Entrapment (Morelli Family 7.5)

“Ah,” he says with a nod of understanding.

I stare at his glass as he takes a sip, watching me over the rim. My stomach still feels funny, twisted and rocky. I haven’t missed these feelings.

Words want to come out of my mouth, words I don’t want to spill, least of all to him, but at the same time, who else can I spill them to? Meg is more understanding than I can even believe when it comes to listening to me talk about my Mateo struggles, but she wasn’t around, she doesn’t know the reality of what that time was like for us, and I’m not allowed to be honest with her. So who else do I talk to, if not Mateo? I’ve been talking to no one, and that’s not working. My problems and Vince’s problems have just been shoved down deeper and deeper, but clearly they’ve never stopped festering or we wouldn’t be in this situation to begin with. They need to come out.

“I don’t know if we can make it.” My voice shakes a little in the middle of that terrifying sentence. I don’t want to say it, because speaking it aloud, putting it out into the universe seems like a betrayal. It seems like giving up.

He doesn’t say anything, just watches me, waiting.

“I thought we could. I wanted to. But he won’t forgive me, and he won’t forgive you, and if he won’t forgive…” I shake my head. “It’s not just him; it’s my fault, too. We both need things from each other that we’re incapable of, or unwilling to give. I’m not even sure which it is. I’m not even sure which is worse. I need him to let go of what happened, and he needs me to let go of—” I stop, heart hammering, but I’ve already come this far. “Of you, and neither one of us will. I did, for a long time, and it didn’t matter. He won’t. I thought he had, but I was wrong.” I shake my head. “We both need to put down our guards and our weapons and the bullshit that’s between us and we won’t, and I don’t know how we build on that.”

I don’t know what I expected him to say. I didn’t expect to say any of this to him, but now that I have I feel split open, vulnerable. It’s not lost on me that opening myself up to this man, of all people, is an insane thing to do. He’s just as likely to take advantage of the vulnerability to cause more damage as he is to have anything profound to offer me.

After thinking on it for a moment, he finally says, “Maybe you can’t.”

That’s not what I wanted to hear, but I don’t know what I wanted to hear instead, either. It isn’t in my nature to accept defeat, so I shake my head, rejecting it. “I don’t want to believe that. Aren’t you supposed to have some wise life advice to offer me?”

“I’m not that old,” he says, rolling his eyes.

“But you’ve been in similar situations. I mean, not similar, but…”

He nods, taking my meaning. “I have, but every relationship is different. Every betrayal is different. It may not be in Vince’s make-up to let it go. He may not be able to.”

“He’s just stubborn,” I complain.

“So are you,” Mateo points out.

“Exactly,” I say, my eyes widening. “He refuses to forgive and I refuse to admit defeat, so we just keep going through this cycle, lying to each other, pretending everything is fine when we both know it isn’t. I can’t talk to him about it. He’s too hostile.”

“I thought you guys were doing okay,” he says.

“We were.” Then Meg started luring me back to the damn mansion. “But it wasn’t real. I thought it was, but at the first test… he smothers me with his possessiveness and his need for reassurance that I’m not relapsing, and I get so irritated with him, and then I realize how unfair I’m being, but then we’re back to my part. I can’t commit to letting go for some reason, so I just fake it, and he’s already suspicious, so he sees through me, he knows, and it’s just… it’s a mess. And I don’t have a single idea left. I don’t know what to do anymore.”

Taking another sip of his drink, he says, “Sounds like there’s only one thing you haven’t tried.”

My stomach literally aches, knowing he’s about to tell me to let go of him. I want to turn and leave, before he can utter the words. I want to rewind and go back to ignoring everything. I don’t want his permission to do that. I want to keep some excuse, some vague feeling of not being entirely responsible.

I think maybe he can see the fear on my face, and he must understand why it’s there. He must understand I don’t want to hear it, because he pauses, watching me, then his expression shifts. Lightens. His eyes go from those of a willing listener to those of a playmate, and he says, “You and Meg are just going to have to be sister wives.”