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How had she not seen it before? The signs were there, hidden beneath the gloss of a clean and perfect home, their routines and habits meticulously maintained. They’d fallen into the trap of complacency, content to keep up appearances while everything else withered away.
It would’ve come at some point, but it never really sunk in how far they had fallen. Their time together had run out; apparently, it had for a very long time. It was a pendulum, dancing in time, going through the motions with the knowledge that at some point, all movement would cease when the friction became too much. Except she was never privy to that knowledge.
The realization in her bones never met the haze in her head. They had an unspoken agreement, at least Julia thought they did. It was easier to keep the status quo, easier to live the life they created. It was easier to continue to pretend Marin still loved her as much as when they said their first I love you, than it was to figure out how to stop loving her. Ignorance is bliss, or whatever that bullshit line is.
Even with the possibility hiding in the deepest, darkest part of her mind, the suitcase hit her in the chest like a runaway train. It was never meant to be real. The irrational fears that ate away at her stomach, the knots that kept her awake at night, were never meant to be real.
“Oh!” Marin’s voice was full of surprise. She came around the corner from their bedroom, her long red hair straightened to a point, a matching duffle slung over her shoulder. She looked so composed, still dressed in a navy cocktail dress from the conference she had earlier that morning. “I thought you’d be home later.”
Julia was usually home later. At first it was finishing her doctorate, taking night classes to continue her full-time job, which paid for Marin’s dreamhouse in the middle of suburbia. Then it was the promotion and never-ending meetings chaining her to her desk at work. Compiled with volunteer work and school social events, Julia seemed like a guest in her own house at times. But isn’t that supposed to be the sacrifice of marriage?
“What are you doing?” Julia tried to steady her voice, but it came out as strained as her heart muscles felt. Her breath began to quicken, heat rising to her ears.
“I was hoping to put these in the car before you came in,” she continued softly, a careful touch to her tone, as she stepped towards her, “I didn’t want the bags to be the first thing you saw.”
The words sunk into Julia like a barbell falling to the bottom of a pool. How do you prepare for the moment when the world stops turning? What are your last words when it feels like your life is over–when you’re about to lose everything and there’s nothing to stop it?
That was it.
It didn’t matter that they began to grow apart years ago–that at some point they both noticed that kisses grew shorter–I love yous changed to see you soons. Their steamy date nights that once included stealing passionate kisses on empty sidewalks turned to forgotten anniversaries, distant flowers arriving at work instead of handed in person. A couple of late nights throughout the week turned into every night. Dinners alone turned into an empty, cold, king sized bed that always seemed larger than it did when they first bought it.
At some point, the cost of life–the cost of the life you chose–will tip the scales. It might sacrifice something big, like looking back and wishing you’d taken that job offer, wishing you made that move. It might sacrifice something small, like losing people along the way that were never really friends in the first place.
Sometimes, the cost is too great to even imagine. Sometimes, the cost of one’s old life for their chosen one can disintegrate the very thing they worked so hard for from the very beginning. Sometimes, it takes everything you hold dear. Sometimes, it takes it all.
“We can’t keep doing this,” Marin’s voice quivered, her eyes glossed with unshed tears.
She always had to be the strong one, always had to be the one that held her salt-soaked feelings for later. She took a tentative step forward, her hand reaching out, but Julia couldn’t bear to feel the warmth on her skin after so long without it.
With a sigh, Marin let her hand drop. “I got an apartment.” That last word hung in the air, cutting through their silence like shards of glass.
Marin been ready to utter those words? How long had she secretly searched for another place to call home, another bed to lie in? How long had she watched those suitcases in the closet of their bedroom and planned for that very moment?
It was probably the same amount of time that Julia spent staring into her crystal blue eyes while she focused on the television, desperate to find just a sliver of what Marin once felt for her in them. It was probably the same amount of time that Julia spent kneeling on the floor of the shower, not knowing where her tears started and the water ended. It was probably the same amount of time that she laid awake next to Marin, wishing she could feel the comfort of her body without having to ask for it.
Julia knew it was coming. They both did like a looming hurricane approaching land. But even when you know the storm is coming, you’re never really ready for the impact. You can batten down the hatches, hide in the bathtub, and squeeze your loved ones until you think it’s over. You can sit there and imagine how bad it will be–how much it will take from you–but you’re never really ready for the outcome.
Instead of running, they choose to sit and weather out the storm. They refused to leave the life built, too afraid of what would fall from it without their presence protecting it at all costs. Little did they know, they weathered out the storm as best they could, but there wasn’t anything left to go back to. There was no foundation sitting beneath the rubble to build upon.
Julia took a step back, needing space to gather her expanding thoughts and emotions. Her mind raced, searching for answers, for a way to salvage what was left. But deep down? She knew it all already slipped through her fingers. The foundation they had built already crumbled beneath the weight of unspoken truths.
“Okay,” was all that she could get out as she moved aside, leaving a clear path to the door.
Her teeth ground together. Her throat constricted as her palms grew clammy. A tremor ran through her joints, fear transforming into sheer terror as she fought to suppress her trembling. Marin won’t do this. She won’t actually leave.
That thought echoed in her mind, amplifying her anxiety. It felt as if her breath was being sucked out of her, as though a weight was dropped onto her chest, forever ingrained.
“Jules,” Marin began, her voice filled with a desperate rasp, “I want you to be happy.”
She hated how much she liked to hear Marin say her name that way, because it made Julia want to believe her. But she couldn’t. Marin didn’t act like she wanted her to be happy. She always said she worked too much, that she shouldn’t have gone back for her doctorate so soon, that they were too busy, that everything was fine when every fiber of Julia’s being was disintegrating before her very eyes.
She didn’t care about her happiness when, after a long day at work, Julia would lean in for a deep kiss–anything to escape and feel that glint of home–but Marin would pull away after a quick embrace. Julia would curl into her on the couch, looking up at her with wanting eyes and wandering hands. Marin would hold her hands gently, returning the gesture with a smile and peck on the forehead. Then she’d turn back to the television as if the remote didn’t have a pause button, as if she would miss something if she gave Julia one more second of herself.
Julia even dared to ask her out on dates. She knew how ridiculous it sounded. After 20 years with someone, having to ask them to go out and do something romantic? Pathetic. Even if it wasn’t romantic, she would have been over the moon. Ax throwing? Great idea. Golfing? Sounds fun. Want to take a walk around the town park and eat PB&J on a rickety bench? Any day, anywhere.
There was always some reason, something that was more important. Something more important, more important than Julia. There was always a thing that had to be done, a place to go, a person to see. Anything over the quiet intimacy of just Julia.
Julia. Julia. Julia.
