing stopping her.
I nodded. “Yes.” A single tear fell down her cheek. “Baby,” I said and got up, holding out my arms.
