Page 68 of The One I Need
I give my head a shake, because never did I think that Izzy would come to this conversation unprepared and unresearched. “Did you not look up divorce laws in Tennessee?”
She furiously shakes her head. “No. I was so confused and tired when I got home I developed a migraine. I walked into my house, popped a pill, and immediately passed out. I woke up and drove straight here.”
“Wow.” I wipe my hand over my face, because this was not what I was expecting when Izzy barged in. I expected a full presentation with citations and flow charts about when, how, and why we are getting a divorce. “Okay. Let’s regroup.”
Izzy’s face is now buried in her phone, her fingers frantically typing away.
“Do you just want me to tell you what I found?”
She shakes her head. “No. Because I need to see with my own eyeballs that the patriarchy is telling me I need to stay married for sixty days. Because you know for a fucking fact a man wrote that law.”
I sit back on the couch and wait for her to come to the same realization I did last night. Then I actually look at Izzy for the first time today. I’m not going to lie; she looks rough. Hair is a mess. No makeup. Dark circles under her eyes. Yet, she’s still more beautiful than she was yesterday. And the day before. And the day before that.
That’s how I know I love her. I tried fighting it. I tried telling myself these feelings were just a byproduct of our whirlwind and untraditional timeline. But they aren’t. The more time I spend with her, the more I love her. And I know that’s going to wreck me when this marriage ends.
I laugh to myself as I let myself think this for the first time. Only I would find a woman, fall in love with her, drunkenly get married to her, only for her to want nothing to do with me.
But hey, at least it wasn’t another engagement on my wall of shame.
“Fucking shit fuck,” she mumbles.
“I didn’t know that was a phrase.”
She looks up at me, worry and dread lining her face. “Oliver, I can’t be married.”
I move next to her on the couch, and in the most shocking move of the day, Izzy falls into my arms and starts crying. I didn’t know shecouldcry.
“I’m sorry,” she says, wiping away her tears. “I don’t know where that came from.”
“We don’t apologize for letting out our feelings,” I say. “It’s been a lot to process. You do what you need to do.”
“I’m fine,” she says, though I know she’s the opposite of fine.
“Let’s take a breath,” I say as I hold her hand. I’m ready for her to jerk away, but she doesn’t. She didn’t yesterday, either, when we were at the airport. Or when we were driving home and she hadn’t said a word. That just further proves my point that the tough person facade is just that—a front.
“I’m trying,” she says. “And what I’m about to say has nothing to do with you and everything to do with me. But I made a promise to myself sixteen years ago that I’d never let anyone in. That I wasn’t built for love. And I would never, ever get married. It was the one thing I promised myself, Oliver, and I can’t go back on that.”
“Okay, let’s start over,” I say. “I know all of the reasons why you want to end this, and I get every single one of them.”
She tilts her head like she doesn’t believe me.
“I swear I do. I know I tease, and you’re right, I’m a hopeless romantic, and you’re a cynical love hater. I wear fun socks, and you don’t own clothes with patterns. But what you just said, and that look of pure fear on your face, that’s more than us being opposites and the state of Tennessee having a stupid rule. So the question is, do you want to talk about it?”
Izzy doesn’t look at me, instead choosing to focus on our joined hands. “I want to. But I can’t. I’ve never told anyone about my past, not even Hazel. I think about it every day, but I’m too ashamed to talk about it.”
“Okay,” I say. “I won’t push you. But if you ever want to talk about it, you know I’m here, right?”
She nods. “I do. And that’s another reason why we can’t stay married. I like you too much.”
“Izzy, I don’t know what happened in your past, but usually liking a person is part of a reason tostaymarried.”
This makes her laugh a little. “In theory, I know that. But in my messed-up head, letting you in any more than I already have means I run the risk of losing you. And I can’t lose you, Oliver. Somehow, in a matter of a few months, you’ve become my best friend. I know you don’t think you do, but I’m pretty sure you know more about me than Hazel does. I don’t know what I’d do if I couldn’t call you tomorrow or if you didn’t text me to remind me to eat. But I made a promise to myself.”
I hold open my arms, and Izzy comes right back into them. I can tell she’s crying again, but not as hard as last time. I let my head fall back against the couch as I think about the words she just said. I had a suspicion that Izzy was hurt in her past, but I never wanted to push it. I still won’t. But I’m now certain of the fact that this woman—this beautiful, intelligent, sexy, strong, woman—was hurt. Deeply.
I’m not a violent man. I don’t believe anything can be solved with fists. But I swear if I ever figure out who hurt her, I will beat them within an inch of their life. And then I’ll call Simon, and he’ll call his guy to dispose of the body.
“I’m sorry,” she whispers. “I want you to know that if I were ever to get married, it would be to you.”
