Broken Play, page 3
The feeling is mutual, I want to tell him. I don’t. I don’t say anything.
“Say something, June,” he pleads at the same time my phone rings. Call me a coward, but I use the opportunity to put space between us.
“Hi, Mom.”
“Sweetheart, what’s going on? It’s all over the tabloids!” She’s whisper-shouting, something she does when she speaks of something salacious or scandalous. The familiar behavior brings a smile to my face, despite everything.
“I’ll call you in a bit and fill you in,” I say.
“June. Are you all right?”
“I will be. I’ll call you soon. Love you.”
“Okay, okay. I love you, too,” she tells me before I end the call and pull up one site sure to publicize the end of my marriage.
And there it sits, the top post, complete with pictures. Pictures of me fleeing the hotel and Drew trying to flag down my cab.
Those pictures aren’t the ones that feel like a thousand needles pressing into my heart. The ones causing that pain are the ones that follow. Fresh shots from this morning of Drew hugging his girlfriend on the sidewalk. Another of him cupping her face as they stare into each other’s eyes. One more of him kissing her forehead as he loads her into the back seat of a car.
Yesterday, all I had seen of the woman was naked skin and wild blonde waves. I didn’t see her face.
Now I see her all too clearly. Lorelai.
Knowing who it is, knowing he stayed with her last night… shatters me. Frays every thread I had holding me together.
“How long, Drew?” The calmness of my voice shocks even me. I’m not calm. I’m pure rage. My hands shake, and my head pounds.
He doesn’t answer.
“How fucking long?” I turn back to him as I demand an answer.
Drew swallows hard, so I know the answer is bad before the words even leave his mouth.
“About a year.” It’s a quiet answer, so quiet I almost don’t hear the words that feel like a knife in my spine.
I rush to the sink to make it there before the bile rising expels out of me. A year.
Lorelai. He’s been with her for a year.
Heaving and heaving, I empty myself of the coffee I just drank. I’m not even sure of the last time I ate, so there isn’t much else to rid myself of. I feel Drew’s hands move to gather my hair.
“Do not touch me,” I choke out.
My head is now chanting Lorelai, Lorelai, Lorelai, in between the ticking of the damn wall clock. I rinse my mouth out with water and wipe my face with a hand towel before I face him again. He looks terrified. Pale skin, red-rimmed eyes show he got little sleep, if any. I would be concerned except... Lorelai, Lorelai, Lorelai. My fists clench, which only makes me aware of the wedding ring I so proudly wear. I gasp for breath, trying to stave off more dry heaves.
“Junie.”
“Stop. Stop calling me that.” My fingers go to the ring. It was Drew’s mother’s, who died when he was too young to remember her well. A ghost his father never got over, and haunted the halls of the house Drew grew up in. Not literally, of course, but her presence lingered all the same. I loved that he wanted me to have it. Now, it feels like a band of fire.
I wiggle it off. His eyes find the movement, and his entire body tenses, his fists clenching tight like mine.
“No. No, put it back.” Panic surges in his voice as water wells in his eyes. “Put it back on, June,” he commands.
I’m helpless to stop the tears from leaking out of my eyes. Helpless to so many things, so many emotions.
“One day, I’m going to want the truth and the details, down to exactly how she sucks your whore of a dick. And you will answer every damn thing,” I say through my tears. “But not right now. Right now, I need to get away from you and your stupid, beautiful face. It’s going to take time to not hate you with every fiber of my being, and you’re going to give me that time.”
I push the ring into his hands, but he fights me on it, trying to push it back on my finger.
“Put it back on, June. Put it back on!”
“What the hell is going on?” Reed yells to be heard above Drew’s pleading as he enters the kitchen.
“She needs to put her wedding ring back on! Tell her, Reed. Tell her! She can’t take it off, she can’t.” Drew drops my hands and the ring tings on the hardwood. He stares at it and pulls at his hair. I can see the tears welling in his own eyes, and I look away. I don’t want to feel bad for him, to sympathize in any way.
Drew doesn’t show that kind of emotion. Ever.
“Will you tell her, Reed?” he asks quietly.
“Dude. You cheated on her. What did you expect?” Reed says.
“With Lorelai,” I add, “for the past year.”
Reed completely loses his composure at my words. Face reddening, he pulls Drew up, backs him against the wall, and keeps him there with a forearm to his neck.
“Is that true, Drew?” Reed yells in his face, only inches away.
Drew doesn’t answer, just averts his eyes.
“I trusted you! I trusted you with Ju…” Spittle from Reed yelling lands on Drew’s face. “And you repay that by making Lorelai your fucking girlfriend? You dumb motherfucker!”
A sob escapes me, enough of a distraction for Reed’s attention to focus on me. Stepping away from Drew, he moves toward me. Drew tries to follow, but Reed pushes him away, and I’m once again wrapped up in Reed’s arms as he leads me out of the kitchen and toward the entryway of our house.
Drew pleads with us both as we pass. “She’s not my girlfriend. It’s not like that. Just stay, please stay. Let me explain. I can make it right.” He sounds like a broken record, on constant repeat as he follows us.
I turn to him, letting all the anger, all my pain rush out.
“Did you fuck her after I left?” I demand as I push on his chest, shoving him away from me.
“No! No, June, no.”
“Why not? You stayed with her. Or did my showing up because I had something important to talk to you about ruin it all?”
“What? What do you mean, what happened?” His eyes search mine.
“Oh, now you want to talk to me. Now that Lorelai isn’t here, naked with a ready ass for you to fuck? You stayed with her! That moment in your hotel room ruined me. That would have been hard enough for me to survive”—my voice shakes—“but then you tucked her away into a car this morning. A sweet goodbye for the entire world to see. For me to see. You put my pain on display to be mocked by others. There isn’t a way for you to make that right.”
“No, no, this is on me. I’m sure I’ll get a rash of shit, but this shouldn’t land on you, June,” he states naively.
Reed laughs. “Dude, we all know that’s not how this works. June’s right. Public opinion will eat her up just as much, if not more, than you.”
“All due respect, Reed, but shut the fuck up. This is between me and June.”
“Are you sure about that? Sounds like it’s between you, June, and your fucking mistress, Lorelai Simmons.”
As soon as the words hit the air, Drew lunges for Reed. Arms tangle as they push and pull, yelling obscenities at each other. I can’t force myself to step in until Reed lands a full fist at Drew’s jaw, drawing a small amount of blood at his lip as he staggers back, eventually dropping to his knees.
“Stop…” I sigh. “Just stop. Reed, can you take my bags to my car? Give us a minute?”
His eyes don’t leave Drew, who isn’t even attempting to rise to his feet. But he nods and does what I ask.
Never have I seen Drew look so weak. Sometimes, when we were very young, after an awful scene at home with his father, he’d show up at our house pale, sad, vulnerable—a child in need of some tender, loving care. But there was always strength in his dark green eyes, a determination. It’s not present now. He looks defeated, and it occurs to me he never realized completely how his actions would affect my life.
Drew always had self-obsessive tendencies in relationships. Oblivious to the pain he may have caused all the women who came before me. Selfish isn’t a word I’d use to describe him. He’s not that. He’s a giver at heart. Drew is always overly generous when gift-giving. Two Christmases ago, he gave my mom a full, state-of-the-art kitchen remodel. She had made an off-hand comment about possibly needing to replace her aging oven, as it was baking hot. He could have replaced that one appliance and she would have considered it too large a gift. An entire kitchen had her in tears and arguing with him for twenty minutes about how she couldn’t accept it. He didn’t relent, telling her he’d do whatever it took to keep her homemade oatmeal raisin cookies coming. My favorite cookie. He hates them as he was always biting into one, thinking it was chocolate chip and then being disappointed.
He also gives a strict fifteen percent of all his salary to charities. Something he has done since his very first contract when he was drafted. He spreads it between various women’s and children’s nonprofit organizations. He visits the Seattle Children’s Hospital twice a month and volunteers at the food bank a handful of times a year. Not a bit of it is for publicity.
I guess being unselfish with your money and time doesn’t keep you from being a cheating asshole. Or from thinking everything you do comes without consequence. He will have to pay some now, but I can’t help feeling that I, too, am in deep debt to them.
“I’m going to get a room at a hotel until... well, for a while. I need the space, Drew. You need to respect that,” I say firmly.
His head stays bowed, staring at the cold granite tiles in front of him.
“She’s not my mistress. It’s not like that, June. I love you. You know that.”
The hard truth is I do know. He shows me in so many ways. There isn’t anything he wouldn’t do for me or give me. He can’t even be in the same room as me without being near me, usually touching me. I’m not sure he’s even aware of how attentive he is to me.
“Do I? I’m sure it was your love for me that drove you to Lorelai’s arms.” My hand shakes as I bring it to my forehead, kneading, trying to ease the first waves of a headache.
“I don’t know how to explain it. But I want to. I want a chance to make it right. Please don’t shut me out, Junie. You’re all”—he clears the tremor in his voice—“you and Reed are my family. I won’t lose you.”
That’s what hurts the most. Drew has always been and will always be a part of my life. A part of my family. He’s a second son to my mother and losing her connection to him would cause her immense pain. And Reed, well, he and Drew have a bond that is so strong. I don’t want to be the reason it weakens.
“We’ll always be family, Drew. Right now, I just don’t know what that looks like.”
He stands now and steps toward me until he’s only a breath away.
“Promise me we’ll talk. We can go to counseling, work on this, work on us. I’ll go alone, too. Whatever it takes,” he says, determined.
Sighing, I respond, “We’ll talk. I’ll let you know where I end up, but you need to give me time. When I’m ready, I’ll tell you. I can’t promise it will be soon.” Tears spill from my eyes again. “This hurts, Drew. So much. I don’t even know who you are.”
All at once, I’m encompassed by his long arms. His warm body tightens around me. On one hand, I want to push him away, fight him off. On the other, I want the comfort he’s always brought. I hate this confusion. It’s like a civil war breaking out in my body. My head battling against my heart.
“I’m sorry, baby. I’m so sorry,” Drew whispers against my temple.
I can’t stand to hear it again. Finally, pushing away, I walk out on the love of my life.
4
JUNE
The October Seattle sky is gray the following day, like so many days here. It’s not raining, but you can smell it in the air. Clean, that’s what I’ve always believed. The Pacific Northwest agrees with me. Much more than Arizona did, where we grew up. Two years after Reed and Drew had left for college in California, Berkley, and USC, respectively, I began attending in Oregon. It didn’t take long to know that moving back to the seventh layer of Hell with its dry heat and lack of water would not be something I’d do willingly. Heat I can handle, but I am one of those weirdos who likes sticky humidity.
I find the coffee shop I’m doing a write-up on—its name is Par la Main—and step into the lively space. It smells divine and there is French hip-hop music playing softly. The decor is a minimalist fashion but with warm tones that bring the outside in. It’s not stark, uncomfortable, or cramped, nor is it filled with bulky items or a wall of merchandise. More like a café where you could sit and spend hours catching up with a friend than a place to stop off for a quick cup of joe. The owners have done well in making it hip yet inviting.
Seattle is a very contradictory city, I’ve found. Filled with earth-loving outdoorsy types married to hugely successful corporate mega-millionaires living in luxury McMansions. Someone once told me in college that the Pacific Northwest is full of ‘pretentious hippies.’ It didn’t take me long to believe her. I love it, though. The yin and yang, the opposites that fit together so seamlessly. Looking around at this space and the customers in it, I see the city perfectly represented. Hard lines softened with touches of nature. A table with a woman wearing a business suit sharing a coffee with a man dressed in bicycling gear. None of it looks out of place. None of it clashes with itself.
The barista counter is round and in the center of the space, making it easy for customers to watch as they craft their coffee. The shop sits on a corner. Two full walls of floor-to-ceiling windows bring in a bunch of natural light. A bar lines each of those walls, allowing patrons to watch the people pass by on the street outside. I throw my coat over a seat, then go to order and watch the show.
Ordering both a cappuccino and an espresso shot, I observe the care and skill brought to each. The entire process takes some extra time. I’m here to see if it’s worth the wait.
I’ve only savored a few sips of the cappuccino, which is worth the fuss when I tune into a conversation happening behind me.
“Oh, he’s definitely having an affair. That’s not a one-night stand,” some woman says.
“Maybe. It sure looked like it from that video. Look at her, though. She’s gorgeous. What kind of idiot cheats on that?” A man’s hushed voice this time. I should feel flattered.
I don’t.
“Drew McKenna, evidently. Can’t say I blame whoever the other woman was. That man is perfection personified.” The woman again.
“Yeah, yeah. I’m already aware of your love for the guy.”
“He’s so damn good-looking. I bet women drop their panties for him left and right. Poor June never stood a chance,” she says.
My shoulders sag under the heavy words. Maybe she’s right, and I never stood a chance with Drew. My hand shakes a little as I take another sip of my coffee.
I woke up this morning in my fancy hotel room, the view from the window full of the Puget Sound. It took me a moment to remember where I was and why I was there. Reed had laughed when I told him what hotel I planned on making my temporary home. It’s not inexpensive or frugal. But if Drew can fly his fuckbuddy around the country, he can pay for me to stay in a small amount of comfortable luxury after I leave his ass.
The suite is altogether more room than I need, but the bed is ultra-comfortable, the bathroom spacious, and there is a private balcony that sits over the water. It will be a cozy place to lay my head at night, even if I get little sleep.
I’m not sure how much time I spent staring out at that view before I forced myself to shower and prepare for the day. The only thing I wanted to do was stay curled up in that bed, but I told myself hiding away from the world wouldn’t make me feel any better about this situation.
I am second-guessing that mantra now.
Poor June.
That isn’t who I am. I’m not someone to pity. I was that when I woke up in that hospital bed, beaten and battered. That’s not who I am now, and I will never be that again. Poor June is a victim. I’m a motherfucking survivor. If I can survive near death, I can survive heartbreak, too.
I just wish I knew how.
It takes effort to tune out the customer chatter, but I do, and then finish my coffee, savoring the last few sips. It was a delicious cup and I’m happy to give them a favorable write-up for the local magazine I do freelance for regularly.
I’m heading out the door, ready to walk back down toward the waterfront and my temporary home, when my phone buzzes in my pocket.
Drew: Coach pulled some strings, got us an appointment with his counselor tomorrow at 4. Will you go with me? Please, Junie.
I stop walking, moving to the side of a building, away from the other foot traffic, so I’m not in the way as I stare at the message. We didn’t even make it to the seven-year itch before we needed couples therapy. It’s hard to have any faith in our future as man and wife. I’m still unsure if I even want to save our marriage. How can I ever trust him again? Can you have a marriage with no trust? I’m just not sure I see the point.
But it’s Drew, and he’s so tangled up in every part of my life that it isn’t as easy as simply walking away.
I type a curt reply, telling him to text me the address and I’ll meet him there. Before I can even stick my phone back in my pocket, he’s responding.
Drew: You never told me where you went. I asked Reed, but he told me to fuck off. Please let me know, so I know you’re safe. I love you.
I know I said I would tell him, but after I’d checked in and settled in my room... I just didn’t want to deal with him. With any of it. I’d ordered a bottle of wine from room service, wrapped myself up in the duvet off the bed, and sat on the balcony, working my mind into a sort of numb stupor.
Me: I have a room at the Edgewater. I’m safe. I’ll see you tomorrow.
I don’t say I love him back. I do and he knows it, I’m sure. But I can’t give him that. Not right now. Maybe never. And fuck if that doesn’t just break my heart in a whole new way.
