If Ch. 02

"Don't you think you're being a little irrational?"

I sigh and glance out the window. Mike is playing with Brooklyn in the snow. A dormant part of me is pleased by the sight.

"Claire," Mom says, trying to recapture my attention.

"Mom."

"Claire."

I sigh again, a small smile on my face. "No, not irrational, exactly. I think this might be good for me."

"You said you needed to stay with us. I still don't get what changed."

Mike walks in with Brooklyn, his own mouth grinning. He catches my eye. The grin soothes to a soft smile.

"Me either, if I'm honest."

"I straightened up your old room. I bought you a new comforter set. I shampooed the carpet, for God's sake."

"And I'm sure I'll appreciate all of that hard work one day soon."

Mike tries to pretend like he's not eavesdropping, even though he so obviously is.

Mom sighs. I can't imagine what this must be like for her. She has always done such a good job of caring for me, and now it's so unbelievably out of her control.

"Mom, I love you. Thank you for doing all of that. I'll come see you sometime today, okay?"

"Take care of yourself. Bye."

The call ends before I can say goodbye. I'm not sure if she's angry or upset, or both.

"Everything okay?" Mike asks.

There is no easy answer to that, so I just nod.

My cell vibrates. It's a text from Nick. I want to read it but I'm conscious of Mike's curious but knowing eyes.

I decide to ignore it for the time being. "Breakfast?"

"Are you going to just keep feeding me as a way of avoiding conversation?"

Now I'm irritated. I'm not sure why I'm trying to be nice to Mike but he's making it very difficult. "What do you want me to say?"

"Anything."

My phone vibrates again. "Fine. I'm going out."

I grab my purse and I'm out the door before I feel guilty.

X

Jessica has become some sort of myth. It's only been four months and yet it seems like she's some story children tell each other at night. Or worried wives.

She's every married woman's worst nightmare—the traitorous best friend.

Is anyone ever real? Are we looking at the real person, or just our perception of them? Do we carry the impression they give us around with us and assume that's the real deal?

And the impression that clings to me? Jessica laughing. Her gorgeous eyes. The private smirk that would pop up whenever she found anything amusing. Late nights stumbling out of bars when we were younger. Mature nights of drinking wine and contemplating the humdrum duties of adulthood when we got older. The amazing ability she had to listen to every little story I told her, no matter how boring.

The thing I've always thought was the most painful about my bleak discovery was that Jessica was my very best friend. She knew me. She loved me. Or so I thought.

I didn't just lose my husband that awful day. I lost my best friend. The person I called first to tell everything—good and bad.

Sometime after all was revealed to me, I asked my mother why she thought people cheated. The question was whispered, and at first I thought she hadn't heard me.

Then she suddenly wrapped me up in her arms. She held me tighter than she'd held me as a child.

"There is no real answer," she sighed against my temple. "Because they're immature. Because they think they can find something better. Because they're unhappy. But I promise you, Claire. I promise. There are plenty of people out there who don't cheat."

At the time, her words were little comfort. Especially when I sunk into Nick's arms. I became a person who cheated, no matter how I tried to rationalize what I was doing.

I became Jessica.

X

Nick is waiting in his bedroom. Harsh sunlight hits the room from his large window. I always mean to tell him he needs to get a curtain for it.

"Well, hello," he drawls, and I realize he's drunk.

I scan his face and then sit beside him. "I'm sorry I've been out of touch."

"Are you really," he says flatly.

"I think I'm facing some kind of breakdown," I admit. "I'm not sure if it's bad or good."

"I think breakdown automatically suggests it's something bad." He gives me a hard look but I can tell he's softening. "I worried about you, you know."

"I know."

And I do. I've read the texts and I can see it in his eyes. That doesn't make it any easier.

"You are going to break up with me, aren't you?" It's not really a question.

"No."

"Yes, you are. You and Jess, fascinated by him. Not sure why. He was always my buddy but he never struck me as..." He pulls a beer from somewhere and chugs it.

I sigh and take it from him. "I'm not breaking up with you, but we never were together, were we? I think we'd be a terrible match. I'm a mess and you're chugging beer at 10am."

He wipes his mouth. "It's almost 11."

"Nick. We're both fucked up."

"By the same people," he emphasizes. His eyes stare over at me and I can feel the familiar draw. "Have you forgotten?"

"No."

"Then why do you stay in this stupid, fucked up marriage? Fuck, Claire. I would have been out of there the first chance I got."

"Easy for you to say," I bite back quickly. I didn't give myself a chance to think my comment over, and now it stings. The air between us changes.

"You love him?"

"Not really," is all I can offer. "What is a polite way of saying your situation is different from mine because Jessica is dead? I can't think of one. But it is different. People change because of life-threatening events, and you might still love Jessica but she's not walking around this house every day reminding you of it."

He touches my thigh and I hate myself for loving it. "I think you're underestimating me."

"Nick..."

"Don't. Don't start giving me a whole load of garbage about how this is wrong or that I don't get you. I get you, Claire. I might be the only one who does." Nick leans over to kiss me. His other hand grazes my breasts. "Please. Don't forget how this feels."

"I haven't," I admit.

I hate him for it.

"No?" He grins against my throat. "Thank God."

His mouth travels down. He pulls my shirt up over my head before I can think of the words to persuade him otherwise. Then he tongues my nipple and all coherent thought is gone. My head tips back as I feel him reach into my panties. He fingers me, knowing all of the right places and the very best speeds.

"I need this," he says, just the littlest bit of desperation evident in his voice. Joy, my lovely therapist, comes to mind. What had she said about him? That I was morphine to his pain? I almost push him away; my body betrays me and I hold him closer.

"Me, too."

"Don't leave me."

"I won't."

He pushes me down on the bed. He kisses up my chest, over my throat, and finally lands on my mouth. He pushes inside me at the same time. My soaked pussy opens to him. I wrap my thighs around his and meet each thrust with a push of my hips.

He pulls back so that we're forehead to forehead. We both pant against each other's wet lips, and our eyes burn into each other's.

Nick fucks me harder, playing with my clit as he pushes deeper inside.

"Nick," I moan urgently. My eyes close.

He nibbles my neck. "I'm going to cum."

"Yes. Please."

"You want me to cum in you?"

I try to take a deep breath but the pleasure is too much. "Fuck."

There is a smile in his voice when he said, "I'm sorry, I can't understand you."

"Yes."

He straightens my arms out and picks up his pace. "Open your eyes."

His naked lust greets me and I know I'm going to cum soon, too. "I'm close."

He kisses me again, his mouth hot and wet. "Cum with me."

I can feel his cock grow and jerk. Then I tighten on his cock as I feel the amount of warm cum released inside me. I lift my hips up to match his. We both growl into each other's mouths as our orgasms end.

He falls off of my body and we both look up at his ceiling. We don't speak for what feels like ages.

"Are you going home?" he asks as the sky finally begins to darken.

My body has cooled and I just feel empty and confused.

I look over at him but his gaze is fixed above. "Do you really want me to stay, Nick?"

"Sure."

"What would happen if I did?"

His head turns and he blinks. "What do you mean?"

"Look at this place. It's a mess. You're not well. Neither am I. Do you think this is healthy?"

Nick sits up and puts his shirt back on. He won't look at me.

"Nick. I don't mean it like that."

"How do you mean it?" His tone makes me jump. He takes a breath and then he looks at me."This happens every time you go to your therapist and you spend some time with Mike. You think that you're betraying him and that this isn't healthy, blah blah blah. I know I'm fucked up. I know you're fucked up. A very fucked up thing happened to us. The difference between us is that I don't pretend everything is fine. Have you ever noticed that, Claire? You try to pretend it's fine." He glares at me as he stands and puts his pants on. "You hang with Mike and attend couple's counseling and try to act like he didn't screw your best friend for years. What's sicker? Me trying to get over it, or you trying to act like it didn't happen?"

I am so stunned by his words that I don't know where to start. "I have never acted like it didn't happen," I say in a low voice.

He pulls his shirt on and tosses me my own. I feel wretched.

"Nick..."

"I don't want to hear it. I really don't. If he makes you happy and you want to go back to your life together, then best of luck to you. But just a comment on what you said earlier, about what it would be like if Jessica were here after just suffering a life-threatening situation, etc.? I obviously can't know for sure since my wife is dead, as you so sensitively pointed out, but I can make a very strong inference that Jessica would probably be fucking your husband as soon as she could pry the IV from her body. And that's the truth. You know it."

I haven't dressed yet. I shiver in the cold and under the weight of his emotionless stare.

"I can't appropriately comment on what Mike would do. Only you know."

"I didn't want it to be like this," I confess dumbly.

"How the hell did you expect it to turn out?" Nick looks angrier than I've ever seen him. I feel genuine fear. "Make your choice, Claire. Mike fucked you over. I never have. Make your fucking choice, and stick with it."

"I'm sorry if I—"

Nick shakes his head and looks disgusted. "Just get dressed and get out, and don't come back here until you've made up you mind.

X

I pull up to my house, aware I have a text message from Nick. I only look at it when I've turned the car off.

I'm sorry. I was drunk and angry.

Nick is angry, but he wasn't that drunk.

I walk into my house feeling ashamed and am shocked at the sight greeting me: Mike is cooking.

"Mike?"

He pulls something out of the oven. When I stand beside him, he looks up and smiles.

"What the hell has gotten into you?"

His smile fades a bit. "Well, I was partly hungry and partly feeling like treating you to a home-cooked meal."

Admittedly, I am not the best chef between us. When things were good between us, Mike cooked for us often.

The memory hurts me. Unconsciously, my hand raises to my heart. Mike takes it as a joke.

"I hope salmon is okay."

I feel dizzy so I sit. Mike limps over to pour me a glass of wine. He's trying so hard. I feel like crying.

I'm still sore from Nick, and I'm still confused by what he said. I feel horrible. I feel like I've treated both Mike and Nick terribly, and I'm not sure how to make it right.

I watch Mike as he cooks. If he thinks it's weird that I'm silent, he says nothing. It's endearing to see him try so hard to make me happy, but I'm just impatient for him to be done.

Is Nick right? If Jessica had survived, would she have continued to pursue Mike? And what would Mike have done if Jessica lived?

I shudder.

Mike pours me more wine as the chicken simmers. "Mike?"

"Mmhm?"

"What would you have done if Jessica lived?"

His face dims and tightens. I'm ruining the domestic glow he's been trying to create.

He sits across from me and stares at my wine as if he wants to steal it. He's alarmingly still. I pick up the bottle and pour him some. Only then does he move and meet my eyes.

"Why are you asking me that?"

I gather my courage. "Because I want to know."

"Or someone put that question into your head."

"What the hell difference does that matter? I want to know."

Mike shakes his head and looks over at the simmering pan. "I'm trying to do a nice thing here."

"Are you?"

His dark eyes stare back at me. "How many ways can I say I'm sorry? How many ways can I ask to start again?"

"You're not answering the question." Cold dread has settled in my stomach, and I feel like no matter what answer he gives, nothing will rid me of the horrid feeling.

"Jesus." He rubs his eyes and then looks at my chin. He can't meet my eyes. "How can I answer a hypothetical question like that?"

There. There it is. The clarity I've been looking for. The solution I've been desperately seeking.

I didn't realize how badly I wanted it until I got it.

Mike knows I've found it, too. His eyes widen.

"Let me try to explain."

"No," I reply calmly. I don't feel any rage, or even any pain. I have been waiting all this time. "You don't need to explain. I already understand."

"No, you don't. That didn't come out right."

"Don't make it worse," I tell him. "We both see now."

"It was a hypothetical question."

I sip my wine and then meet his eyes. "Was it?"

He leans back and heaves a great sigh. "I honestly don't know what I would have done. Does that make you feel better?"

"I always feel better when someone tells me the truth."

"For fuck's sake. I loved you. I always did."

I stand up and shake my head. "Not enough."

"Claire, come on. Think about what you'd be giving up. We have a chance. Please."

I stare down at him, at those beautiful eyes and that beautiful hair. I loved him so much once. I still do. Maybe that's how he feels when he looks at me.

"Think about what you've given up, Mike."

He has nothing to say. He's silent as I collect the necessities and bring Brooklyn with me.

X

I read a journal Nick always kept hidden from me.

He said he didn't want to influence me one way or the other about which path I wanted to take. I think he just didn't want to deal with the fallout.

What would I tell Claire if I had the chance? I keep asking myself the question. Honestly, I deserve to rot in hell. But what the hell would I tell her?! She'd want an explanation. She'd deserve one. I just don't know if I could give her one. None of us have any good reason for loving the person we love. If it were up to me, I'd love Nick and be done with Mike. Unfortunately this doesn't seem to be in the cards for me. I look at Mike and I feel a calmness I can't describe. He tells me he loves me, but that he loves her, too. And can I blame him? She's my best friend. I'm the one betraying her. I should give her that much—her husband's love. I do. I'm glad Mike loves her. I just dread what it will be like when everything comes to an end. He's going to leave her—he promised—and I'm going to leave Nick. I know we'll hurt Claire and Nick, but it's better that we leave them than selfishly hold onto them and continue loving each other.

In spite of everything, Claire is my sister. She's the reason I can't look at myself in the mirror. I know she'll never be able to forgive me. I don't expect her to. I just hope that, one day, she'll understand.

Nick is in his backyard gathering some firewood. I sit on the steps of his deck and wait.

"You read it?"he calls over his shoulder.

"Yes."

Nick comes over to sit next to me, but carefully avoids my gaze.

He takes my hand. "You okay?"

"I'm getting there."

He meets my eyes. "I'm sorry. I should have shown it to you earlier."

I shrug. I'm not so certain he should have. I pull his hand to my lips and kiss it, watching the expression change on his face. He looks hopeful. Calm.

I'm not certain about much, anymore. I'm not sure any of us are.

I don't ask myself if anymore— if Jessica lived, if I'd paid closer attention, if I should have known, if Nick is right for me.

I'm just certain of this moment, sitting here in the winter sunlight with a warm man beside me. I'm certain that he needs me. I'm certain that I need him, too.

And for now, that's enough.