So Much for My Happy Ending (15 page)

He then turned around and left the room. I stood there in disbelief as I heard him turn on the television.

Something in me snapped. I rammed my hairpin back into the keyhole and grabbed all the files out of the drawer without bothering to look at what they were. I marched into the living room, creating a literal paper trail that led back to the guest room, and with one fluid motion I threw all the files at Tad, who was now sitting on the love seat. “You don't get to ignore this one, Tad. You lied to me and you are going to tell me why.”

“Oh, am I?” His voice was full of bitterness. “Any idiot knows that you don't get a two-bedroom house with a garage in San Francisco for twenty-five hundred a month. We needed the house and I did what I needed to do to get it. You simply chose to believe what you wanted to believe.”

“Hello? I believed what you told me. I was under the mistaken assumption that I could trust my husband!”

“Like I can trust you to take your birth control pill every day?”

My breath caught and I staggered backward. He couldn't possibly be throwing that in my face, not now. “You said you were happy about this pregnancy,” I gasped. “You said you wanted—”

“I do, but damn it, April, we share the same medicine cabinet. Didn't you think I would see the warning label on the minocycline? Didn't you think I would notice that you were popping the Pill at all different times of day? I knew this would happen. I knew you would fuck up on the birth control just like I knew that we were going to need a house with a room for a baby. You want to know why I lied to you, April? I lied to you because I didn't have a choice.”

“Fuck. You.” I turned around and headed for the front door.

“Don't you walk away from me!”

I turned to see Tad glowering at me. He was now standing up and his hands were in fists. It took him exactly three strides to close the distance between us. “You don't walk out on me. Not now, not ever.”

I looked down at his fists and swallowed. He must have seen my reaction because he immediately opened his hands and allowed them to dangle limply at his sides. He took a small step back. “We're married, April. If you're upset, that's your choice, but you don't get to just walk out the door. You stay and deal with it. That's what married people do.”

“Uh-huh, is that what you did on the day you broke our rabbit?”

“If you had asked me to stay I would have,” he said dismissively. “I'm going to watch a little television to help calm myself down. I highly suggest that you pull out one of your art books and do the same.”

I smiled and crossed my arms in front of me. “And I highly suggest that you stop telling me what to do before I go Lorena Bobbitt on your ass.” I turned around and marched out the door.

M
y feet pounded against the pavement in keeping with the rhythm of my thoughts.
He lied to me, he lied to me
. I finally ended up in a little coffee shop located a few blocks away. I had neglected to take my purse with me but I had enough money in the pocket of my jeans to score myself a cup of licorice tea. I sat at a small dusty table tucked into a corner by the window and bobbed my tea bag up and down in the hot water. At least I had made a strong exit. The image of Tad's face when I had mentioned Lorena Bobbitt did give me some sense of vindication.

I also felt very alone.

If Tad and I had been dating I would have called it quits immediately. But we weren't dating, and as much as I hated to admit it, Tad had a point about how married couples were supposed to work out their problems. And if that wasn't enough to keep me tied to him, the baby I was carrying was. I put my hand on my stomach. “You're going to complicate everything, aren't you,” I whispered. It was a horrible thing to say, but since there was a pretty good chance my soul was already slated for eternal damnation, I might as well admit the evil truth to myself; thanks to this child, nothing would ever be simple again. Like it or not, I would always be bound to Tad.

“I do like it,” I said, this time to myself. I had no idea why he had lied to me and I couldn't think of one excuse he could come up with that would make it okay, but that didn't erase the love I felt for him. I thought about the painting of me and Bobe that was now proudly hanging above our fireplace and I felt some of the muscles in my neck relax.

Then I thought about the comment he'd made about birth control and they tightened right back up again. The worst part about that remark was that it was true. I had screwed up, but to point it out now, a day before our first appointment with the ob-gyn…Really, how could he?

I took a small sip of my tea and tried to pretend it was a Bloody Mary. Sadly, I couldn't even drink my problems away. I had thought that marriage to Tad would translate into a situation where, for the first time in my life, someone would be taking care of
me
. That's what I had signed up for.

But perhaps that was the problem. I had been so anxious to relinquish control of my life that I had allowed myself to be put into a position where I was continually lied to and manipulated. According to the fairy tales it wasn't supposed to work that way, but perhaps Caleb was right about fairy tales. Maybe you had to give them up after the last piece of wedding cake had been consumed.

I squeezed my eyes shut. I was majorly overanalyzing everything and I was giving myself a headache. I stayed long enough to finish half my beverage and started home.

It was then that I realized that in my fury over his lies about our rent, I had completely forgotten that I had even more to be angry about. Why were we late with the rent? The money was there; Tad's paychecks were better than ever now. I didn't know exactly how much was in Tad's accounts since, with the exception of one savings account, we kept our finances separate, but surely it was a high figure. How else would he have been able to pay for three cases worth of futures in Mondavi Reserve? Or the new laptop and car-stereo equipment he had bought last weekend?

Maybe having separate accounts hadn't been a good idea but every advice column I had ever read suggested it. It's easier to balance, maintains everybody's independence and so on. But perhaps when it came to finances Tad needed to be less independent, not more.

I would have to pull a Scarlett O'Hara and think about all of this tomorrow. I had enough on my plate right now and talking to Tad tonight had gotten me nowhere fast. He had a point about waiting until we both cooled down, but damned if I was going to admit that to him.

I arrived at our front door and was relieved to see that Tad hadn't locked it. He was lying on the couch watching the Discovery Channel again. I stormed past him, went into the bathroom and slammed the door.

When I was done I came out to see Tad sitting in the same place. I glared down at him. “Well, I've been gone for a full forty-five minutes. Have you had time to think up a better excuse yet?”

Tad didn't respond.

“What a surprise, you're ignoring me! That's definitely a big step up from lying to me.” I turned my back and walked into the bedroom. I spun around one more time. “Oh, just in case you didn't know, you will be sleeping on the couch tonight.” I slammed the door closed and took a deep breath before turning down the sheets. For some reason, I flashed back to an hour ago when he had been standing less than a foot away from me with clenched fists. I looked at the chair by the window and carefully moved it so that its back was propped up under the knob of the bedroom door. I stared at my handiwork for a moment. Silly, really. Tad wasn't dangerous; he wouldn't hurt me in a million years. But for some reason, I didn't want to move the chair back. Instead, I tucked myself into bed and pulled the blankets over my head.

 

I actually slept well that night. Not because I was feeling peaceful but because I was so completely emotionally spent. I woke up groggy and slightly on edge, although it took me a few minutes to remember why I was anxious. I looked at the chair propped under the doorknob and was instantly disgusted with myself. I was afraid of Tad? When exactly had that happened?

I looked over at the bed stand and my eyes focused on the
Girlfriend's Guide to Pregnancy.
Somewhere I had read that pregnant women can be excessively emotional during their first trimester. It was kind of like having PMS for three months straight. “Good times for all,” I muttered as I swung my legs over the edge of the bed and stretched my arms above my head. Today Tad and I were going to have to have a calm, rational discussion about last night's showdown. The problem was, I was still furious.

I tiptoed across the cold hardwood floor and quietly moved the chair back to the location it had been in the day before. Things were bad enough without Tad accusing me of paranoia. I might be emotionally charged, but what he did would have angered Mother Teresa. But if he apologized I could get past it. We could talk, we could learn from our mistakes and we could move on.

I examined myself in the mirror. I was wearing the Donna Karan pj's Allie had bought me for my birthday last year; not exactly sexy but elegant in a rather understated way. It's important to look good when you're walking into a confrontation. I arranged my hair in a way that was flattering but could still have passed for an I-just-woke-up-with-this-style look. I stuck my finger in the lip balm Caleb had given me and carefully applied it. “I'm ready,” I told my reflection. “I'm ready to forgive and move forward.”

I walked out to the living room and found Tad thumbing through his date book. The files I had thrown at him had been cleared away. The only evidence of the battle that had been waged was the palpable tension hovering between us. “Hello, Tad.” I know it was an overly formal greeting, but it was all I could manage.
As soon as he apologizes, you'll feel better.
I clasped my hands behind my back and waited.

He looked up from his book and nodded curtly. “Don't forget, our appointment at Kaiser Medical Center is at three-twenty today.”

Hello? Where the fuck was my apology?

“April? Did you hear me?”

I made a talk-to-the-hand gesture. “I can't talk to you right now.” I went into the bathroom and turned on the shower.

That morning Tad and I got ready for work in complete silence. Instead of exchanging words, we engaged in a full-fashion assault. He dressed in a double-breasted suit that he accessorized with a bow tie. It was an outfit I had forbidden him to wear anywhere other than a Tony Bennett concert. In turn, I put on a pair of gray fitted pants and a low-cut dip-dye shirt that he had once said made me look positively edible. Then I sprayed myself with a perfume sample despite his allergy to fragrances.

When I finally moved to leave the house, Tad stopped me. “April, I want you to know that I am happy that you're pregnant.”

That was not an apology. It struck me that Tad had never once apologized to me the entire time we had been together. He just tricked me into thinking he had. Like with the ceramic bunny; searching the city for an ugly ceramic-figurine replacement was a lovely gesture, but he had never said, “April, I screwed up and I'm sorry.” The revelation just fueled my frustration.

I pulled on my coat and tried to hide my satisfaction as Tad rubbed his eyes and stifled a sneeze. “Nick says we're late on the rent.”

Tad sniffed and looked away.

“Why are we late on the rent, Tad?”

“I've been wrapped up with everything that's been happening at the office and a few things fell through the cracks.”

“The only cracks our home should be in danger of falling into are the ones that appear along the fault line. Pay the damn rent.” I walked out of the house without looking back.

I drove to work. Parking would be marginally affordable since I was scheduled to go home after attending a brief meeting. I stuck a tape in my cassette player and tried to cool off to the sounds of Jewel. I was convinced that all I needed from Tad was an apology. I had listened to Dr. Phil enough times to know that he would suggest that I tell Tad what I required of him so that he could provide it. But did an apology count if you had to ask for it? The answer to that question was a big fat no, and if Dr. Phil was a woman he'd understand that.

I reached into my bag while waiting at a traffic light to see if I could locate a piece of gum. My hand was stopped by something spongy wrapped in some kind of crinkly packaging. The Twinkie! And I was having such a Twinkie moment. I let my fingers start to close around what I had come to think of as Hostess's version of nirvana when I remembered the baby. I jerked my hand away and put it over my chest. “Be strong,” I whispered to myself.

At least the meeting had been called by Blakely, I thought as I pulled into a downtown parking lot. If Liz or Marilyn had been conducting it, the agenda would have included lots of pep talks and lists of unrealistic expectations. Blakely would just give us the information we needed in order to sell her buys, throw out a few token Dawson's phrases like “Be proactive, not reactive,” then expect us to leave her office quickly so we could implement her suggestions.

I walked into Dawson's stark conference room a few minutes early. Most everyone was already there. The group consisted of nine managers, one buyer and her assistant, and yet I was still one of only three non-blondes there. Although, by looking at their roots, I could tell God had intended for me to have more company. Even the Latino manager from 537 had bleached her hair. Cherise was sitting to Blakely's right, blissfully ignorant of her impending unemployment. Her jet-black hair hung in delicate braids pulled back from her face. She was wearing bold silver jewelry, a bright red Versus deep V-neck and a pair of black boot-cut pants with a waistband that came just below her protruding belly.

I took the seat farthest from Blakely and pulled out my Day-Timer and pen. I started to make a little preliminary meeting note when I caught the sight of Gigi in the doorway, looking breathless and perfect. She quickly stepped into the room and took a place beside me.

“Gigi, I believe you're supposed to be downstairs setting the floor,” Blakely called from her seat, echoing my thoughts to the letter.

“I know this meeting isn't for assistants,” Gigi said apologetically. “But I got here at six, so the floor's all set. I just really want to hear about the new product lines.”

“And that's why I'm telling the managers about them.” Blakely leaned forward, clearly not impressed. The other managers began to exchange meaningful looks and Cherise's expression was heavy with sympathy. Gigi had stepped over the line and she couldn't have done it with a less compassionate buyer.

“I'm sure April will share her notes with you and the rest of the crew,” Blakely continued in a tone that could have turned boiling water into ice.

“Oh, I know she will.” Gigi beamed, showing no indication that she was the least bit disconcerted. “It's just so totally great hearing about it from someone who's, like, talked to and questioned the vendors. You always make such intelligent buys and I really think it would help if I had the opportunity to ask just a few questions about the FAB so I could presell. You know I'm all about preselling.”

Blakely now looked as if she was torn between praising Gigi's dedication and tying her to a railroad track. “The floor's really all set?” she asked warily.

“Totally. And just a half hour ago I got Liz to approve a new contest in which each salesgirl puts together an outfit that totals over seven hundred dollars, and whoever sells their outfit to the most customers by the end of the week wins a one-hundred-dollar gift certificate. The girls are putting together outfits right now. They're, like, totally into it.”

Blakely sat back in her chair. “That's the best contest idea I've heard in a long time,” she said quietly. Her eyes shifted from Gigi to me and I felt my cheeks heat up.

“Oh, and you should see what Dorita's already come up with,” Gigi gushed. “The Vertigo skirt with the Vivienne long sleeve—” Gigi threw up a dramatic hand “—totally hot.”