A beeping sound jolts me awake. My head pounds as my eyes adjust to the thin ray of light filtering through the shutters. It’s eerily quiet in here; it must be early in the morning. Next to me, Olivier grunts in his sleep. He stirs and rolls toward me as I pick up my phone, the glow of the screen revealing my husband’s naked body.
We had sex last night. Shocking for newlyweds, right? It wasn’t until we were catching our breaths that I realized it had been a while. We definitely hadn’t done it since the wedding. In fact, it was way longer than that. Weeks, maybe even a couple of months. Maybe that’s why he was on edge.
I flick off the duvet and slide off the mattress, my feet landing quietly on the plush carpet. The sleeping pill hasn’t fully worn off yet and I feel unsteady as I try to stand up. Gripping my phone, I head to the bathroom and don’t turn on the light until I’ve closed the door behind me.
Hey
It’s Darren. Sitting on the edge of the tub, I contemplate the three letters, wondering. We’re six hours ahead, which means it’s midnight over there.Darren isn’t much of a night owl. It was a thing between us when we dated. He liked to get an early night so he’d feel fresh and rested for his new job at the governor’s office. I thought going to bed early was for old people. I wanted friends over, drinks, music. If we didn’t live a little at our age, then when would we?Some of us have jobs,Darren would reply between yawns. I’d storm off and slam the door behind me. But then we’d make up. We always did.
Hi there, I text back, my heart pumping in my ears.
Is he with u?
Darren doesn’t like to say Olivier’s name. Most people back home went straight to “Oliver” or “Olly.” Olivier let them, but you could see the defeated look on his face. We country folks weren’t sophisticated enough to pronounce his French name correctly. For Darren, though, I secretly hoped it was more about the fact that I’d gone to the city and come home not just with a guy, not just with a boyfriend, but a handsome one. A successful one. One with a fancy accent and shit. A rich one. Though that, of course, was a lie.
He’s asleep
It’s 6 am here
I feel the need to remind him that I’m in some faraway place, in a different time zone. Darren hasn’t been anywhere, done anything. But I couldn’t resist his clean-cut baby face, with a jaw so square and a nose so sharp it just oozes masculinity. He’s the kind of guy who can drive a stick, fixes things around the house, and makes dad jokes. Who’s so ready to become one, too.
I miss u
Before I can even process what I’m reading, the door to the bathroom bursts open. I let out a yelp as I jump.
“You’ve been gone a while,” Olivier says as he stands there, naked.
He catches me looking up and down and smiles. I might be blushing. That level of intimacy between us feels weird. Unnatural.
Yesterday, Olivier took me shopping at Le Bon Marché, the chic department store near our hotel. He waited patiently as I tried on armloads of designer clothes, giving me his opinion with a smile plastered on his face, even when I ignored it. I walked out with more clothes than I’ve bought in an entire year before, as well as a Chanel handbag: the classic black quilted one with the two interlocked C’s and the chain strap. The same bag you see dangling from the shoulders of all the cool girls and celebrities alike. I didn’t do the conversion from euros to dollars but it would have been close to seven grand. For a bag! A simple black bag. But I can do that now. I thought Olivier might balk at the price, but he agreed I should treat myself.
Afterward, I took my new Chanel out for a spin at the Luxembourg Gardens. There, Olivier insisted on taking pictures of me. He held my hand any chance he got. Kissed me on street corners. I wasn’t sure what was happening to him, but I didn’t hate it.
“You coming back to bed?” He glances briefly at the phone on my lap.
“Yep,” I say, getting up to follow him.
But I can’t fall asleep again.
I waited for Darren to cave for so long. The first time we were together—in high school—it was me who broke things off. I had dreams of going places, getting out of our basic little town and that dark house that felt so miserable. The mother I grew up with was a broken woman, one who could only bring herself to go through the motions: making just enough money to get by, keeping me clothed and fed. Even that took a lot out of her. I know she didn’t want to live like this, depressed and lonely. But she did and it meant that I had no choice but to suffer through it, too.
Mom had been single forever and, when she finally met my father, shethought her luck had turned around. She was desperate for a family, but I took my sweet time to come along. A complicated pregnancy led to a difficult baby—me—who spent her first few years in and out of doctors’ offices. I never slept at night, apparently. Never stopped crying. Never went more than a few weeks without catching an illness of some sort. I was so hard to take care of. So much harder than I should have been.
My father didn’t want a family anywhere near as much as my mother did, or at least he didn’t wantthisfamily. He shed us like dead skin by the time I was four. That’s when Mom turned the house into an inn—there was so much space for the two of us. She’d stopped working when I was born, so instead of trying to figure out a nine-to-five job as a single mother with a young child, she set up the spare rooms for guests and reached out to travel agents.
Growing up, I hated it all so much. Not just the strangers in the house, but the feeling that she couldn’t stand to be alone with me. She’d finally met someone, had a good husband. Her life had taken a great turn before I came and messed it all up.
I was barely a teenager when I started sneaking out at night. I wanted to meet boys, to try anything, tolive. To do the exact opposite of what my mother was doing. I’d disappear for the weekend, coming home smelling like weed and tequila, my hair knotted with leaves. She’d scold me, half-heartedly tried to ground me, but I could tell she didn’t care enough to follow through. So the next time I’d up the ante, curious to see what would make her snap. Turns out, you can’t break someone who is already shattered.
You could say that Darren and I weren’t the most obvious match from the start. Not with his classic American family—a mom, a dad, a boy, a girl, and a sweet golden retriever to boot—his straight As, his dreams of a house, a yard, and a secure job. To me it felt both exotic and vanilla at the same time. I wasn’t exactly sure what I wanted, but that wasn’t it.
Or maybethat’swhy we were drawn to each other. I broke up with himhalf a dozen times, but I always came back weeks or months later, all too happy to nestle myself in his safe, strong arms again. He’d always been open about the fact that he wanted marriage, kids, the works. And I’d always said,No thank you. Not for me.
But after years of seeing that the grass wasn’t greener elsewhere, and as my friends settled down into vanilla lives of their own, I started to wonder. After Brianna got engaged to her high-school sweetheart, I noticed she beamed brighter than a Budweiser neon sign for weeks. By the time of the wedding, Darren and I had been back together for six months. Brianna had decided to keep her bridal party to her sisters only, and once the sting of being left out had dissipated, I had picked out a bright-red satin dress that made me feel sexier than ever.
When we got home that night, I jokingly told Darren that if he proposed to me now, I might say yes. He’d laughed awkwardly, which I’d put down to him being drunk. Or maybe he didn’t think I was serious. So, a few weeks later, I casually pointed out an ad for engagement rings while scrolling through Instagram. When Darren barely glanced at it, I figured it was because he planned on surprising me. So then of course Ineededto know. I texted my friend group that I felt “something” was coming and that—hint, hint—I’d appreciate a little warning from my dear gals. They all sent cute emojis back but no intel.
Months went by as I dropped more not-so-subtle hints. Nothing. By then I was even looking up baby names—me, who had always felt like having children could only be a death sentence. I’d left my tablet open before heading out to the bar. When I came back, Darren was still up, looking upset. He sat me down and told me he couldn’t keep going like this. He’d gone to visit a cozy three-bedroom house and was going to put in an offer. His boss saw great things in him. He felt ready to get married and have a family. But it wasn’t going to be with me. I liked to party too much. I drank too much. I couldn’t cook. I’d never hung on to a job for more than a few months, and I was always askingfor money to spend on frivolous things. Surely even I could tell that I wasn’t marriage material?
