It’s the one point of contact I can’t seem to sever.
“Fuckfate,” I bark viciously. “Fate is for cowards, so you need to decide real quick—are you a coward, or are you a fighter?” My outburst gives me whiplash; I can only guess at what she must be thinking. Something along the lines of her brother having saddled her with a lunatic.
Let her believe what she will. I need to know her answer. It’s imperative.
My lips part to push for a response when a knock sounds at the door.
“Terina? You okay in there?” Isa has come to check on her with the absolute worst timing.
I hold Rina’s gaze captive, my stare commanding an answer.
For a second, I think she’s going to comply before a shutter falls across her eyes, effectively severing our connection. Sheswings open the bathroom door and transitions seamlessly into a lighthearted explanation to her friend as though our entire conversation never happened.
CHAPTER 11
TERINA
Past
Are you a fighter or a quitter?
I’ve been asking myself that for weeks, and I know it can’t be good. Not already.
As I swipe through wedding photos, it’s hard to believe only six months have passed. It seems like a lifetime.
I’ve been struggling with doubts about my marriage. It’s been so much harder than I imagined. I understand now what my parents had been trying to tell me, but it’s not the sort of information you can impart. This sort of life experience has to be earned.
My gaze drifts out the window from the gorgeous high-rise apartment my family bought us toward the financial district in the distance. My husband is somewhere over there, working himself into the ground to build a life for us. I’ve told him I don’t need to have the sort of money my parents have, but I don’t think he believes me. Whatever the motivation, he’s been working sixteen hours a day, seven days a week, for months. I hardly see him, and when I do, I don’t recognize him.
I massage my aching chest with my palm.
As much as the loneliness hurts, I prefer the pain to the constant doubts that plague me. Did I rush into marriage? Getting married at twenty-two after only knowing one another for less than a year seems fast, but it felt so right. Why have things changed so drastically? Will it get better? If so, how and when?
I keep myself as busy as I can to avoid answering the questions. I even accepted a role as a board member at a local soup kitchen where I volunteer. The extra responsibilities are a good distraction, and I get to indulge my love of exploring new recipes while keeping hungry people fed. I like what I do, but I’d prefer it if it were a choice rather than an escape from the loneliness.
Every day I pray that someone will tell me what I can do to fix this, and every night my tears are my only answer.
As if on cue, my phone buzzes with a call, sending my heart into orbit.
Craig’s beautiful smiling face appears on the screen. His contact photo was from a day we spent at the Bronx Zoo back when we were dating. We got to feed huge pieces of lettuce to a giraffe, and he was endlessly tickled by the experience. It was such a blissfully happy moment—one I love to relive every time my phone lights up with his calls—and a perfect reminder of what I’m fighting for.
Because Iama fighter.
I love Craig, and I want our marriage to work. I’m not ready to give up.
“Hey, baby,” I say with a smile that I hope he can hear.
“How’s my beautiful girl?” His words are sweet, and his tone is warm, but I can’t ignore the hint of distraction that’s ever-present these days.
“I’m good. Looking forward to dinner out with you tonight.”
“About that…” he draws slowly. “I can meet for dinner, but I’ll need to head back to the office after.”
“Back to the office so late?”
“Yes, Ree.” Exasperation sharpens his words. “We’ve talked about this. It won’t be forever.”
I can hear a pen rapidly tapping on his desk. I know it’s a pen because I’ve seen him do it at home, too, when he’s agitated.
