The Absolutely True Story of Us (11 page)

As dinnertime rolls around, I find I can't stop thinking about those drunken noodles. I don't know exactly how they make them, but it's such a delicious, savory-sweet, spicy dish full of fresh veggies and homemade noodles. Completely addictive, and I know I won't stop obsessing until I can get some. The place doesn't normally do takeout, but I have a feeling I'll be able to convince them to make an exception just once.

Romantic gestures aren't really my thing. Dean and I have never needed that kind of stuff. I don't want expensive jewelry - I'd lose it - or flowers that will just wilt and die. And Dean? Well, if he wants anything more from me, he's certainly never said anything about it. But just this once, I think it'd be nice to surprise him. Even if he can't take much of a break from his work, it'll be fun to have a little dinner in companionable silence. I'm not clingy and needy anymore, I've grown up since the early days of our relationship. But when he's working late all the time, I find I do miss him.

It takes me a while, and a lot of head-shaking and apologies from the staff, but I finally manage to get the manager's attention and he says he'll do it for a small extra fee. They've already got the containers for dine-in patrons, so it's just a matter of sweet-talking them into it. Half an hour later, I emerge triumphant with two containers full of the most delectable food imaginable.

My mouth is watering as I sit on the subway, dodging a few jealous looks from hungry commuters. It smells amazing, and it's a good thing they didn't have plastic forks at the restaurant, or I'd be attacking mine now.
 

I'm hoping to surprise him, but when I arrive at the agency, it looks dark inside. Tugging on the doors reveals that this clandestine mission is going to be a little more difficult than I thought.

I could call him, but instead I try the agency's number, hoping that a receptionist or someone else might be staying late. After a lot of rings, someone finally does pick up.

"Hi, I know you're closed," I tell her, so she doesn't think I'm some nutty client. "This is Felicity Warden, I'm Dean Summer's girlfriend. I know he's working late and I just wanted to stop by with some takeout I picked up. Is there any way you could let me in? I wanted to surprise him."

There's a moment of silence, during which my primary concern remains whether or not I sound like some kind of crazy stalker trying to break into the building.
 

In the next moment, my world ends.

***

He left a few hours ago.

He left a few hours ago.

He left a few hours ago.

The words are still ringing in my ears. There has to be an explanation for this. A romantic surprise! If I lived in a movie, I might believe it. But that's not how Dean and I are. That's not how we've ever been.

The receptionist tells me, reluctantly, that he's gone running in the park a few blocks down. I can tell from the look on her face that he's not alone, but I wasn't going to make her tell me anything more.

I just go there myself, prepared to see the worst.

Maybe he
is
alone. Maybe I'm paranoid. Maybe he just decided, last minute, to go on a really long run. Maybe work didn't take as long as he thought, and he just needed to blow off some steam.
 

I go to the park and I sit on the bench, and I wait.

Joggers are going by, some solo, some clustered in pairs or trios. They're all single-minded, focused on the simple goal of making one more lap. Just one more.
 

And then, I see him.

Running alongside him, keeping his pace perfectly, is a woman. She's tan and gorgeous and her running clothes look more expensive than my fanciest outfits. I have the sudden urge to run and hide, but I feel rooted to the spot. He gets closer.

She points to something in the pond, and he slows his pace slightly. Laughs. When he looks at her, he does it with a certain intensity, like he really cares what she has to say. Like he's really listening.

When was the last time he looked at me that way?

As they share some private joke, they draw even closer. Pretty soon, he'll see me.

What am I going to say to him?

What am I going to do?

He runs past.

He runs past, looking at the girl beside him, and he doesn't see me.

It's like I don't even exist.

I could scream, I could run after him, but I don't. I just sit there for a moment, frozen in space, my heart pounding so hard I feel like it's shaking my entire body.

I go home, because I don't know what else to do. I think about calling him, telling him to come back here immediately, but I don't. I want to see how long he'll be gone. I need to know, even though every passing minute feels like walking on shards of glass.

I realize I still have the drunken noodles in my hand, and I put them into the fridge, carefully. It's tempting to throw them away, but they deserve more respect than that. No need to get them caught up in this mess.

At one point, I actually manage to eat a few mouthfuls. My stomach is growling in spite of myself, because I don't feel hungry, but I know I need food. My head starts racing, heart leaping with all the possibilities I'd have as a single woman. I could move anywhere! Do anything!
 

Of course, there's the small issue of having no money. That might be a problem.

Despair sets in again, and then anger, and then a series of emotions that can only be described by Kelly Clarkson songs. By the time I hear Dean's key click in the lock, I've settled into a stage of icy calm that belies how fast my heart is pounding.

He's talking almost before the door opens all the way. "I'll tell you what, if they don't do something about all the construction on the..."

And that's when he sees my face.

"What's wrong, Lissy?" he asks, looking concerned.

"I stopped by your office tonight," I tell him, quietly. I watch as the words sink in, the color draining from his face. "Where were you?"

"I don't know what you mean," he says, his voice very quiet. He's still just standing there, frozen, in the doorway. "I was...maybe I stepped out for a minute? The receptionist is new, she doesn't..."

"Stop it!" I shout, jumping to my feet. "
I saw you at the park with her.
If you're not about to tell me the truth, the entire truth...then just get the fuck out."

He sighs heavily, coming towards the sofa and sitting down. I hug my arms tighter around my torso and stare at him, waiting.
 

"It's been too busy to go on my runs during lunch," he says. Slowly, deliberately, like he's measuring every word. "I was plateauing. I had to start working in longer distances somehow, but it just wasn't going to fit in. Not in the middle of the workday. So I started going after."

And here it comes.

"She's my running partner, Lissy," he says, finally. "Her name is Jessica. She's a friend from work. I knew you wouldn't...because of what happened with you and Andrew, I knew you wouldn't be okay with it."

"And that's it?" I demand, jumping to my feet. "A running partner?"

"That's..." he shakes his head. "It's not what you think, Lissy. I swear. I know how this looks."

"I don't think you do." I'm trembling all over, but I won't back down. "I would have been fine with you having a running partner, and you know that. So why lie? Why hide it?"

"It wasn't just that," he says, quietly. "She's a good friend. A close friend. She has been for a long time."

I'm starting to piece it together, even through the lies. I can see it in his face. "Since before me."

He nods, wincing a little. "After you told me about Andrew and what he did to you, I figured..." He exhales heavily. "I figured it was better if you just didn't know she existed. I didn't want you to..."

"Hassle you?" I demanded. "Ask too many questions you didn't want to answer?"

"Worry!" he almost shouts, standing up and pacing halfway across the room in a single breath. "I knew it would freak you out, okay? I was scared of losing you. But I didn't want to give up the best friendship of my life, either. I thought I could have both. She and I would just spend time together at work, and that would be it. That would be our time."

The idea of him planning out this secret life, his special time with another woman while I sat at home alone - my stomach roils.
 

He's starting to calm down a little and realize how it sounds, but it's too late to take the words back now. "It's not that I...it's just, she's different. You know? There's a reason why people have friends. It was never like that with us, because she's not
you
. But she always pushed me, and motivated me, and if it weren't for her, I probably would've just quit running." He rakes his hands through his hair. "I know I fucked up. I know. But please don't turn this into something it's not."

"So you expect me to believe," I say, quietly, "that from the very beginning, you've been hiding a friendship you have with another woman...because...I just wouldn't
get
it?"

"I know how it sounds," he says, again. He sounds tired.
 

"Once again,
I don't think you do
." My mind is reeling. Could he possibly be telling the truth?
 

No. No.
Fuck
no. I won't let this happen again. I learned my lesson the first time, didn't I? Of all the things I learned with Andrew, there's one that stands out as the most crucial.

Trust your instincts.

Trust your instincts.

Trust your instincts.

When Andrew brought his "friend" around, I ignored the ugly, jealous feeling in the back of my mind. I refused to let my head realize what my heart already knew. I was loving, supportive, and more than that, I trusted him. I trusted him, even when everybody else in the world told me it wasn't normal. That it wasn't right.

She didn't have a lot of money, Andrew's girl. Neither did he, particularly, neither did any of us, but she was still in graduate school. She was always on the verge of some educational or financial disaster, and I remember coaching her through some of them, making her hot chocolate once. Mothering her, almost.
 

Once she came around, Andrew stopped bothering me about when we were going to start a family. We were both so young, I just wanted to spend a little more time with him, get to know myself, save a little money. I didn't want to raise a baby in a one-bedroom apartment when I had to go down to the street to the laundromat. But this girl, this friend, she suddenly started occupying his time and energy. She was always in need of help or advice.
 

Andrew's sister took one look at the two of them together, and she told me they were lovers.

I told her she was crazy.

Guess who's crazy now?

After almost a year of this, being gaslighted, being made to feel like a third wheel in my own relationship, I couldn't take any more. I snooped.
 

You have to understand, that's not me. I'm not that person. But when you feel your life start crumbling out from beneath your feet, you'll find you don't know
what
kind of person you are anymore.

It was all laid out for me, in gory detail. They'd gone out to pick up some dinner together, and I stayed home. Yes, specifically to snoop. Yes, that's who he turned me into.

She had been playing around on his laptop, and when I opened the screen, her accounts were still logged in. Fucking idiot. That stupid, naive little homewrecker. Thinking she was so special. Thinking he wouldn't someday up and leave her, as eagerly as he up and left me.

And that was how it went down. When I confronted them, she ran away crying. I never saw her again. Andrew hurled accusations about what a terrible girlfriend I was, packed a bag, and disappeared.

I told Dean all of this. The whole, devastating story. Now I know the wheels in his head must've been turning that whole time, thinking of his girl, Jessica, the woman on the side. Figuring out how difficult it would be to carry on with her, since I was so suspicious. Deciding how and when and where he would lie.
 

I don't understand why men do these things. Do they get off on the secrecy? The lies? He could've just had a life with Jessica if he wanted, if they weren't both too cowardly to pursue it. I guess it's easier to keep things casual. No question of going too far or moving too fast if at least one of you stays in another relationship. No moving in together, no dealing with broken dishwashers and sick pets - just sexy, stolen out-of-town weekends. No long-term commitments, only wishes and promises hanging on "wouldn't it be nice."

What's not to like? It's low stakes. You never get sick of each other, always longing to be together.

It's a honeymoon that never ends.

I guess I do understand it. Dean, unlike Andrew, actually does try a little bit. He keeps trying to convince me that he's telling me the truth, but there's no emotion behind his words. He tells me he'll introduce me to her, as if that would help. As if that would somehow indicate that his penis has never been inside her. As if that's even what matters. Whatever they've done, he feels something for her that he tried to keep a secret from me. That means something. It means more than anything he could tell me in words.

Over the next few weeks I watch him fade away. Everything we had between us, everything we did, the promises he made, all of it dissipates like nothing. His feelings for me aren't strong enough. Most likely, they never were. He says he's sorry but his voice is flat, emotionless, like he's already given up. The man who once said he'd fight for me, take a bullet for me - now he won't even look me in the eye.

I've made a resolution not to sleep with Dean again.
 

It's not going well so far.

"If this is what you wanted, you should've told me," he growls in my ear. I gasp as he yanks my arms behind my back, his hands grasping so tightly around my wrists that it aches.

It started with a conversation in the kitchen. How it ended up in the bedroom is not exactly clear, but I can't argue with the results.