Page 106 of Something Borrowed

Vic couldn’t find words, but maybe her face was telling him something again, because he continued, “I’m horrified that I silenced you and told you that something you wanted to tell me didn’t matter. Of course, who you are, your past, how it shaped you is important. I should’ve listened. Then I wouldn’t have been such a useless tool, standing there like a jerk while those two malicious gossips took a piss at you.”

An embarrassing, pained squeak escaped Vic, and she squeezed her eyes shut. Cal was really saying these things, feeling these things, even while believing they were done?

“And I’m sorry I didn’t come to your defense. I know it hurt you that I didn’t speak up or give you the benefit of the doubt—or, at the very, very least, talk about what happened afterward on the drive back to your place.”

Cal reached past Vic and opened his glovebox. When he handed her a slightly crumpled but unused wad of tissues, she realized she had tears streaming down her face.

He shook his head again. “I’d do anything to go back in time, listen to you properly, like I should have the first time, so Monika’s awfulness wouldn’t have taken me by surprise. It’s not an excuse—but the things she said about you are so contrary to who I see you as, I just . . . couldn’t get my head around it when you didn’t deny them.”

Vic laughed shakily, then sniffed a bit. “That is because you wear some weird invisible glasses and see me through distorted lenses that make me appear much better than I am.”

“Nope,” Cal said in his serious, earnest way. “It’s because I actually see you. You’ve been viewing yourself through the eyes of people who are seriously whacked for far too long.”

Vic was going to make light of his comment, deflect it—but she was trying to break patterns, wasn’t she?

She nodded slowly, took his hand in hers, and placed it back on her knee. Firmly this time.

His eyes widened in surprise. Then he smiled and patted her leg, then squeezed gently.

“You are being too generous to me,” she said. “And I appreciate it—appreciate you. Your kindness. But don’t kid yourself. I was everything Brent’s wife would’ve accused me of being. Selfish, stupid—and a lot worse.” She bit her lip. “Are you—do you want to hear all this?”

“Yes,” Cal said simply. “I want to hear anything you want to share with me.”

They talked for a long time. Twice, Cal started the van up again and let it idle so they wouldn’t get too cold. She explained that in the beginning she hadn’t realized Brent was married. She really hadn’t, or she wouldn’t have started seeing him. She really wouldn’t have. Michael’s dad, the high school love of her life that she’d followed, pregnant, to the city after graduation, had been a cheater—and so had several other men she’d been involved with. She would never intentionally do that to another woman. But then when she did find out about Brent, they were already fully involved and she, at least, was completely invested.

“He had a whole lot of lines that I should’ve seen through immediately,” she said bitterly. “But I was stupid.”

Cal nodded, but it came across as empathy for how she was feeling, not agreement that she was an idiot.

“His marriage was over. They were just sharing space. Their relationship had been dead for a long time. He was only there for his two boys, blah, blah, blah… like I said, I believed him. Now, if I’m honest, I have to admit I believed him because I wanted to believe him, so I wasn’t the bad guy, the homewrecker, the—”

Cal flinched and looked as if he wanted to object, but he held his tongue. Okay, so he didn’t want to hear the full depths of her self-abuse. She could live with that. She moved on. “Anyway, to no one’s surprise except mine—Monika was right about that—when she finally gave him an ultimatum, he chose her—or to keep his house and life of ease, at least. I don’t think he loved her either, or he wouldn’t have done that to her.”

Vic’s chest was so tight, breathing hurt. She jogged her shoulders up and down, trying to loosen her seizing muscles.

“I, on the other hand, had convinced myself we had a special connection—like he said. That the only reason we’d fallen for each other the way we had was because we were unique, the unicorn of these types of affairs—true soulmates. Not the truth: that he was a user and a self-serving, selfish asshole bent on avoiding work he needed to do on himself, and I was a broken, codependent, abused—” Vic broke off. She’d never acknowledged that aloud before.

She darted a look at Cal. He’d used the word abuse regarding Audra once, but she never had. She hoped he didn’t think she was trying to suggest she should be forgiven about Brent because she was some sort of victim.

He just nodded soberly. “You and me… we’ve talked about patterns. It’s so hard to even recognize the roles our childhoods and past relationships have in forming how we interact and connect—or don’t—with others.”

“Man, that’s the truth.” Vic flexed her fingers and studied her hands for a moment, then forced herself to look at Cal, still feeling so much shame. “But also, please don’t think I’m letting myself off the hook. I’m not. Once I knew—and once I’d received a letter from her—and didn’t break things off immediately? Well, then I became guilty of all the things people say about ‘other women.’”

Cal started to shake his head, clearly objecting to what she was saying, although Vic wasn’t sure he was even aware he was doing it. She raised her eyebrows. “You want to say I’m not the one who made vows to her and broke them, right?”

He nodded and gave a sheepish smile.

“Well, no dice. I believe in a women’s code and sisterhood. A woman should be able to trust another woman not to do her dirty—and I believe in the golden rule. What I did was wrong. Period.”

Cal nodded again. “Okay. Yeah. That makes sense.”

“Anyway . . .” She sighed heavily. “I did figure out he was playing me, using me—and even though he kept insisting if I’d just give him more time, be ‘patient,’ blah, blah, blah, we could be together, I saw through it—and I also saw what I was doing. That was the hardest part for me. Confronting my own terrible, messed-up self.”

Cal squeezed her hand, and she gave him a wry smile, lifting her brows again, this time in an apologetic way. “For whatever it’s worth, which is nothing, I did write his wife an apology letter.”

“You’re amazing,” Cal said.

“I’m not. I’m weak and stupid and vain and—”