After I Do (21 page)

April 18

Dear Ryan,

I’m considering writing to one of those advice columnists about us. That’s how confused I still am.

When we started this, I thought that I just needed some time away from you. I just needed time to breathe. I needed a chance to live on my own and appreciate you again by missing you.

Those first few months were torture. I felt so lonely. I felt exactly what I wanted myself to feel, which was that I couldn’t live without you. I felt it all day. I felt it when I slept in an empty bed. I felt it when I came home to an empty house. But somehow, one day, it just sort of became OK. I don’t know when that happened.

I thought at one point that maybe if I learned who you truly are, then I could love you again. Then I thought maybe if I learn who I really am, what I really want, then I could love you again. I have been grasping at things for months, trying to learn a lesson big enough, important enough, all-encompassing enough that it would bring us back together. But mostly, I’m just learning lessons about how to live my life. I’m learning how to be a better sister. I’m learning just how strong my mother has always been. That I should take my grandmother’s advice more often. That sex can be healing. That Charlie isn’t such a little kid anymore.

I guess what I’m saying is that I’ve started focusing on other things. I don’t feel all that desperate to figure us out and fix this. I feel sort of OK that it’s not fixed.

That’s not the direction this is supposed to go, is it?

Love,

Lauren

• • •

I read the letter over and over. I change a word here and there. I add commas and spaces. On some level, I think maybe I’m delaying the moment when I hit save, trying to make sure I want my words taking up space somewhere out there in the ether of the Internet. But I’m not willing to delete them. So eventually, I stop preening, and I hit the button. Save.

I get up and decide to go for a run. I put on my shorts. My sports bra. My T-shirt. My running shoes. I say good-bye to Thumper. I hide my keys under the doormat. I take off.

As my heels round the pavement, as my heart starts to pump faster, as my body wants to slow down and I push it forward, all I can do is think about what I wrote. Is it true? Do I not feel any closer to knowing how to fix my marriage? Am I not sure I want to?

I go home and take a shower. And I think about my letter. I make myself dinner, and I think about my letter.

If I mean what I wrote, then doesn’t that mean that I have to face the idea of the end? Could this be the beginning of the end of
us
?

What would I do with my life?

I’m not sure what possesses me. It’s almost an instinct rather than an action. I grab my computer and log into Ryan’s e-mail. I don’t know what I’m expecting to find. I guess I’m expecting to find that he has forgotten me. That he has moved on. That he doesn’t think about me. But I look at the number next to his drafts folder. There are three more letters.

I open the folder. They are all to me. All from within the past three weeks. Ryan has started writing to me again.

• • •

March 31

Dear Lauren,

I had to get away from you. I had to stop writing to you. I had to stop telling you everything that was going on. I noticed how I was talking to you throughout the day, in my head, even when I was mad at you, even when I wanted nothing to do with you. I had to stop doing that. I had to stop seeing you as someone to talk to.

So I stopped writing.

And writing to no one, talking to no one, felt lonely. So I had to stop being lonely.

At first, there was Noelle. Noelle is a perfectly nice woman, and she was very sweet to me and very patient with my reservations about everything, but I just wasn’t that into her.

And then there was Brianna, and that was fine.

And then I met Emily. And Emily is somehow different enough from you that she doesn’t remind me of you but not so different that I feel like I’m dating the opposite of you on purpose. And because of that, I think I was able to stop thinking about you so much. I just started thinking about Emily. I don’t mean to hurt you when I say this, but I looked forward to seeing Emily as much as possible, and I forgot about you. As much as a person can forget about his wife, I guess. I really felt like I was able to be present and engaged with her. We’ve even gone away together a few times, and each time, I’ve felt like Emily’s boyfriend, as opposed to your husband.

And I just really needed that.

And then yesterday was her birthday. And I thought that maybe I should make her something, you know? So I made her Ryan’s Magic Shrimp Pasta. Which didn’t even feel weird. I know it was our thing, but I don’t know. It seemed like a perfectly reasonable thing to do.

And I made it, and she ate it, and she said thank you, and then we went out to a bar with some of her friends. And that should have been enough. That should have been fine.

But I just kept thinking about the first time I made it for you, the way you gushed over it. The way you ate so much more than you should have and you almost made yourself sick. I kept thinking about the way your eyes lit up every year when I said I would make it. I don’t think Ryan’s Magic Shrimp Pasta was about you, I realized. I think it was about me. I think I thrived on your approval. It was like a battery that kept me going. I looked forward to your birthday as much as you did. And it was because I knew that on your birthday, I was the one who made the day worthwhile. It made me feel like I mattered. It made me feel like I was doing something right.

But Emily just ate the Ryan’s Magic Shrimp Pasta and said thank you and wiped her mouth and asked if I was ready to go. She didn’t get it. And this feels so silly to put into words, but it really felt like in not getting Ryan’s Magic Shrimp Pasta, she didn’t get me.

And it made me miss you. Not you, my wife. Or you, the woman who has been with me since I was nineteen years old. You. Lauren Maureen Spencer Cooper. I missed you.

And it wasn’t a passing feeling. It was real. I truly felt there was a hole in my life and the only thing that could fill it was you.

I think this is working, Lauren. I think we’re gonna be OK.

Love,

Ryan

• • •

April 3

Dear Lauren,

I drove by the house this evening. I didn’t mean to. I had a dinner I had to go to in downtown, and I took Olympic back across town. I was listening to the radio. They were doing a piece about this serial killer in Colombia, and I was so fascinated I think I stopped paying attention to my driving. When I got to the corner of Olympic and Rimpau, I should have gone straight, but my hand flicked on my turn signal, and I took a right, leading me to the wrong home. It was muscle memory. You make a right turn day after day after day for years, and . . . you know how it is.

I realized I had made a mistake just as I hit the stop sign on Rimpau and 9th, but it was too late. I was going to have to drive by if only to turn around.

When my car got up to our driveway, I admit, I slowed down. I saw the light was on. And then I noticed another car parked in the driveway. I heard Thumper bark. I swear I heard him. I came to a complete stop, I’m embarrassed to say, and I looked into the window a few seconds. I don’t know what I was hoping to see. You and Thumper, probably. But what I saw was you and someone else. Someone, I’m assuming, you’re dating.

I turned off the car. I actually turned the key and pulled it out of the ignition. I undid my seat belt, and I had my hand on the door handle. That’s how close I came to walking into my own house and punching that guy in the fucking face.

But two things stopped me. The first was that I knew it was the wrong thing to do. I knew, as I sat there with my hand on the handle, that it was wrong and I shouldn’t do it. That it would jeopardize everything. That it would make you feel spied on. I didn’t want you to feel that way.

And the second thing was that I was supposed to be at Emily’s in twenty minutes. And how could I explain to her where I was? How could I have explained to you why I had to leave?

I put my seat belt back on, I put the key back in the ignition, and I high-tailed it out of there. I ran through the stop sign. I almost slammed into someone when I hit the red light onto Wilshire. I was ten minutes late to Emily’s, and when she asked, I told her I hit traffic.

So I guess what I’m saying is that I’m a hypocrite. And when I come home, we need curtains for the front window.

Love,

Ryan

• • •

April 17

Dear Lauren,

Charlie just called me and told me that he’s having a baby? With some woman named Natalie? And he lives in Los Angeles now? And they are getting married?

I’m going to be an uncle, and I didn’t know. I understand why you didn’t tell me. I understand why you didn’t call. I told you not to. I brought that on myself.

But I wish we could talk about this. I wish we could have talked about this. There’s a lot to say, and you’re the only one to say it to. Part of me thinks if I saw you today, I’d fall in love with you all over again. And another part of me thinks that I would feel something entirely different. Better, even. Because you’re not just the girl I’m infatuated with, you’re not the girl I just met. You’re you. You’re me.

This year has been a success, for me. I know it’s not over. I know the hard part, getting back to a good place together, finding ways to make it work again, I know all of that is still ahead. But I am bursting with the energy to do whatever it takes. Does that make sense?

I’m ready to tackle this marriage. I was missing the energy before. And I have the energy now.

Love,

Ryan

• • •

I crumble to the floor.

In all of the possible scenarios, I always assumed the question was whether or not I would end up brokenhearted.

It never even occurred to me that I might end up breaking a heart.

Y
ou have got to be kidding me.” I am standing on Charlie’s doorstep at eight fifteen in the morning, and that’s how I open the conversation. As much as Ryan’s letters left me in tears, they also made me furious at Charlie for calling him behind my back in the first place.

I slept on it. Well, really, I stewed on it. And when I woke up this morning, I was somehow angrier, even more convinced that I had been the victim of a deep and ugly betrayal. So I drove over to Charlie’s house and rang the doorbell. He opened the door, and that’s what I said, “You have got to be kidding me.”

Now he’s just sort of staring at me, deciding what to say.

“You talked to Ryan, I guess,” he says, as he leaves the door open and leads me into the living room. His tone is defensive and personally disappointed. He’s wearing chinos and a white undershirt. I’m interrupting his morning routine getting ready for work.

“Excellent work, detective,” I say. Now’s not the time to explain my hacking habit.

“Look, I had a very good reason,” he says.

“You don’t get to decide things about my marriage,” I say. “Leave Ryan out of this.”

“It’s not about your marriage, Lauren. Jesus.”

Natalie has been sitting on the couch, her hands over her swollen belly. She’s wearing thin sweatpants and a sweatshirt. “I’m going to go into the bedroom,” she says.

“I’m really sorry,” I say to her, somehow able to extract the anger from my voice long enough to speak politely to her. “I didn’t mean to ruin your morning.”

Natalie waves her hand. “It’s totally fine. I thought this moment might come. I’ll be in the bedroom.”

Charlie gives Natalie a look that says both
Thank you
and
I’m sorry
.

When she’s gone, I lay into him again. “Do you have no loyalty?”

Charlie shakes his head and tries to remain calm even while I let my voice fly. “Lauren, just hear me out.”

I cross my arms and frown at him. It’s my way of hearing him out and finding him guilty at the same time.

“Ryan is the baby’s uncle.”

“Through me!” I say. “He’s the baby’s uncle because I am the baby’s aunt. By blood.”

“I know. But still. It’s an important distinction, don’t you think? Not just your husband but also the baby’s uncle.”

“So what?”

“So . . . look around, Lauren. Do you see any other men in my life?”

I don’t say anything, I just stare at him.

“We have no brothers,” Charlie says. “Just me.”

“OK,” I say, agreeing with him in order to push the conversation forward.

“And clearly no dad,” Charlie says.

“OK,” I say again.

“And Grandpa’s dead,” he says.

“OK.”

“All of my close friends are back in Chicago. I live with my fiancée. I spend most of my time with her, at work, or with my mom and two sisters.”

I’m still angry, but I can recognize that this is not a line of conversation I can really disagree with. “OK,” I say, this time more gently than all the previous times. I shift my body language to be less confrontational.

Charlie looks at me for a while, considering something. I can see him start to get emotional. He lowers his voice. “I’m having a son, Lauren. I’m having a boy.”

Thoughts fly through my head so fast I can’t choose one and hold on to it. That’s great news! My family will be so happy! I didn’t know they were finding out the sex of the baby beforehand! I’m so excited to have a nephew! A nephew!

“I’m going to have a nephew?” I say to him. The anger has retreated; it no longer bubbles on the surface. Part of it is the shock of finding out something I thought I wouldn’t find out for a few months. Part of it is that my little baby brother, who clearly feels he has so much to prove, is getting a chance to prove it.

“Yeah,” he says. I can see his eyes get glossy. “What do I know about raising a son? About being a dad? I have no idea. I have absolutely no idea. I mean, I know I’m going to figure it out but fuck, talk about making it up as you go along. My son needs an uncle, OK? I know things are strained between the two of you, I get it, but Ryan has had my back since I was fourteen. He was the first guy I really looked up to. And . . . I want my son to know him. I want him to be a part of my son’s life. To be honest, I need someone to call and admit to that I have no idea what I’m doing.”

“You have me,” I say. “You have Rachel.”

“You two don’t have dads, either. We don’t know anything about dads. And I’m sorry, this just . . . this isn’t a thing a woman can help me with. It just isn’t.”

“OK,” I say. I mean, what else can I say? I don’t think I was wrong for being upset, but I think it would be juvenile and selfish to continue being upset in light of all this. “I get it. I wish you had talked to me first. But . . . no, I get it.”

“Well, I did wait to talk to you, really,” he says. “Because there is something that I would like to do, but I want your blessing before I do it.”

“Uh,” I say. “OK . . .”

“I’d like to invite Ryan to the wedding.”

“Absolutely not.” It flies out of my mouth like a bullet leaving a gun.

“Please think about it.”

“No, Charlie. I’m sorry. Ryan and I said, in no uncertain terms, that we are not seeing each other or speaking until we have been apart for an entire year. That year is up at the end of August. Not July. And I haven’t spent the last eight months resisting the urge to call him just to blow it all early. He won’t want to break the deal, either, Charlie.”

Charlie looks hurt by what I’ve said, and I’m not sure which part, exactly, is more hurtful to him. Is it that his own sister won’t make an exception for his wedding? Or that I said the only man Charlie looks up to probably wouldn’t want to come? Goddammit. You know, when you marry a man, you marry his family, and vice versa. They tell you that. But they don’t tell you that when you leave a man, you leave his family. When your husband moves across town and starts dating someone named Emily, he breaks your brother’s heart, too.

“Just let me invite him,” Charlie says. “That’s all I’m asking.”

“Charlie, I really don’t want him there.”

“This isn’t about you.”

“Charlie—”

“Lauren, did it ever occur to you that my wedding is going to have family pictures? That we are going to put them around the house? That Mom is going to have one on her mantel? And years from now, you’re going to look at them and see the hole this year has left in the family? You’re going to taint my wedding with your bullshit because you can’t see past it right now.”

“There is not a hole in the family,” I say.

“Yeah, there is. Ryan isn’t just someone you love. He’s a part of this family.”

“Well, no one else seems to have a problem with it except you.”

“Wrong again. Mom misses him. Mom told me a few months ago that she had to delete his number from her phone because it was too hard not to call him and check in on him and make sure he was OK.”

“Well, Rachel’s fine with it,” I say.

“That’s because Rachel thinks only of you. But I bet if you asked her, she’d say she wants to know how he is.”

I can feel my pulse begin to quicken and the blood rush to the surface of my cheeks. I am starting to grow furious.
“I made him a part of this family,” I say. “And he’s a part of this family on my terms.”

“I know that you want that to be true. But it’s not. You don’t own Ryan. You brought him into this family, and you asked us to love him. And we do. And you can’t control that.”

I try to think of myself in a similar position, but the truth is, I can’t. I don’t know Natalie all that well. She will be a sister to me one day, but that takes time. It takes history and shared experiences. We don’t have that yet. And she’s the closest I’ve come. I was never all that close with Ryan’s family, so I don’t miss them. I don’t know how I’d feel if I was Charlie in this situation. I’ve never been Charlie in this situation. And maybe that’s the problem. Maybe I’m so very much
me
in this situation that I cannot see anyone else or anything else. And maybe I should take that as a sign that I might be wrong. That is, of course, most often the reason people are wrong when they are wrong, isn’t it? When they can’t understand anything but their own point of view?

I start to talk, to tell him that I will think about it. I open my mouth with the intention of saying,
You’re right. I should give it some thought.
But Charlie speaks over me.

“This is so stupid. You two are getting back together in, what, August? What’s a few weeks going to matter?”

“I have no idea if we are getting back together at all! I don’t even know if—”

“What are you talking about? You said in the beginning that was the whole plan. You spend this time apart, and you get back together.”

“Yeah, and you told me then that people rarely get back together. Most of the time, when people separate, it’s just a stop on the way to divorce.”

Charlie shakes his head at me. “Stop this. You’re being dramatic. I’m sorry I said that. I was being a dick. Listen, I want him there. And it’s my wedding, and I really do think of him as the baby’s uncle, as my brother. Isn’t that enough? Isn’t that important enough?”

I look at him, thinking about what he has said. Son of a bitch. Life is not just about me. Even my marriage is not just about me.

“Go ahead,” I say. “Invite him.”

“Thank you,” Charlie says.

“No plus one,” I say. “Please.”

“No plus one,” Charlie says, placing his palms up and out in surrender.

“If Ryan is the man you’re closest to, who is your best man?” I ask him. I’m suddenly heartsick thinking that my little brother has no best man.

“Oh,” he says. “I was going to ask Wally, back in Chicago. But I’m not sure he’s going to be able to come in the first place. Natalie and I discussed not having a wedding party at all, actually. I think that might be what we do.”

“Not Ryan?” I ask him. I’m so late for work at this point that it’s sort of silly to try to speed this up.

“I know what I’m asking you by inviting Ryan,” he says. “It doesn’t seem fair to ask for more.”

So often I am convinced that my brother is a thoughtless jerk, and so often he proves that the thoughtless jerk is me.

“It’s OK,” I say. “Ask him.”

Charlie holds back a smile. He manages to keep his face serious. “I don’t want to put you in any more of a weird spot than I already have,” he says.

“It’s fine,” I tell him. “You should do it. He’ll say yes. I know he’ll say yes.”

“You think so?” Charlie asks, letting his excitement show just a little bit.

“Yeah,” I say. “He will.”

We hug, and Charlie looks at his watch. “Holy shit, I’m late,” he says. “You know what? Fuck it.” Charlie calls out to the bedroom. “Natalie, are you able to take the day off ?”

“What?” I hear from the other room.

“Could you take the day off ?”

“Um . . . I guess? I was going to leave early for a doctor’s appointment anyway,” she says, her voice getting closer as she joins us.

“How about you?” Charlie says to me. “Can you take the day off ? We can go see a movie or something?” Natalie is now standing next to him, her arm draped around his waist, her head tucked into his arm. Look at them. Look at my brother. A pregnant woman at his side.

“Oh,” I say. I start formulating an answer.

“Wait a minute,” Charlie says. “If you and Ryan agreed not to talk for a whole year, how did you know I told him about the baby?” Charlie’s voice isn’t the least bit suspicious. It’s curious and lively.

But I feel as if I’ve been caught red-handed, the criminal in the interrogation room under the hot lights.

“I should get to work, actually. I’m already an hour late, and traffic is going to be murder. You two have a nice, romantic day!” I say. I’m already heading for the door.