y in hell Jessica put her lips on another man.
"I saw it with my own two eyes." Her hand darts into the air and she points at her face. "When she first saw him, she kissed him."
On the lips, I want to ask but I'm not a middle school kid who just found out his girlfriend made out with the opposing school's football team captain. I'm an accomplished lawyer, I own an apartment that borders on Central Park, I have more money than most people make in ten lifetimes. I'm confident. I don't fall to pieces because of a kiss.
"Sorry to break it to you." She taps me lightly on the shoulder.
"What?" I spit back.
"Sorry to be the one to tell you that Jess is getting it on with someone else." She breezes past me then and I don't try and stop her. I can't. I can't move. All I can think about is my beautiful Jessica, tucked into the arms of another man, her lips coursing hot over inch of him. My hand darts into the inner pocket of my suit jacket. I reach for the box. It's the same box I've carried with me for the past six months. It's my future. It's the ring I've been trying to give her. The same ring she'll never accept. Maybe now the reason is clear. It's not only clear; it's fucking wearing a suit.
Chapter 8
"Jessica," I scream her name as I charge through the door of our apartment. I went to the bar next to Axel after Sasha made me feel like a goddamn nothing. I had three bourbons and now I'm in prime argument mode. I've had to defend myself time and time again in this relationship. I've never cheated on Jessica. I've come clean with everything. Now it's her turn.
I'm greeted with sullen silence. I toss my suit jacket on the couch. My thumb traces a quick path over my smartphone's screen. I pull up my text messages. There isn't one response to the six text messages I've sent her in the past hour. Wherever the fuck she is right now, it's obvious I'm her last priority.
"Nathan?" Her voice enters the space before I even notice that she's opened the door. She couldn't have been more than a few feet behind me when I walked into the building. "Why are you standing in the dark?" She flips the light switch on and two cool, pale ceiling lights flicker on.
"I just got here." I don't turn to look at her. I swear I'll fucking lose it if she's standing there in her chef's jacket. If she lies to me about being at work I'll move out. I can't stomach the thought of another man kissing her. How the hell am I supposed to act if she's been fucking some other guy's brains out?
I hear her drop her purse on the table next to the door. The sharp rattle of her keys hitting the wood follows. "Did you work late?"
I don't want to be interrogated right now. "No." It's blunt and direct. It's a sign of how frustrated I am right now. "Did you?"
There's a heavy sense of hesitation in the air. I can hear her labored breathing. "No," she says quietly.
She doesn't expand and I have to grab the edge of the couch to steady myself. Christ, I love her so much. My heart is literally caving in right now. Don't let this be my reality. Please let there be some logical explanation for why she has been missing work. I need to hear that Sasha didn't actually see Jessica kissing anyone. I want a redo of this entire night.
"How was work?" I push the question out. I do it because I need a place to start. It's one of the fundamental principles I learned in law school. Give the defendant just enough rope to hang themselves.
I hear her shuffle her feet. I can't tell if she's pulling off her shoes or putting them back on so she can race back out the door. Jessica can't handle confrontation. If there's a fight, she's going to look for the nearest exit. I've worked hard with her, over the course of the past year, to push back on her natural instinct to race out of the room when we have an issue. Right now, I'm scared that if she runs, I may never see her again.
"Jessica," I say her name as much to gain her attention as to quiet my own raging confusion. "I asked you a question."
"I know." Her voice is low and edgy. I can hear the apprehension in it.
I flip around on my heel. It shouldn’t be this complicated. I shouldn’t have to ask her the same question twice before I get a definitive answer. It's a simple question. I just want an answer. "I…" my voice halts as I look at her. She's wearing one of my t-shirts under her black cardigan. The jeans she's wearing are rolled up at the hem but there's no mistaking that she stepped in a few puddles on her way home. Her hair is a matted mess. "Jessica." I reach for her but she takes a step back.
"You went to Axel." She nods as she says the words. "Sasha told me you were there."
She had a warning. She knew I'd be waiting for her with a mind filled with questions. "I was looking for you." I work hard to keep my voice even.
Her eyes scan my face. "I didn't feel well today."
"Are you sick?" That question is meant to be asked with compassion. It doesn’t contain any of that when it leaves my lips. If it sounds as accusatory to her as it does to me, she's going to shut down.
She doesn’t speak. Her head just drifts thoughtlessly from side-to-side.
I feel like I'm talking to my niece or nephew about a bad mark they got on a spelling test. There's no offer of assistance. She's not even trying to assuage my worry or concern. "What's going on?" I blurt the question out.
"Nathan." She takes a step towards me. "I'm sorry."
The words hit me with the same force as the first time she slapped me across my face when she thought I was cheating on my ex-girlfriend, Cassandra, with her. I'm sorry. The phrase is meant to placate and please. It's meant to chase away the bad deed and replace it all with feelings of hope and promise. All I can hear is the veiled confession of a woman who I love desperately. All I can see is her falling into the bed of a man who isn't me. All I know is that this is my future standing in front of me telling me that she's sorry.
"For what?" I know my voice is trembling. I can't control it. I don't want to hear her response but I know that I have to. This is the very reason why I avoided relationships most of my life. This is why I wouldn't allow my heart to feel too deeply.
"I've done things." Her breath hitches as she says the words. "I've been missing work."