Then Comes Marriage (9 page)

I hit the gym before work. I spend the day chasing leads, piecing more and more together. Go to the gun range after. Grab takeout then go home, planning to eat while watching crime shows, mentally scoffing at how unrealistic they all are. I’m halfway done with my fried rice when the doorbell rings.
 

My hand flies to my side, instinctively reaching for my gun. Who comes over but doesn’t call? No one I want to deal with, that’s for sure. I settle back onto the couch.
 

The doorbell rings again, followed by knocking. Damn kids selling magazines are persistent sons of bitches, I’ll give them that.
 

“Derek!” someone shouts from the other side of the door. “I can see you in there!”
 

I sigh, recognizing my mother’s voice, and get up. I love my mom. Always have, always will. I’m not purposely ignoring her…okay, I am. I know how excited she was to have a grandchild. Losing the kid hurt her almost as much as it hurt me. So I avoid her because it’s easier than talking about emotions and shit…which I haven’t done. I throw open the door and see my mom and sister standing on the little cement stoop. My mom’s holding a plate covered in foil and my sister has what I think is a baggie full of cookies. I hope it’s a baggie full of cookies.
 

“What are you guys doing here?” I stand aside and let them in.
 

“Hello to you, too,” my mother says raising her eyebrows as she steps inside. “Can’t a mother stop by and see her oldest son? You never call me anymore. Don’t you love your mother? You’d think if you loved your mother you’d call her.”
 

My mom widens her eyes and shakes her head. “You need to open the curtains. And some windows. The dark isn’t good for you, you know. I read about it on the internet. You need sunlight to be happy. That’s why people in Seattle kill themselves.”

“Isn’t Seattle one of the best places to live?” I ask, shutting and locking the door behind them.
 

“She’s been on this all week,” Margery whisper-talks. “And won’t let it go. Be glad you weren’t around for her rant about gluten last week.”
 

“That stuff is just horrible for you,” she says and sets the plate on the table, and pats her hair, making sure her curls are in place. For as long as I can remember, my mother has never left the house without her hair or makeup done. And by done I mean go-all-out done. Big curls, held in place with enough hair-spray to eat away another layer in the ozone. Her look is completed with long, acrylic nails and some sort of designer bag. She’s one of those people who takes great pride in how she looks, and having grown up dirt poor, doesn’t take anything for granted.
 
“I ran into Andy at the supermarket.” She stops, staring right at me, red lips pursed.

I uncover the plate and smile, shaking my head at my sister. This plate of lasagna is full of gluten. “And?” I ask, knowing this is going somewhere.
 

“He said all you do is work. He seems concerned.”
 

“I’m fine,” I spit out quickly. “All any detective does is work. Dallas isn’t exactly winning awards for world peace. A body turns up almost every night.”
 

She waves her hands in the air. “I know, I know. But it’s good to get away from it all from time to time, especially in your line of work. You could come visit me, you know. All the ladies in my book club would love that. Some of them have daughters. Single daughters.”
 

“Do not set me up with anyone from your book club.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t dare do that.” My mother shakes her head and Margery just snickers. “But it wouldn’t kill you to live a little.”
 

“My acting class is putting on a show at Samuell Grand Park. You could come watch,” Margery offers.
 

“Yeah, because that’s exactly what I want to do.” I roll my eyes. “That’s not what I call living.”
 

“You’re such a jerk,” my sister spits back. “At least I’m doing stuff besides sniffing around dead bodies all day.”
 

Margery is six years younger than me. One of us was an accident, or a blessing in disguise as Mom calls it. I was born when my mother was nineteen. You can guess who was planned and who wasn’t.
 

“Listen,” Mom starts. “I love you. We love you. And we’re concerned.”
 

“You have nothing to be concerned about.” I open the bag of chocolate chip cookies, knowing instantly it’s my grandma’s recipe. “I’m doing just fine.”
 

My mother nods, not convinced. She looks at Margery then back to me. Whatever she’s going to say has been planned. “Aunt Becky has been talking about a family vacation for a while now. Since your cousin Justin graduates in a few weeks, we thought about going somewhere exotic to celebrate! And it’s been too long since we’ve all been together.”
 

I can’t refute that. Family, immediate as well as extended, has always been important to us. My mom’s side of the family is large and loud, making family get-togethers more like parties.
 

“Somewhere exotic?” I echo.

“Yeah, like Florida. It’s been years since I took you kids to Disney!”

Margery shakes her head. “She doesn’t believe me when I say Disney World isn’t exotic.”

I laugh. “What about Hawaii? You’re always talking about going again.”
 

A shadow of sadness takes over her face for a second, and I know she’s thinking about my father. Hawaii was special to them, and when Dad got sick they stopped going. He wanted her to promise she’d keep doing the things she loved once he was gone, and a trip to the island is one of them.
 

A smile takes over her face. “That would be nice.”
 

“You should go,” I tell her. “You’ve only been talking about it for years.”
 

“Yeah, Mom,” Margery agrees. “You got that Hawaii calendar hanging in your office.”

She considers, then narrows her eyes. “This is about you, Derek. And how you need to get out and have fun. I don’t want to see you work your life away, honey.”
 

“The more I work, the more lives I save.”

Mom’s face softens. “You know your father only had one regret in life, and that was working as much as he did. Yes, he provided us with a lot, but in the end memories are worth more than money.”

“I know,” I agree, not wanting to argue with her. Mostly because she’s right. As a homicide detective, I deal with those affected by my victims, see how death can rip apart those still living. The dead are gone from this world, suddenly…violently…it’s all the same in the end. It’s those still living that have to deal with it. Being able to reflect on the departed’s life positively doesn’t ease the pain, but offers some sort of bullshit comfort.
 

“Go out and live life,” she presses. “You never know what can happen until you get out there and do it. You can meet someone new. You can start over. Derek, I want you to be happy.”
 

I force a smile. I want to be happy too…don’t I? Deep down, I know I do. And even deeper down, I know it’s not going to happen. I’ll never meet someone who can erase the pain of the past enough for me to trust again.
 

So why even try?

Chapter Nine

Rachel

I sit at the foot of the bed and look around my old room. It hasn’t changed much since I left, but thinking I would be out of it for good this time, Mom filled it with her art supplies. She’s in the process of moving it out, despite my protests that me being here is only temporary until I get back on my feet. I tell myself that all it’ll take is a few weeks of work to save up a good amount to stick in my bank account. I have a decent chunk to put down for the deposit, having sold my ring.
 

The shock is starting to wear off, and the fact that I’m alone and starting over is pulling me under dark and cold water. I’m trying hard not to drown, not to let the fear of never finding happiness again add weight, causing me to slip below the surface.
 

I want to be happy. I want to laugh. I want to get back to being my old self and enjoy the life I’m blessed to have.
 

But I can’t, not yet at least. I’m hurt, and I’m angry. I feel so lost and alone and I hate that I don’t think I’m enough. My heart still longs for Travis, and I replay the good memories over and over. Tears fall, each one weakening my resolve. Maybe I was too harsh? Maybe I shouldn’t have left.
 

“Rachel?” my dad calls softly from the door. He took today off of work to pick me up from the airport. Lauren flew back with me, and Noah drove my car packed full of my belongings. I’ve been back only a few hours, but it feels good to be home. “Do you need anything?”

I shake my head, unable to speak or even look at him. The floorboards in this century old house creak under his feet. He sits on the bed next to me.
 

“I’m sorry, honey.” He puts his arm around my shoulder and I break down.
 

“I just don’t understand,” I sob. “How could he do that? He said he loved me.”
 

“No one who loves you would do something to hurt you. Not on purpose. I hate that you had to find out that way. But I’m glad you found out.”
 

“I know.” Fat teardrops plop onto my lap, mirroring the rain falling outside. “I am too. I just can’t help thinking that it’s my fault somehow because I wasn’t home enough.”
 

“Rachel,” he says in that stern way only dads can. “There is no excuse for being unfaithful. Ever.”

“I feel like such a loser, Dad. A loser who’s not good enough to love and now I’m going to die alone because no one will ever want me again. At least you’ll have someone to take care of you when you’re old since I’m never going to be moving out.”

“That’s not true at all.”
 

“Yes, it is. I’ll live alone and die alone and that’s okay because you spent a lot of money on a wedding that won’t happen.”
 

My dad hugs me tighter, not telling me my logic is nonexistent. “Money isn’t a concern. You are.”

“I’m sorry. I feel so bad you wasted your money.”

“Don’t, Rachel. Don’t ever feel bad for someone else’s wrong. You’re too good a person sometimes, just like your mother. That’s why I love her, and that’s why I know someone else will love you.”
 

And now I’m crying even more. Dad’s phone rings, and he silences it then hugs me again.
 

“You can get that,” I say. “If it’s important.”

“It’s a client,” he says. “I can call back.”
 

My dad is a defense attorney and is always busy. “It’s okay, Dad. I need to shower anyway.” I check the time on my phone. “Noah will be here with my stuff in a few hours.” Lauren and I stayed in a hotel overnight, catching a morning flight. Noah left the same night so he could get back as soon as possible. I know he misses his daughter and now Lauren.
 

Dad nods. “Okay honey. I’ll see you at dinner.” He kisses the top of my head and leaves. I fall back on the mattress, bringing my knees to my chest. My phone dings from an incoming email and I internally shudder. I’ve neglected my blog as well as my personal social media accounts.
 

I put my thumb on the screen of my phone and swipe. Holy crap my inbox is full and my Instagram notifications are blowing up. I can filter through my emails rather quickly, putting ones that require an actual response in a folder for later and deleting the rest. Deciding that’s too much effort right now, I set the phone down and close my eyes.
 

Maybe tomorrow I’ll go shopping. There are several boutique clothing stores around here that would be great to feature on my blog. A trip downtown would offer a lot to post about, yet I’m not sure I can do it. Now I know 90% of what you see online is faked to some degree, but I just don’t think I can put on a smiling face and model what I just bought. Besides…Travis took my pictures. Typical, I know.
 

I stay in bed for a while longer. Why is being sad so exhausting? Is it not enough to have my heart ache with every beat? I push up, every movement taking effort, like I’m under water. I leave my phone on the bed and go into the bathroom.

I step into the shower and slide down the wall. I bring my knees up and rest my head against them, letting hot water roll over me. Despondent, I muffle a sob. What is Travis doing? As much as I don’t want anyone to suffer, I hope he misses me.
 

Because I surely miss him…I think. Or maybe I miss who I was when I was with him. I miss playing the part of the blushing bride-to-be, ready for my own happily ever after. But when I think about it, really think about it, I didn’t feel like I was getting close to my storybook ending…just playing a game. And all games come to an end. All games have winners and losers.
 

And I lost.
 

~*~

“Rachel?” Lauren whispers, knocking on the door to my bedroom. “Are you awake?”

“Yeah,” I mumble. After showering, I got dressed in pajamas and went down to the kitchen, eating my weight in chocolate chip cookies. Then I retreated back up here to hide in bed. “You can come in.”
 

She climbs in next to me, sticking her feet under the covers. She links her fingers with mine and gives my hand a squeeze. “I’ll stay if you need me to. You know that, right?”

I bite my lip and nod. “Thank you.”
 

“You don’t have to thank me. I’m your best friend. It’s what we do for each other.”
 

Tears soak my pillow and my body shudders as I silently cry. “I don’t know how to be me without him,” I confess. “It’s like there’s nothing left, and I feel so pathetic.”
 

“You’re not pathetic,” she quickly counters. “And it’s going to be an adjustment. You were with him for a long time.” She rolls over to face me. “It’s going to hurt. I can’t lie and say things will be better in the morning. It’s going to hurt for a while. But I promise you will get through this. It’ll get easier every day, little by little.”