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It was too easy for Julia to blame herself, believing she was the root of the problem. Marin’s fuse shortened by the day and each time she snapped, something broke a little more inside her. Little things that didn’t mean anything became bullets to dodge.
Julia left her keys on the counter instead of hanging them by the door. Julia made potatoes with dinner when Marin wanted rice. Julia washed her tea mug when Marin wanted another cup. Sometimes Julia did too much. Sometimes she didn’t do enough.
Julia. Julia. Julia.
She wasn’t smart enough. She wasn’t quick enough. She wasn’t good enough. She never would be. That belief seeped so far into her bones that she knew the bullets were coming, one way or another. Sometimes a deafening silence stretched for miles in all directions, even when they sat in the same room. Sometimes, she heard Marin sigh and it submerged her concrete feet in place knowing she did something. But what?
If Marin wanted her happiness, she would have tried. She would have taken the time to piece back together the once exploding passion that they had instead of taking questions of what can I do differently and responding with you don’t like me or why are you always attacking me or I’m too tired for this right now. They were both tired. Every chance at communication turned into trenches to hide in, a war to concede. Oh, how Marin conceded.
At some point, a sane person stops trying. Julia didn’t ask for surprises or diamonds; she never asked for anything materialistic. All she wanted from the start was Marin. To be loved by Marin. To be wanted by Marin. The hurt of the subtle excuses–even when there were no excuses at all–become too much to bear.
Oh, Marin.
Maybe she wasn’t sane anymore. She was tired. Oh, God, was she tired. Even though Julia didn’t know it at the time, she let Marin go a long time before that day.
And so, Julia found herself standing there in front of the woman who stole her heart–the woman she would always love–with the word “okay” escaping her lips when nothing else in the world would ever be okay again.
So, she let her go. She let that single molecule of hope slip through her sleep deprived grasp and disappear into the cool dirt, so maybe someone else somewhere can find it of some use.
They say when you lose someone you love, someone who could make the sun set and rise again just for you, it feels like the world comes crashing down. That didn’t do it justice. That’s not even close to the truth. For Julia, her world didn’t simply collapse; it shattered into countless minuscule fragments that slipped through her trembling fingers like grains of sand. Her world didn’t just falter, waiting to be rebuilt; her world walked out of the door, taking something from her that could never be replaced.
The next day was the first in years that Julia called into work. She said she had a migraine, when really, she was glued to the kitchen table in the same clothes she wore the night before. Tear stains bordered the collar of her shirt, wrinkles patterning every other inch.
The rising sun shamelessly spewed light through the blinds, straining her tired eyes. Her hand clenched around her glass mug, lost in how many times she poured cold, black coffee into it, how many days she used that same cup without washing it.
The night stretched on as she stared at the clock on the wall, too afraid of what would crumble from her body if she moved, too afraid to step into any room where she could see Marin. She was terrified that if she stood up, everything within her would settle to her toes and then she’d realize just how much of herself was missing.
***
The hardest part of it all today was wondering with all that love, how could she come to terms with the fact that their marriage was no longer a marriage but a convenient comfort? They could deconstruct their very being down to the cell and trust that the other could piece them back together, every strand of DNA, just as it was. That was the type of vulnerability, the sheer transparency of their love. A person to rely on, a person who would always be there, a person that was home. Until she wasn’t. How can something that real disappear that fast?
She still couldn’t remember how long it took her to pick herself up and face life again. Did she ever truly find all the pieces? How many weeks passed until she could take a shower without collapsing into a ball on the floor, tears blending with the scalding water? How long was it before she stopped sleeping on the couch, before she stopped picking up soy milk from the store even though she wasn’t the one who drank it?
Would there ever be a day that didn’t start with a thought of Marin’s touch and end with the memory of her back walking out that door? That image haunted her dreams and kept her awake through the night–cold sweats seeping through layers of even the thickest cotton.
Now that she stood there in the hallway, still swaying, she knew she never really picked herself up off the floor. She was still that same broken woman that sat at that table; the same woman who still thought her red-haired beauty would walk back through that door and realize just how much she left behind.
With a sigh, she ran her hands through her hair and turned back towards the bedroom. The fact that she was in this big house alone–the very one that was built from Marin’s dreams, each peak exactly to her measurements–seemed like a cruel joke.
Julia would have been content in a small cottage on a lake. She wanted to read by candlelight and tend her gardens. She wanted to be the type of person who didn’t need anyone else. Not to open stuck pasta sauce jars. Not to grab anything off the top shelf; there are ladders for that. She wanted to choose to be alone instead of the person forced to be. Instead she’s surrounded by a past life she never asked for, one she especially doesn’t want it now.
She stood in the dimly lit bedroom, her eyes tired and heavy. She slipped out of her linen pants with one hand, letting them fall to the floor as she unclipped her earrings with the other. She tossed them carelessly onto the oak nightstand.
Her gaze fixated on the manila envelope that still sat on the table. It was irradiated–the streetlight, a single spotlight through the window. Six months ago it came in the mail, and she still couldn’t open it. She knew what it was, understood the finality that it held.
Time ran out. It was over, but she still wasn’t ready to sign on the dotted line. For her, it could never end like that. It wasn’t big enough. It didn’t equal the amount of years they had spent in each other’s arms. There was no final kiss. No begging. No apologies. No hesitance. It couldn’t be that easy. Their love couldn’t have been worth only that.
Maybe a part of her thought that if she put it off long enough, Marin would reach out and she could hear her voice again. Maybe she thought she would come back. Because one lazy Sunday afternoon they laid tangled in each other’s bare warmth under the sheets as dawn crept through their windows, and she said without a doubt, we have a once in a lifetime love, and Julia believed her. Oh God, did she believe her.
Too drained to change into even a comfortable t-shirt, Julia collapsed onto the bed in her bra and underwear. She curled beneath her satin comforter, the weight of it soothing her tired bones. As she laid there, soaking up the grating quiet of her bedroom, her mind continued to grapple with the whirlwind of what today meant. She tried to push it all aside, attempting to cling to the glimmer of her old self that crawled from the depths.
Her eyes were fixed on the fan that spun overhead. The streetlight in the window sprayed rays of light on the ceiling. The blades spun shadows out that danced above her in a never-ending circle. It was mesmerizing, and suddenly she couldn’t come up with one reason why she didn’t realize how calming it was until it had been spoken from Erin’s glossy lips.
Erin’s lips.
Her head still spun a little. Maybe it was from one drink too many, or maybe it was the look in Erin’s eyes when she smiled at her–the way her plump lips parted just slightly each time she looked at her. She found herself wishing she asked for her number. Maybe then she’d have the chance to ask about her work, what she found so interesting about the programs she evaluated.
Julia laid there soaking up the silence, the twirling blades circling as her mind battled with itself between all the reasons leaving so quickly was the best choice, and how she would give anything to be able to forget the world that easily again.
