“I’m so happy you had a good day,” I told him, rubbing my thumb over my lips. It was true. Mark had been working for a small, not-for-profit law firm as his first job straight out of college, and though he’d never been one to seem greedy, I knew it was taxing work. He’d been working long hours with little pay and too many clients to keep track of for months. When a position opened up at Lyman and Associates, we knew it was a long shot. When he actually got the position, we were both shocked. I’d been half expecting him to come home and tell me it was all a prank.
“Good doesn’t even cover it. The best, that’s more like it. The best day imaginable. I’ve got so much to tell you. We need wine,” he said, setting me down on my feet and hurrying past me. “Something to celebrate.”
“Wine?” I asked, shocked by his words. It took me a half-second to process because it was so out of character. It was then that I recognized the strange taste on his lips. Champagne. “Have you been drinking?”
“I had a glass,” he said with a shrug. “No big deal. They opened a bottle at work, and I didn’t want to be rude.”
I furrowed my brow at him, following as he dismissed me on his way to the kitchen. “Mark, you’re an alcoholic. You shouldn’t be drinking.”
He pulled open the door to the refrigerator but shut it and turned around to face me without getting anything out. “Thank you very much for telling me about my own ailment, Han. I hadn’t realized.” There was a smirk still on his face, but it was fading fast.
“It’s true. You shouldn’t be drinking. You’ve done so well—”
“Yes, I have. And if I choose to have a glass of champagne to celebrate years of hard work, why shouldn’t I?”
“You know as well as I do, one glass leads to one hundred. You’ve said it a million times. It’s why you worked at a bar. So you could build up a tolerance for being around it and not be tempted. So you could handle being offered alcohol without having to say yes.”
“I can handle it,” he said indignantly. “This time was different, okay? I’m new. I couldn’t say no, Hannah. It would’ve been rude, or embarrassing at least. It’s fine. I’m fine. It was just one glass.”
“You just asked for one more!” I yelled, slamming my hands to my sides.
He sucked in a breath. “Well, fucking excuse me for thinking you’d want to celebrate with me on the biggest day of my career.” He shoved past me, hurrying from the kitchen in a cloud of anger.
“Since when do we celebrate with alcohol?” I asked. I myself had given up drinking around the house to help ease his temptation.
“Well, we can’t celebrate with anything else good, can we?” he screamed back from the other room.
I hurried after him, following him up the stairs and to our bedroom. “What the hell does that mean?”
He was fuming by the time I reached him, his hands shaking as he unbuttoned his dress shirt. “Just that every once in a while I’d like to have a slice of pizza or, god forbid, a piece of cake.”
“I never said you couldn’t—”
“It’s the unspoken rule, isn’t it? None of us gets what we want around here.”
I stepped back as if he’d slapped me as hard as his words stung. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
His head hung down as he pulled the shirt from his back, wadding it into a ball and tossing it into the hamper across the room. He shook his head. “Nothing, forget it. I didn’t mean that.”
“What exactly did you mean, then?” I asked.
He stepped toward me, the anger suddenly gone. “I didn’t mean anything, Han. Sorry. I just…I was in a good mood, and you’re right, I shouldn’t have had anything to drink. I don’t like the version of me that I am when I drink. You deserve better.”
“I don’t want to limit what you eat. I’m a grown woman, Mark. I can resist temptation. If you want pizza or cake, by all means—”
“I don’t,” he said quickly, cutting me off. “My waistline thanks you for the changes you’ve made to my diet.” He patted his stomach, then kissed the top of my head. “I’m sorry, I don’t want to fight with you. I have so much to tell—” He stopped, his eyes locking on something across the room, and I felt my reclaimed happiness dissipating as I realized what it was.
“Are you leaving?” he asked, staring at the suitcase in the corner.
“I have to catch a flight at nine.”
His face fell. “To where?”
“Denver. It’s just two days. I’ll be home for the weekend.”
“I thought you’d gotten the whole week off?” he asked.
“I thought so too, but this meeting came up last minute and there were no other reps to take it. It’s a sale we really need.” When I could see he wasn’t cheering up, I went on. “Besides, you’re going to be at work all week, anyway. It’s not like me sitting at home is doing anyone any good.”
“As opposed to you being on an airplane?”
“As opposed to me making money,” I argued, poking his chest playfully. When he didn’t smile, I groaned. “Why are you making a big deal about this?”
“Well, first of all, because you didn’t tell me.”
“I just found out a few hours ago. I was going to tell you when you got home.”
“And, second of all, because I thought you’d be home to hear about my new job. This is such a big step for me. It’s all we’ve worked for…” He trailed off, his eyes dancing between mine as he begged me to understand. I did understand. I knew what the day meant to him, but I had a job to do, too.
“And I am here, Mark. I’m right here. I don’t have to leave for a few hours. You can tell me all about your day, we’ll have dinner, and then when I get home, we can go out for the weekend and really celebrate.”
He nodded, but I could see his spirits were only partially lifted. “Whatever.” He pulled the undershirt over his head and grabbed the loose T-shirt he slept in from the end of the bed.
“Don’t be angry,” I said. “I want to hear more about your new job.”
He pulled on his pajama pants and took my hand, pulling me to his lap as he sat on the edge of the bed. His kiss was slower and he seemed to have finally given up the last of his anger. “I’ll tell you in a minute. First, let me give you something to remember me by.”
Chapter Eight
Her
I worked for another few months at my job before it became such an issue that I agreed to quit. By that time, Mark was making enough money for us to live on, and my traveling seemed to be causing the greatest rift in our marriage. It felt like the right thing to do. I won’t say I wasn’t bitter about it—I loved my job despite its many flaws—but I loved Mark more, and when I had to make the choice, there was no true competition.
One day a few months after I’d begun staying at home full time, I was preparing a load of laundry. I grabbed handfuls of dirty clothes from the hamper in our bedroom and transferred them into the larger hamper from our laundry room. As I did, something purple fell from the pile of clothes, catching my eye.