Page 76 of Terms + Conditions
There is nothing I can do to fend off the rain, so I make a mad dash for the porch. They have yet to realize I’m even here. They probably couldn’t hear me pull in over the pounding rain or their raised voices. Ryan yells something I can’t quite make out over the booming thunder above me, but as I walk up the steps to the porch, I can finally hear what he’s saying.
“No one is ever going to want you. I mean, justlookat you. Your family didn’t want you. Your husband didn’t want you. You’re going to end up all alone in this big ol’ house. You’re just damaged goods! You—”
“I advise you to choose your next words very carefully when talking about my wife.”
Both of their heated gazes turn in my direction. She softens slightly when she realizes it’s me. I take the final two steps onto the porch, soaked from the rain, and my clothes have become like a second skin. I attempt to wipe my glasses, but it does little good. Pushing them back up my face, I keep my sights on Ryan, but he doesn’t back down. He stands his ground despite the slight question in his eyes.
“Your wife?” Ryan questions, looking between me and Elizabeth, then laughs. “Wow. So, that’s why Nina was so weird about you showing up.You’rethe ex-husband.”
“Not yet.”
“Don’t tell me you’re having second thoughts. Trust me, my guy, you’re making the right choice. Sign those papers and run. Because this one—”
My fist connects with his jaw, sending him stumbling back a few paces. Ryan chuckles dryly before he charges, and I’m not able to move fast enough without slipping on the puddle beneath me. He tackles me, a clean shoulder-to-gut hit sending me flying into the porch rail, forcing the air from my lungs. Taking advantage, Ryan pulls me up by the collar of my jacket and punches me in the gut, and then the side, but I block my face and manage to lift my knee into his groin. When he stumbles back, I shove him into the side of the house and kick his stomach. He lets out a sharp breath, clutching his sides. I swing on his head once and then slide my arm around his thick neck, grabbing my wrist with my right hand, but despite the pain, Ryan is quick. He hurls his weight forward and steps to the left, falling to the porchacross my body, and we break apart. Ryan scrambles to his feet as I pull myself up, but before either of us can move toward the other, Elizabeth steps between us.
“Stop it, both of you!” She glares at us both before narrowing her eyes at Ryan. “I’m not going to ask you again. Get off my property.”
“You want her?” He asks me, ignoring her. “Fine. She’s a lousy lay anyway.”
Before I can hurl myself at him again, Elizabeth stops me and yells at him to leavenow. Ryan laughs and walks backward down the steps through the rain to his truck, nursing his face. The sound of tires skidding across wet pavement echoes through the night air.
When he’s finally gone, Elizabeth turns back to me. Her eyes roam across my face before she lets out a heavy sigh. “Come inside. I’ll help clean you up.”
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
THEN
July 2024
IT’S BEEN A LITTLE over a week since our fight about Wichita. Thursday night was the first time I’d seen my wife since she slammed the guest room door in my face and told me to go fuck myself last Friday. Did I deserve it? Probably. That didn’t make it sting any less. I had hoped we could have at least talked about what happened, but I get the feeling that won’t happen any time soon.
On Thursday night, we’d had dinner at Mom and Dad’s because Michaela came home for the first time in almost two years. When I got home from work that day, Elizabeth stood in the kitchen, flipping through the mail. That’s how I knew she was still alive inside that room. Every day, I’d bring her mail in from the box and set it on the counter; the next day, it would be gone. “We need to be there at six-thirty,” she’d said, passing a few envelopes my way and leaving without a second glance.
She’d kept herself preoccupied this weekend between that dinner and today, Sunday. She wasn’t home, and I’m not sure where she went, but I woke up Friday morning to an empty house, and it stayed that way until eight o’clock this morning when I heard the garage door open. She had no choice but tocome back today because we’re hosting Uncle Jim and Dad’s birthday party. The family has no idea Elizabeth and I are on the outs, so we have no choice but to pretend to be happy with one another.
“You need anything?” I ask, walking into the kitchen.
Elizabeth busies herself, setting out the food for the party. Normally, she’d make everything herself, but today, she chose to have it catered by The Gathering Place, a local restaurant in Winchester, citing a busy schedule. Whether that was true or not, I don’t know, but it was an excuse no one in the family would question. Neither Dad nor Uncle Jim seemed to mind the change, but they still requested I make a few burgers—just in case. They were simple men who didn’t always like all that “fancy shit at these restaurants nowadays.” At least that’s what Dad said a few years ago.
Without the need to prepare the rest of the meal, I felt like a useless lump most of the day. I was used to running around like a headless chicken, putting the finishing touches on things and completing her last-minute requests, but there was none of that today, and it felt…wrong.
“Nope,” Elizabeth says without looking.
This is awkward. We’ve had our fair share of needing to put on a brave face in front of the family, but I think this might be the hardest time yet.
I should apologize. Start paving the road toward a more friendly cohabitation for the rest of our marriage. Stepping up to the island, I try to start the conversation, but I’m interrupted.
“It smells amazing in here,” Nina says, walking in from the foyer hall, dressed more for a board meeting than a casual family birthday party: high-waisted navy-blue dress pants, a cream satin camisole, a tan blazer, and leopard print heels. “I’m so glad you went with GP; I've been craving the lamb meatballs.”
She swoons over the food Elizabeth has already set out and gingerly lifts the lid on another container, searching for said meatballs.
I can almost guarantee Nina and Elizabeth kept the restaurant in business for the first two years it was open. They used to go there for two meals a day sometimes—especially Nina, whose office is only a few blocks away.
“Damn, dressed to impress, Nin?” Elizabeth pokes fun at her outfit.
“I just got done with a client. Sue me.” Nina’s gaze finally finds me across the kitchen, and the corners of her mouth lift slightly before she diverts her attention to the food on the counter. “Anything I can do?”
I don’t even get a hello or a hug?
