Page 48 of Very Bad Things

“Yesterday, you said you didn’t know I had a fiancé after I told your parents about him. I’m not trying to pry about your late wife; I was simply asking if your instant mood change had something to do with her, if I said something wrong that offended you.”

“Can we just drop it? I’m really not interested in bonding with you over the fact we both lost someone.”

“Fine.” She sits back down, crossing her arms over her chest and looking out into the vast darkness.

“I didn’t mean to offend you,” I soften my tone, “it’s just that there’s a difference between losing your wife and losing a fiancé.”

“Excuse me?” She turns to look at me, her scowl deeper than before. “How is that not offensive?”

“Because it’s not the same, Daphne. We were married for several years; we have a child together.” I don’t know what point I’m trying to prove here but I’m only digging a deeper hole.

“So what, our love wasn’t as ‘real’ as yours because we didn’t have a legal document saying so or a child? That is absolute bullshit!” She stands up, pointing her finger at me, tears pricking her eyes.

“I’m just being honest about how I feel,” I say, attempting to defend myself even though she’s right. This is bullshit and coming from a place of anger and frustration with myself. Frustration because I can’t just admit to myself that I’m falling in love with this woman. Frustration at the fact that more than likely, her love with Carson was more real than mine with Mira.

“You know what,” she says, shaking her head, “I hate hearing that. Masking cruelness in the name of honesty is such a cop-out. I’m going to bed. Good night.” She turns on her heel and walks down the deck as I hang my head in shame.

I step toward the edge of the deck, grasping the railing. I look up at the inky sky filled with twinkling stars, my heart feeling like it’s about to rip through my chest. I’m terrified. Terrified that I won’t know how to be there for Daphne the same way I didn’t know how to be there for Mira.

“I’m tired of fighting for your leftover attention, Wes. I’m tired of begging for scraps of your time. I feel like I’m merely a pretty object in your life that you can pull down from the shelf when you need it. I feel like I’m on the outside of your life looking in. I’m supposed to be your partner and I’m not. I’m just a prop.”

I remember one of the last fights we had before she got sick. She begged me to try harder. She told me that she was falling out of love with me and I could see that she was falling in love with someone else.

“I’m trying so hard to stay in this, to love you, but I can’t keep trying. I can’t force it anymore.”

“What are you saying?” I search her eyes for something, anything, but they stare back at me… empty.

“You know what I’m saying.”

“Is there someone else?” She doesn’t answer me; she doesn’t have to. “Who?”

“Don’t do this. Just choose, Wes, either me or your business. I’m tired of competing.”

She shut the door of the bathroom and that was the last night we slept in the same bed. I never asked her about the other man again. I found a love letter from him but after only a few lines, I stopped reading it. I saw the evidence of unfaithfulness, the hidden phone screens, the sudden girls’ nights that didn’t end until the early morning hours.

Nobody knew, not even my parents, that we were on the verge of divorce when she was diagnosed. Nobody knew that she was having an affair either. I didn’t blame her; I still don’t. I’m the one who ran her into the arms of another man. But what I can’t decide is if I made a mistake by not letting her go to him. I was by her side while she was sick, up until the very end. I never knew who the other man was; she never told me. I don’t even know if she broke it off when she got sick or if she even told him that she was dying.

I live with so many regrets, but the truth is, if I had to do it all over, I still don’t know what the right way would have been to handle it. I hang my head. I can’t do the same thing to Daphne. She doesn’t deserve for me to take out my unresolved issues and anger on her. She did nothing wrong.

I slowly make my way through the boat, down the hall till I reach her room. I knock softly but there’s no answer. I open the door. The room is dark. I kick off my shoes, crawling into bed beside her and pulling her into my arms.

“I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry,” I whisper against her ear as she pulls my arms tighter around her.

15

DAPHNE

“So you’re going to make me ask?” Xana stares at me, a piece of lettuce dangling from her fork. “How was the Bahamas?”

I shrug nonchalantly. “It was fun, good. Lots of sun and sand. How was the lake?”

“Seriously? That’s all you’re going to give me?”

“I don’t know what else you expect me to say.”

“Oh, I dunno, maybe elaborate on what it was like to fly on a private jet, stay on a private yacht, and lunch at The Four Fucking Seasons?”

I laugh at how dramatic she’s being. “Well, yeah, that was unparalleled. Makes me sad that I can’t vacation like that all the time. Nothing like when we went to Panama City Beach in college with eight other girls and split a single hotel room and lived off ramen and liquor for four days.” I gag just thinking about it.

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