But. “I can’t, Nate, I can’t, if I talk about it, everyone will know and I—”
“There aren’t any cameras here, and I’m not miked.” He wets his lips, his eyes darting down to the mic pack at my back. “Is yours . . .?”
“I turned it off,” I say, sniffling. God, I must look like a disaster. Good thing, at least, we were all told to bring waterproof mascara.The show wants us all to cry, but they don’t want us looking like raccoons when we do.
“Do you want me to make sure . . .” He trails off again, looking pointedly at the pack and then back up again. It’s probably a good idea to have him check, though if I failed to turn the stupid thing off, they already have a lot of great audio of me being an emotional wreck. I reach behind me and undo the zipper enough to untape the thing and hand it to him.Then I zip myself back up, though I’ve clearly lost any trace of dignity long before now.
He eyes the pack. “Okay, yeah, it’s off.” He sets it down and sits back. “You don’t have to talk about it. But if you want to, there’s no one here but you and me. No one even knows you’re here—I just noticed you weren’t down with the others and came looking for you.”
I wipe tears away from my cheeks, but more spill out. “You promise you won’t tell anyone?”
“I promise, Becks.” His eyes are locked on mine, and his voice is so sincere, so kind, that it breaks me apart.
“I lied to you,” I say, the words choking me. “I lie to everyone, and I—” I shake my head. “My marriage was awful, Nate. I was miserable the whole time. He was terrible to me, he—” I cut off in a fresh burst of tears.
“He hurt you?” Nate asks, his tone almost too even, like he’s trying not to react.
“Not physically,” I say. “He never hit me.”
“But he hurt you.” Not a question this time.
I nod. “He wanted me to feel small and stupid and weak. He told me all the time how dumb I was, how I wouldn’t survive ten minutes without him. How everything I had was because of him, and I’d never be anything without him. How I could never get through college. How I was a terrible mother and the girls deserved better.”
“Are you serious?” he asks. But I can tell it’s not that he’s doubting the truth of what I’m saying.
“I wasn’t lying about how much he loved them,” I say. “They were his little princesses. He was never cruel to them, and the things he would say to me he wouldn’t ever say in front ofThea and definitely never sign in front of her. Which was good. I never wanted her to see that, you know?” I close my eyes, letting out a breath. “But he would criticize everything I did. Making me give him lists of everything I fed them, of how much screen time they had, who I let them interact with. I had to tell him everyone I saw, everywhere I went. I had to show him receipts, to account for every cent I spent, or he would accuse me of wasting our money. I didn’t even have direct access to our accounts. I had to beg my husband for every fucking dollar, and even though I knew this wasn’t the way a marriage was supposed to be, I believed everything he told me about myself. I believed that the girls deserved better, and that I could never be good enough.”
“Oh god, Becks,” Nate says. “I can’t even—” He looks up at the night sky and presses his lips together.Then he looks back at me. “I saw you with your kids. I saw how they are with you, how much they love you and you love them. You’re an incredible mom. And I don’t doubt for a second that you always were, no matter what that asshole said.”
I let out a laugh that surprises even me. “No one ever called him an asshole. Not charming, lovable, military hero Rob.” I close my eyes against another round of tears.
“I feel like calling him a lot worse,” Nate says.
“You and me both.”
I look into those dark eyes reflecting the moonlight, and I can feel the bare inches of space between his hand and mine as we sit there side by side. I wish I could cross that distance—I wish I could cross every distance—and know that he would want it the same way I do.
But despite that longing and despite knowing I have more I need to unpack from that briefcase, things I’m ashamed for him to know . . . it already feels a little lighter.Ifeel lighter.
Part of it is just the getting to be open about this at all, outside of a weekly therapy session.
But the bigger part, I think, is letting myself be truly open withhim.
