While Tripp is still on the phone with his mother, I pull out the contract that outlines the provisions should we ever divorce. I skim the pages and, even though Tripp is against having a prenup, even though I am against it, I sign anyway. The last thing I want is for anyone to think I am after the Montgomery money or that I have any ill intentions. But there’s something else to me signing, something that makes me feel a step ahead of Eloise, that, aside from the fact that she’s been caught and berated by her son, I know I’m not signing the contract out of persuasion or intimidation. I’m signing of my own free will.
The dip of the mattress stirs me back to the present. I can smell the faint scent of Tripp’s cologne as he lies on the opposite side of the bed.
Tired of feeling lonely and neglected, I give in to my irritation and mutter beneath my breath, “You could’ve called.”
“Stop.”
“Why?”
“Because it’s late, and I’m tired.” His tone is that of annoyance, which instantly pisses me off because I’m the only one with a reason to be annoyed.
My frustrations seep out as I roll over and mumble under my breath, “You always have an excuse.”
“What?”
“Nothing. Go to bed if you’re tired.”
“Carly, it’s two o’clock. I’ve been working all day,” he shoots back.
“Well, maybe you should stop working so late. Then you wouldn’t be too tired to spend time with your wife.”
Tripp turns the lamp on and tempers flare.
“You really want to go there, Carly?”
“It’s been four weeks.”
“What’s been four weeks?”
Tossing the covers off me, I sit up and glare at him before snapping, “Since we’ve had sex, Tripp!”
“This again? In case you haven’t noticed, I’ve been working my ass off. And let me tell you something else, your constant insinuations that I’m not being honest or faithful is a fucking turnoff.”
I lose my composure as anger bursts from within. “You seem to have enough time for Olivia.”
“Nothing worse than an insecure wife who has too much time on her hands.”
“I saw you!” I accuse, sitting up and looking down on him. “What were you doing with her alone and on the opposite side of the house with her last night?”
This has him pushing up to sit next to me. “If I didn’t want you, I wouldn’t come home to you every night.”
“If you wanted me, you’d have sex with me, touch me, kiss me, something! And I’m not talking about a staged, closed-mouth kiss to impress your constituents or get votes.”
We continue slinging our words back and forth, pressing each other’s buttons and hitting below the belt. But just because I’ve never outright caught him in the act, it doesn’t mean I don’t know that he’s cheating.
I’ve found questionable texts on his phone, the lingering scent of women’s perfume on his shirts, and after he changed his password to his email accounts, I knew he was hiding something.
“I just feel so far away from you,” I confess, finally lowering my voice and giving up on the fight.
“I’m right here. Life is busy and stressful, but I’m here, and I need you. I need your support.”
“You say you need me, but I need you too.”
“It won’t always be like this.”
I don’t believe him, though. I sense myself approaching my end with him and our marriage that has turned into a joke. It takes everything in me to keep the peace and not lash out at him on a daily basis.
“How much longer will it be then?” I mumble as I lie back down. “Because I’m sick of waiting.”
Tripp doesn’t respond, and no other words are spoken as we lie on opposite sides of our bed.
Emma
“Why are you studying so hard for finals?”
Looking up from my textbooks, I glare at Luca and respond, “Because maybe, just maybe, if I make high enough marks on these last exams, the university will take pity on me and reinstate my scholarship.”
“Is that even a possibility?”
“I have no clue, but I’m desperate for anything at this point.”
It’s been a couple weeks since receiving the last of my rejection letters and, even though I’ve been doing everything I can to pull my grades up, I’m still falling beneath the GPA requirements for my scholarship.
Luca walks across my dorm room and sits next to me on my bed. “My mother was asking about you.”
“When?”
“She called me last night.”
“You didn’t tell her anything, did you?”
“No, but I wish you would let me,” he says.
Luca’s mother has always liked me since I am the one and only consistent girl in her son’s life, and one who’s far from the unwitty tarts Luca often finds himself falling into bed with. His mother respects my tenacity and hard work, often teasing Luca that he could learn a thing or two from me. I have a feeling that she likes me enough to offer to lend me the money I need to finish my degree, but the last thing I want is a handout, so I made Luca promise to keep his mouth shut.
“She was wondering if you were going to make it to the New Year’s Eve party.”
“Crap. I totally forgot to RSVP.”
“So, you’re coming?”
“Of course I’m coming,” I say. “That’s one party I refuse to miss. Plus, it’s become our one date of the year.”
New Year’s Eve would forever be our night together. After the first one we spent together, Luca told me that he refused to share that holiday with anyone other than the person who meant the most to him, and it’s likewise for me as well.
“What are you going to say when my mom asks about school, because you know she will.”
“Hopefully, I can get a plan in motion in the next couple weeks so that when she does ask, I won’t seem so adrift. But first, I have to ace this last final,” I tell him. “And you need to get off your cell phone and start studying too or else your mom won’t even care about my issues because she’ll be too busy jumping down your throat if you screw up your GPA.”
Pausing whatever he’s doing on his phone, Luca peers over at me, teasing, “I do a lot of screwing, we both know that, but never with my grades . . . only chicks.”
“You’re disgusting.” I scoff, scrunching my nose and closing my books.
“Where’re you going?”
“I need a break. I’m going to run out and grab a coffee. You want anything?”
“Nah.” He flops back onto my bed, distracted once again by his phone.
“What’s got all your attention on that thing?”
“Some girl I met at The Tombs last Saturday.”
“Of course,” I reply with a roll of my eyes. “I’ll be back in a few.”
Pulling on my snow boots, I laugh to myself when I hear Luca’s delayed, “See ya,” before I leave.
The bitter cold bites my cheeks when I walk outside, and I tighten my scarf around my neck as I head to a local coffee joint on foot. A light snow falls, planting icicle kisses on my face as I walk. I’ve always enjoyed the cold winters. It’s as if I’m living among the dead for a moment, all the while knowing rebirth is just a season away. If only human life could be the same. If only we could wipe the slate clean after each year to have our own rebirth, a chance to start over and erase the faults from the months past. I wish my own year would die just as the blooms that lie in their grave beneath the snow I now walk upon.