8 Weeks (Time for Love 1)

I would be too, if it were the other way around.

I saw her sitting at a picnic table under a giant oak with leaves of copper, red, and a deep russet, her long dark hair wavy and flowing in the breeze. The picture she made took my breath away, and I stood there, committing it to memory, before I walked forward to meet her.

“Hey,” I said as I got closer, causing her to jump a bit on the bench.

She looked up at me warily, and I felt that look punch me in the gut.

I had the feeling she was not here to tell me she was ready to give us another shot. I was going to have to buy myself some time.

“Hi,” Shelly responded.

I sat down across from her and folded my hands in front of me. I was nervous and felt awkward. Two things I’d never been around Shelly in my life. Even when we started dating.

“So,” she began, then stopped, clearing her throat nervously. “There’s no easy way to say this, so I’m just going to say it … I’ve been thinking, and we need to put the house on the market as soon as possible. You never know how long it’ll take to sell, and neither of us make the kind of money that would allow us to pay for two houses at once.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” I asked, anger and hurt mingling together in my tone. “You asked me here to talk, yet it sounds like you’ve already decided not to give our marriage a chance.”

“I told you the other day at Dad’s house that I wanted a divorce,” she said, refusing to meet my eyes.

“Shit, Shel, we haven’t discussed anything at all. You won’t accept my calls. You won't see me. You’re just jumping straight to ending it. I mean, have you thought of counseling or anything? I’ll do whatever it takes, Shelly.”

She shook her head sadly at me. “Cal, I don’t think I’ll ever be able to get over the fact that you slept with someone else, after six years of being together. I hate it. I can’t even stand to think about it. You betrayed me.”

The last she said in a whisper, making the full effect of her words wash over me like a million tiny pinpricks.

“I don’t want a divorce,” I responded, reaching for her hand. She took it quickly off of the table before I could touch her. “I love you, Shelly, and I’m willing to do anything.”

“There’s nothing you can do.”

“I’ll quit drinking. Never go out with the guys again. I’ll prove to you how much I love and respect you, Shel.”

“That’s not a life, Cal. I don’t want you to give up everything and never leave my sight. I want what we had, a relationship of love and trust, and I just don’t think it’s possible for me to have that relationship with you again.”

I felt desperate, frantic at the thought of losing her.

“I won’t sign divorce papers.”

Shelly’s head shot up and her green eyes bore into me.

“Why would you want to make this harder? I don’t want to fight with you, Cal.”

“I’m sorry, I don’t want to make it harder, and I don’t want to fight with you,” I implored. “But I will fight for you, Shelly. Give me a chance to.”

She was shaking her head again, and a plan formulated in my mind.

“Give me eight weeks,” I said desperately.

“I’m not going to live with you for eight weeks, Cal.”

“No, I get that,” I responded. “Give me eight Saturdays. Eight dates where it’s just the two of us. Give me time to show you why we're so good together, and that I’m willing to bend and compromise to make our marriage work.”

Shelly looked at me thoughtfully.

“Why eight?”

“One week for each year that we’ve been together.”

“Eight weeks?” she asked, as if trying to decide whether she could stand to wait that long.