I LOOK AT THE PHONE. The icons. ‘Call ended’. Gratitude fills me. More than that. It bursts from me. Lifts my feet off the ground and makes my fist punch the air.
The joy is familiar. The excitement. The rush.
Emotions I tangled with earlier in our marriage. Before the wedding. While we were dating. I remember sitting at high standing tables with a younger Harriet. Fingers brushing as we both reached for a basket of chicken wings. Shy smiles. Napkins that tenderly cleaned sauce from hungry cheeks and lips.
I remember picking up the phone. Every thump of my fingers on the screen felt like home. I could recite her number in my sleep. I could pick her voice out of a crowd. She was the reason I got up in the morning. The reason I sang on my way to work.
I remember dates that I didn’t want to end. I remember talking until the lights went out. Until the bartender took pity on us and told us to stay until he finished cleaning. We kept talking in the car. The lampposts outside her apartment bathed our faces in silver. Laughter that met and collided like stars.
The memories fill my mind as I stare at my phone. She wants to see me.
She asked to meet. Not a date. Or… is it?
The last time we met, Harriet ignored me. Her eyes slid right through my body as if I were made of air.
Today, she reached out.
A favor? Yes. Of course. As long as I get to ask a favor of my own.
Come home. She’ll probably say no. Maybe.
Definitely.
Even so, I’ll speak the words. I need Harriet to know she has that option. Surrender. Point made. Coming back is on the table. It’s the only choice that will end this ridiculous separation.
The phone goes into my pocket. I tuck my joy away from sight too. Still, it pops up and demands attention. Anticipation makes my steps light. I’m already thinking of what we’ll talk about. I want to hear about Belize. I want to ask if she met anyone. If I have to hire thugs to fly to the Caribbean and end someone’s life.
How soon can two o’clock get here?
A glance at my watch makes me groan. It’s forever away.
I stumble into Doc’s shop. Familiar smells meet my nose. Car oil. Engine fluid. Dirt. Sand. Time always crawls to a stop when I’m getting lectured.
Maybe I should have skipped this meeting with Doc. Maybe.
But I can’t run the risk that Doc will tattle to Harriet. And then she might cancel our meeting this afternoon.
I’ll suffer well.
Doc glances up from the scanner that’s hooked to a rumbling engine. He greets me with a casual wave.
My hands stay at my sides. “Doc.” “Jerrison.”
“If you don’t mind, I have a meeting after this. Can we make this quick?”
He doesn’t respond.
“Doc?” I can’t hide the irritation in my tone. “Wrench.” He grunts out the order.
I scowl at him but march over to the toolbox.
“Thank you.” Doc nods at the car. “Can you take off the engine for me?”
I slide into the rusty truck. The stench of old burgers and sweat makes me gag. Whoever sent this car to Doc took terrible care of it. This ugly rust-
bucket must have been struggling, crying out about all the ways it was hurting. I bet the owners didn’t hear. I bet they didn’t pay attention until the truck broke down in the middle of traffic.
Doc hands the wrench back to me when I approach him. “I started with you on communication and I noticed that particular area is weak.”
Not even five minutes in and he’s already started with the insults.
“Doc, there’s nothing wrong with my communication. I’ve already explained to you that I’m very calm when I speak to my wife. She’s the one who blows up over nothing.”
He turns to me, his feet a shoulder-breadth apart and his dirty arms folded over his chest. “Give me some examples of what your wife says when she blows up at you.”
I tilt my head back. Sort through all the terrible insults Harriet has hurled at me through the years. “‘I wish I never married you, Jerrison’. ‘You’re trash, Jerrison’. Things like that.”
“She says you’re trash?” Doc arches an eyebrow.
I nod, glad that he’s finally starting to understand. See? It’s not my fault or my responsibility. Harriet deserves equal blame for our marriage falling apart.
“It’s bad enough that she insults me, but she always yells at the tip of her voice too. She talks down to me as if I’m not even a human being. I thought I married an elegant woman, but she acts like she belongs on the streets.” My head tilts in Doc’s direction. “You hear what I go through, don’t you, Doc?”
“I only hear what she’s saying beneath those words.” Doc scrubs his goatee.
My eyes narrow. That’s it?
After hearing Harriet’s vitriol, he’s still taking her side?
Doc picks up the scanner. “I hear your wife saying that she is upset with you for something that hurt her.”
“That’s no excuse to be vile.”
“While a man will throw punches, a woman will use words. Her first line of defense is to speak from her mouth, but what she’s really saying is buried somewhere deeper. Her heart. It’s so delicately complex that I refer to it as another language-womanese.”
I scoff. Shake my head. Glance at my watch.
Damn.
Only ten minutes have passed.
Doc takes the wrench from me. “What would your wife be so upset with you about?
“I have no idea.” I throw my hands high. “That’s what I’m telling you, Doc. She behaves like an animal for no reason.”
“So you’re saying that she’s a crazy woman?” “You said it, not me.”
“That explains why she chose you,” Doc mumbles. I whip my head around. “Excuse me?”
Doc stares intently at the scanning tool while fiddling with wires. “In your opinion, everything wrong in your marriage is your wife’s fault?”
I rub the back of my neck. Where is he going with this?
“You haven’t done anything out of the way? You’ve been an excellent husband. No cheating on her? No neglecting her. You’ve done everything right?”
“Well, we’re not talking about me.” I ease around the car and stand on the opposite side of the open hood. “We’re talking about her.”
Doc pierces me with his assessing gaze. “I would like for you to answer the question.”
Never one to shy away from a challenge, I glare right back into his eyes. “Okay. I’ll be real. No one stays with one woman anymore and I’m no different.”
Doc narrows his eyes.
“Reality is reality, Doc. Every man I’ve ever known has cheated on his girl. But I don’t sink to their depths. I’m not disrespectful to my wife. I never flaunt my other relationships in front of her.”
“So you’ve never brought other women home?” My eyes skitter away. “I didn’t say that.”
Doc continues to stare at me.
I bristle. “I’ve done it before, but only when I know she’s gone. Except one time.” Guilt churns in my stomach and I try my best to push it down. “It’s her fault she even saw us.”
“Why is that?”
“Harriet said she was going on a trip and she came back without warning. She set me up.” My fingers tighten on the car. “If she hadn’t lied to me, she never would have known.”
“You’d keep it a secret from her forever?”
“I believe in giving respect to my wife, so I don’t play games like that. I don’t push other women in her face. I would never have brought them home had I known she would have been there.”
Doc goes extremely quiet.
I squirm, waiting for his judgement.
Finally, Doc asks, “Do you want your wife, Jerrison?” He shifts away from me. “Or do you prefer the life you’re living?”
“I want my wife.”
Doc nods and releases the scanner plugs from the car.
“But,” I stress, “as I told you, no man has one woman. It’s just not possible.”
He wraps the long wire attached to the scanner. “We have a long, uphill journey before us, but that journey is only possible if you really want to fix this.”
“I’m here, aren’t I? I’m willing to put in the work.” “Then your first assignment is to let go of something.” Unease curls around my stomach. “Let go of what?”
“The other women.” His eyes flash darkly. “Or your wife. Your decision begins now.”
“Doc-”
He lifts an oil-stained hand. “If you decide to let go of your wife, I can no longer help you. But if you decide to hold on to your wife, you must let go of all outside relationships.”
“I’ve taken a break from-” “Taking a break means nothing.”
“I’m focusing, aren’t I?” I yell. “I’m here! What the hell do you want from me?”
“These meetings aren’t a screensaver to placate your wife so, at the end, you can go back to your old lifestyle. If that’s what you want, I’m afraid I can’t help you.” His eyes sharpen like black knives. “Whatever you decide, let me know.” He places the wrench in the toolbox and slams the lid. “Whoever you will break up with, make that decision and follow the necessary steps to get the breaking done. Don’t come back until you’ve completed this assignment.” Doc juts his chin at the tiny office. “Now leave your payment with the secretary.”