29. Beautiful Mess

Beautiful Mess

M ara

Wednesday morning, I let Olivia sleep in a bit longer than usual. I had gotten up with Zale after a really good sleep, and I’d already put in a couple of hours of work on my next book.

I sipped my second cup of coffee, curled up on the couch reading, for fun. Yay! I loved reading but rarely took the time. Once I got into a good book, I tended to ignore all my responsibilities, only wanting to get to the happily ever after. Because I’d just cut down on my responsibilities for a couple of weeks, and I needed to increase self-care, I could afford to lose myself in a book…or two .

Olivia and I baked cookies and homemade bread, chatting quietly together in the kitchen about whatever topics crossed Olivia’s mind. Once the cookies cooled enough to eat we indulged ourselves, and Olivia asked if we could deliver one to Gran-Gran.

Of course. Today of all days. Well, I did say I’d try to visit her today, so I’d take this as a sign to do just that. We ate lunch and then, while Olivia lost herself in her Zen Garden, I picked up my cell and went to my bedroom to make the call.

“Hello?” Her tone had not softened.

“Hi, mom.”

“Yes?”

“Don’t be like that,” I chided. ‘You were out of line.” I hurried before she could interrupt.

“Would you like a short visit this afternoon?”

“I’m busy.”

“That’s good. What are you doing?”

“Nothing. I’m just not feeling like company.”

“Okay, fair enough.” She wanted to make her point.

“Come tomorrow. I’m available tomorrow.”

I understood her game now. She either wanted me to throw over Olivia’s time at the shelter or spend my alone time with her as a show of loyalty .

“I can’t on Thursdays, Mom. I told you this before.”

“Well, I can’t today.”

“If that’s what you want…”

“What I want is a little respect from my children.”

I decided I’d try again. “Did you hear what I told you yesterday, Mom?”

“Oh, ho,” she huffed. “I heard a lot of distasteful things yesterday.”

“Did you hear me say my doctor is concerned about my blood pressure? That I need to take some down time?”

“Everybody has blood pressure problems these days. Don’t be so dramatic.”

My efforts were pointless. “I can see I made a mistake in calling. I will call you in two weeks. Hopefully, I’ll feel better then, and this will no longer be an issue.”

“Fine,” she yelled. “I can see I’m not important anymore. I’ll just hang out here by myself until I die. I’ll leave your inheritance to your precious animal shelter. You don’t deserve a cent of it.”

She slammed down the phone. The tremor in my hand paled in comparison to the full body tremors shaking my legs and chattering my teeth together. This should never be the response from a daughter after talking to her mother.

I recited my cards from memory .

You will never have the mother you want and deserve.

The only change will be the change you make.

You are responsible for your actions; she is responsible for hers.

This moment is exactly as it should be considering everything that came before this moment.

Never had that one felt truer than in that moment. Now I needed to tell my little bird that we would make cookies for Gran-Gran another time.

I’d call Bex and see if we could bring some for her and the twins after school. It wouldn't be relaxing exactly, but it was fun for both of us, it would make Olivia happy, and I always loved seeing Bex. I’d also get a chance to chat with Bex about my phone calls with my mother.

Thursday morning, I got an email canceling my appointment with Erin for that week due to illness. Olivia went to the shelter, but we had no girls’ night planned. I had no responsibilities. It should have been a good relax but I couldn’t shut down the recriminations in my head. I couldn’t wrap my head around my mother’s complete disregard for my wellbeing. I looked at my cards over and over, they were not enough. My heart ached.

We had plans to go out tomorrow night with Rhys and Rebecca, Willa offered to take Olivia overnight, so I had that to look forward to. I tried to focus my thoughts on our date night. I did my nails, put a treatment on my hair, had a bubble bath, but my heart rate still skittered and stopped like a butterfly trapped in a vase.

Friday evening, I stood in front of my closet. I should never have agreed to this. Theoretically, a date night should be fun and enjoyable. In reality, I felt fragile, and I didn’t know if I’d be able to lock it all down tonight.

I wished we were just going to hang out here, or at their house, but I didn’t want to ask. I thought back to Stratford, how we promised each other we’d go out more. I needed to suck it up. I still had no clue what to wear.

I called Bex.

“Mara?”

“Hey. I don’t know what to wear tonight.” I sounded flat even to my own ears.

“Wear one of your new outfits.”

“I don’t know which one.”

“All of them are good. What’s wrong?”

“Please, just tell me what to wear.”

“Okay, Merry, let me think.” She paused, then decided, “black skinny ripped jeans, loose white V-neck blouse, hip length black satin fitted quilted vest, turquoise pumps for a pop of color, that sound good? ”

“Yes, okay, thanks. See you soon.”

I got off the phone quickly and got dressed. My makeup was flawless. My lips looked lush and so did my body. Bex did an excellent job putting my outfit together from afar.

Zale came back from dropping off Olivia and glanced at me as he walked through to grab his shoes and tossed me a compliment on his way past. “You look good, gorgeous.”

I didn’t answer. I thought I’d have gotten a better reaction than that, but honestly, when did he ever see me, when did he ever stop to look? Not often.

I had to stop kidding myself. Passing out compliments, public displays of affection, wild and crazy sex on demand, were just not him. He was as cool and laid back as I was chaotic and tumultuous, which was often steadying for me, but being the one who was passionate and needy, the one who was over-invested, the one panting like a bitch in heat, was not all that enjoyable.

The mismatch was painful, intolerably so at times.

I grabbed a jacket to keep in the car. I knew I probably wouldn’t need it, the weather being so mild, but I brought it in case the temperature dropped, like it sometimes did in May. Zale sauntered out in his easy, rolling gait, happy energy radiating off him, looking forward to going out. He’d wanted to go to this restaurant for a while, and they had live music tonight. No dancing, thankfully.

He seemed to notice me for the first time. “You good, baby? ”

“I’m good.”

He looked at me quizzically. “Let’s go?”

“Yup.”

I smiled big and he smiled back, looking relieved.

Just keep swimming, just keep swimming.

I hated myself.

We got to the restaurant to find Rhys and Rebecca already seated. More relieved than I could explain to be in her presence. I smiled big at both of them, and they greeted me warmly.

Rhys cocked his head, studying me in that way he had, and I saw him look at Rebecca, concern written on his handsome face. I wondered if I looked as brittle as I felt. I wished my own husband would see me. I sat down next to Rebecca, and she took my hand in hers.

“Holy fucking manoli, Mara, you’re trembling!”

I winced. “Shush, Bex. Don’t call attention to it please.”

Zale sat talking with Rhys, who glanced our way every few seconds.

“You’re in no shape to be out tonight,” she added.

“I know, but we don’t get this opportunity too often and I didn’t want to disappoint him. ”

“Can he not see how you’re feeling?”

“No, Rebecca, he cannot,” I replied sharply. “Please. We can’t all have a Rhys.” I dropped my chin for a second. “I’m sorry. Please forgive me.” I looked back up to meet her eyes, make sure we were okay.

“No sorry necessary, babe. You know I’m your bitch.”

I couldn’t help but smile at that. “I know.”

“What’s going on?” She prodded.

“My mom has basically no real feelings for me. I feel like I’m physically falling apart. I’m so tired, I’m so disgusted with myself, I hate the way I look…” I stopped. “I’m just having a bad day. I’ll be fine. Honestly. A delicious meal, good conversation, a drink or three, and I’ll be fine.” I smiled to back up my words. She didn’t look convinced.

My mood slowly picked up due to Bex’ comforting presence, and I was feeling almost serene when a slender woman, quite a bit younger than me, approached Zale.

“Zale? Hey!”

I stiffened in my seat. She leaned over and gave him a light hug and a kiss on his cheek.

The blood drained from my face, the curious sensation of ice and weightlessness slowly made its way down my body, leaving a sense of vertigo in its wake. The sick feeling hit my stomach at the same time as the blood raged back to my face slapping two stark slashes of red across my cheeks. Bile churned in my stomach. A scream of rage lodged in my throat. I fought the nausea that threatened to expel the contents of my stomach.

“Holly! Hi! Are you here with the team?”

So, he worked with her.

Oh, God. Was she the reason he’d been so uncomfortable that night when we fought about his working late?

Both Rhys and Bex locked on to me. I had no energy to hide it or care. Bex put her hand on my thigh, pressing in firmly. The earlier trembling in my hands had given way to full body vibrations. I heard Bex gasp, but I could not answer her, too busy gritting my teeth together to stop them from chattering.

I remembered my decision to not watch Zale talking to other women, and I met Rhys’ gaze across the table for a half a second as I swung my attention away from the petite, bubbly, redhead presently chatting with my husband. Rhys winced when he met my eyes, so I knew my face hid nothing of my agony.

“No, I’m here with my husband. We got a sitter for the kids and we’re having a date night. I won’t keep you, I just wanted to thank you again for recommending me for that promotion. I hate to leave your district, you’re the best manager I’ve ever had, but I’m also happy to be moving up.”

“You’re welcome. You earned it. ”

Bex murmured low in my ear, but I couldn’t make sense of her words, my attention already divided between locking down my emotions, and the conversation between my husband and this woman. Wondering who she was to him that she thought she could put her fucking hands and her fucking whore mouth on him. My throat tightened, holding back the rage that burned to escape.

I felt him shrug beside me. He’d moved closer to me at some point. He turned toward me, and I slowly shifted my attention to him and fucking Holly, forcing a polite smile.

She looked at me and the expression stuttered on her face. “I see you’re busy, I’ll let you go.”

“Have you met my wife before?” Zale asked, turning to face me.

He froze when he faced me. I don’t know what he saw on my face, it obviously wasn’t my best look, but I was trying.

I looked up at her and smiled. “Hello, I’m Mara. Congratulations on your promotion.”

I tried to inject warmth into my voice but even to my own ears l sounded weirdly flat.

“Thanks,” she replied, a bit uncertain.

She leaned toward Zale again, but he leaned slightly away from her at the same time as I visibly flinched, and she had to make do with a hand to his shoulder. She squeezed and then let him go.

“Enjoy your night, Zale. Nice to finally meet you, Mara. ”

“Nice to meet you, too. Enjoy your evening, it’s not every night you can get a sitter, right?”

God, I made myself sick with how hard I was trying, when what I really wanted to do was rip out her hair.

She smiled more genuinely. “You got that right!” She gave a little wave and walked back to her table. I kept my eyes off of Zale, worried he’d have his eyes on her retreating form. I sagged back into my chair.

“Fuck me, Mara, I work with her, for crying out loud.”

My eyes flew to his face, his furious face. I flinched and felt Bex’s fingers flex into my thigh.

She spoke before I did. “She’s not feeling well, Zee. She hasn’t been since before she got here. She came for you; she’s doing her best.”

I squeezed my eyes shut, willing myself to be anywhere but there, listening to anything other than my best friend trying to convince my husband to love me.

I heard Rhys’s gravelly voice addressing Zale softly. “She’s not right tonight, man. Maybe you should take her home.”

I heard, and felt, him sigh beside me. “C’mon then, let’s go home.”

I think I said goodbye to Bex and Rhys, but I know I didn’t meet anybody’s eyes. I was holding onto my shit by an exceedingly fine thread and even a hint of sympathy or judgement would snap it .

Zale walked out slightly in front of me and didn’t speak to me on the way out to the car. He opened my door then walked around to his side leaving me to close it like he always did. I stared out the window, numbing myself to thoughts of the bubbly redhead, wondering about the other women he worked with, and the long hours he worked.

Hold on, hold on, hold on.

At home, I got out of the car and waited for him at the front door. He still hadn’t spoken to me. I dropped my shoes in the front hall, and he finally broke the silence.

“You didn’t need to be so stiff and rude, Mara. She’s nothing to me.”

I whirled on him, surprising him and myself, the numbness burning away in an instant and I hissed between my teeth, “She touched you. How familiar are you with your co-workers?”

I took a step toward him, my palm vibrating with the desire to slap his face.

He stepped back, his face shuttering closed, disgust evident in the twist of his beautiful lips.

I backed away from him, shocked by the violence of my feelings, and headed to the main bathroom.

He didn’t follow. He never did .

I stripped off my clothes, faced the mirror and sneered at my own reflection, my face stark white except for two violent slashes of red, my mouth a thin line.

A sob ripped through my closed throat.

I dragged my nails across my breasts, harder and harder, feeling the skin collecting under my nails, watching as the welts rose in my flesh. I had to stop. Here it would be visible to Olivia.

I moved to my stomach, grabbing the extra flesh in hands shaped like claws, ripping and pulling the rolls that disgusted me so, my mouth stretched wide in a silent scream. The pain began to recede.

I took a deep breath, and then the picture of Zale’s twisted mouth flashed in my brain. I sank to the floor, my naked back against the door and my nails went to the inside of my thighs. I dragged them across the wide expanse harder and harder, noting the abrasions begin to break through the skin. I stopped and changed my technique, digging in only, leaving dozens of crescent shaped marks that I hoped would still be there in the morning, a mark of my shame.

I rested my head back against the door and dug my nails into my scalp until I could breathe easier. The first tear fell, and then the dam swung open, releasing the deluge.

I stayed in the bathroom, naked on the floor, the cold of the tiles seeping into my bones, the punishing discomfort offering its own distorted brand of relief .

When I was certain he must be asleep, I covered myself with a bath towel and slunk into our room to get my pajamas. Zale snored softly, stretched out across our bed. I slipped back out and went to the guest room, not wanting to contaminate Olivia’s bed with my presence.

Saturday morning, Zale pretended nothing happened, and I did my usual, retreating as deep inside myself as I could get, not meeting his eyes, keeping conversation light and polite, praying for bedtime so I could close my eyes and escape my reality.

When Olivia arrived home shortly after lunch, I no longer had the strength to cover my feelings. I told her I had a headache and needed to lie down. I stayed in our bedroom after that.

Zale came in once, just inside the doorframe, to ask if he should order food for dinner and what I wanted. I quietly told him to just look after Olivia and himself and he backed out of the door again.

I fell asleep at some point but woke when I felt him slip into the bed behind me, sliding his arm around my stomach and pulling me back against his chest. I purposefully relaxed my body, determined to stay asleep.

He pressed his lips against the side of my neck, at the juncture of my shoulder, and just like the night before, when unexpected rage overflowed, so the grief did now. A sob ripped through my body so violently that I bucked against him, my back arched away from him, my head thrown back, gasping for air through a throat locked tight .

“Fuck, baby, I’m sorry.” He whispered against my shoulder. ‘I’m so fucking sorry.”

I couldn’t breathe, animal-like sounds of pain escaping my throat, a riptide of shame and despair rolling over me.

“Easy, baby. Easy, my baby,” he murmured, his voice pained.

“Nooo,” I moaned, trying to roll away from him. “Just leave me be.”

“Never.” He held me tighter, kissing my neck again and again.

I cried harder.

“Shh, baby, please. Don’t wake Olivia.”

I gulped but the sounds came out just the same. I rolled onto my stomach, hiding my face in my folded arms.

“Let me rub your back,” he whispered as he smoothed his palm along my back. I hiccoughed, my breath hitched, my tears flowed.

He huffed. “Fuck, baby, I can’t stand to hear you cry. Please, my baby, please, calm down.”

“I’m...trying…”

I tried to rein it in, but I’d lost control of my emotions the night before and I had not yet been able to contain them. His hand continued to stroke, up and down my spine, around and then back. I started to focus my attention on the warmth and pressure from his hand, and the physical connection to him .

“I know, I know you are, it’s okay. I love you so much. I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry I got mad at you. You didn’t deserve it.”

“I’m a monster.”

I embarrassed him last night. What a failure of a wife. He can’t even breathe without triggering my jealousy.

“No, no, you’re not. You’re perfect.”

My tears slowly subsided, my system calming, I had my drug, it was rubbing my back. I snorted. “I’m a mess.”

“A beautiful mess, my mess, my perfect, beautiful mess that I couldn’t live without.”

He turned me to face him within the circle of his arms. His eyes were sad, the lines on his face more pronounced. I moved closer, tucked my head under his chin, folding my hands between our chests. He rubbed my back, and I arched to press myself closer to him. Then his hand began to roam, trying to give me what I had so often told him I needed and wanted, only I didn’t want it right then.

I didn’t want him to see the marks. With only the light from the tv, I reasoned, he wouldn’t see much. I desperately wanted to reconnect with him, yet I knew I didn’t deserve him. I decided to lie still, and he’d surely fall asleep, or I would. One more day and the marks would fade. Two more and they’d be gone.

He pulled my nightie up at the back, slipping his fingers under the band of my panties, caressing my hip, the dip at my waist, up over my ribs, and then followed the path back into my panties, delving lower each time until he came to rest on the crease at the top of my thigh.

I loved that. He knew exactly where to touch me to elicit a response. I remained still.

His hand came back up, over my hip, trailing into the dip at my waist, to the top of my ribs, his thumb stroking the side of my breast, then back down, over my hip, across my ass, one long finger slipping between my legs, sliding through the wet and I lost the fight, arching back into his palm. As my whole body cried out for him, I kept my head tucked, protecting my chest.

He lifted his chin from my head and spoke, his voice low. “Give me your mouth or you’ll lose my finger.”

I immediately lifted my chin and tilted my head back to receive his kiss. He entered me with his finger and covered my mouth gently with his. He stroked me and I arched back into his hand seeking the pleasure at the tips of his talented fingers. I began to lose myself in the pleasure, pleasure that was magnified by the pain of separation. He lifted his mouth from mine and trailed kisses down my throat to my chest, then stilled. Completely.

Confused for a moment by the sudden stop, I fought my way back to awareness, horrified to find him peering closely at my chest. I tried to roll away.

His arms tightened. “Oh, no, you don’t. Stay with me, gorgeous. ”

I trembled with shame and teetered with indecision. He pushed his finger inside me, then withdrew and circled my clit. I moaned but stayed curled. He did it again, I couldn’t help it, I arched into his hand, and gave myself up to him to get what my heart and mind and body craved.

All the fear, all the angst, all the grief, all the worry, gave way under his attention. The hours and hours of crying left my head fuzzy, and my defenses were shattered ever since my mother rejected my offer to visit. I needed to reconnect.

Tears slipped from the corners of my closed eyes. He kissed them away. He dragged his hand around my thigh and lifted my nightie at the front, tugging my underwear off over my hips, never taking his mouth from mine. He moved to open the buttons at the bodice, and I grasped it so he couldn’t.

“I’ve already seen,” he whispered, his voice hitching. “Mara, it’s okay, let me love you.”

I moved my hand but turned my face away, ashamed, but he grasped my chin and turned me back to face him, took my mouth, and continued with the buttons, freeing my breasts. With my attention locked onto him again, pressing closer, he pressed his hard thigh between mine as he palmed and squeezed my breast.

He broke the kiss, rolled me to my back, and began the sweet descent to my breasts, licking and tugging each, my hands in his hair, my eyes tightly shut against the evidence of my craziness, focusing hard on the feel of him on me and not the tyrant screaming taunts in my head.

Pulling up my nightie, he trailed kisses across my stomach, over my mons, and knelt between my open thighs, his hands holding me open to his gaze. Neither of us moved. I waited for his disgust, his rejection, but got his lips instead, sweetly kissing my inner thigh, then he moved to the other side, and I realized he was placing sweet kisses on each of the marks he could see in the dim light.

I moved to close my thighs, but he pressed them open, and again he whispered, “Let me love you.”

“I’m not loveable,” I whispered brokenly.

“You are. I’m loving you right now.” He pressed an open mouth kiss over my clit, and I tilted involuntarily against his lips. “And I will continue to love you,” he licked through from my opening to my clit, “for all of my life.”

He grasped my hips, swirling the little bud with his tongue, then pulling the tender flesh into his mouth. Two fingers quickly plunged inside me, once, twice, his mouth covering me, his tongue lightly flicking, and I was lost.

He reared up over me, his mouth over mine, my taste on both our lips now, and thrust inside. He drove in fiercely, propelling me up the bed with the force of his thrusts.

I pushed my hands back against the headboard to give him more, groaning into his mouth. He tore his mouth from mine, dropped his face into my neck and pounded into me. Within moments he stiffened, and pulsed inside me, his low groan vibrating against my throat.

I wrapped my arms around him, afraid now that it was over about what he would say. I felt stupid.

Maybe I overreacted?

I no longer felt nearly as bad as I did. He lifted to his elbows and looked into my eyes. I faced him bravely. He gave me a sad half smile.

“I love you, Mara.”

I whispered brokenly back, “I love you, Zee.”

“Come with me to the bathroom and clean up.”

The bathroom lights were bright. I hurriedly refastened my buttons as I walked with him. He passed me a wet hand towel and I cleaned myself up, his hands on my hips, my nightie bunched under his palms, his lips dropping kisses on the back of my neck. I didn’t know what was happening. I was afraid to look at him. I finished and he took the towel and tossed it into the hamper, then followed me back to bed. He’d never done this before. He opened the covers and motioned me in. I lay down, he covered me, and kissed me, hard, on the mouth.

“I’ll be right back to cuddle.”

“Okay,” I whispered, unsure about this new routine .

Zale

He covered her in the bed and went to the bathroom, closing the door behind him. Sitting on the lid of the toilet, he dropped his head into his hands, picturing the welts he’d seen and kissed on her body.

For the first time he fully acknowledged to himself that something inside his wife had broken, this was not ‘same old, same old,’ and he didn’t know how to fix it. He rubbed his hands over his face, smelling her essence on his hands, and breathed her in.

He took a deep breath, finished in the bathroom, and went back to his wife, in hopes of holding back her demons, for tonight at least.

Tomorrow he’d figure things out, starting with giving her a day to herself, to rest and recoup. He’d take Olivia out for a few hours, visit Dean, pick up something good to eat for dinner, something Mara would like, and finish off the night watching a movie, cuddled up together, the three of them, on the couch.

It was a good plan and would have gone a long way toward rebuilding her strength, if not for what happened on Monday.