our Weeks – Episode 8 – “Nineteen”
Written by J.D.Denisson.
A sequel to the movie “This is Where I Leave You”.
Characters and back story based on the novel “This is Where I Leave You” by Jonathan Tropper.
Copyright 2016 J.D.Denisson.
Previously…
“There’s something you should know,” I tell her grimly.
“What?”
“Wade wasn’t faithful to you.” I laugh. “That’s so messed up. Here I am telling you about that when you were sleeping with him behind my back.”
“Judd...” she says, shaking her head sadly.
“But you should know this. He was sleeping with other people for the past year. Did you know?”
She shook her head. Her eyes were full of tears.
“And the girl he’s with, Chloe, he’s been with her for months. It looks like he started being ‘serious’ with her just after he finished with you.”
She bows her head. “I’m so ashamed,” she says, tears running down her face. She’s slowly coming to grips with the enormity of her betrayal and all I can do is hold her. And I do. I round the table and take her into my arms and she cries onto my shoulder. People are watching but I don’t give a damn.
“I’m so sorry,” I say.
And this brings me to another problem. It’s a fact that if we sleep with someone that we don’t know or trust than we’re virtually sleeping with all of the people that they’ve slept with. I sleep with Quinn. She sleeps with Wade. Wade sleeps with god knows how many people. You see what I mean? And Quinn’s choices aren’t the only ones in question here. I slept with Penny. And although I don’t believe that she was sleeping with anyone else at the time, I can’t know for sure. In a lot of ways that is the beauty of only having one person for life – you can be safe - unless of course that person has some sort of callous disregard for you.
So that leaves us with only one solution.
“We need to get tested,” I tell her grimly.
…
“My father wasn’t exactly the father of the year,” Quinn says, “and I’ve been hurt by him, and I guess it’s flowed onto us.”
“Your father is a minister.”
“That doesn’t necessarily make him the best parent.”
“I see.”
She sighs. “And he’s not talking to me at the moment – because of what happened between us. He’s ‘displeased’ with me, mom says. I couldn’t make him proud of me before, now he’s practically disowned me.”
“Damn. That’s harsh.”
She laughs a little. “We’ve both lost our fathers. But, I guess, my problems are self-inflicted.”
“I won’t let you take all the blame for what happened. All of that was started by me, and he should know that.”
“You try and tell him. He won’t even come to the phone. Anyway, I guess I’ve got some serious abandonment issues and then, when things started to get difficult with us, I sort of felt that you might leave me and I started to pull away. I guess that’s part of why I didn’t hang on and fight for us. I thought you’d go at any moment.”
“But I didn’t go.”
“I know. But in my mind I was waiting for it and it pulled me further away from you. Wade wanted me and there wasn’t that sort of fear with him – we were never going to be serious, not until you found out about us anyway.”
“And then I did leave.”
“Yes,” she says sadly. “And I suppose that just proved my fears were founded. So I’ve got some fences to mend. And the first one is with you.”
…
“We haven’t made love in a while, Judd. It’s hard to feel close to you if we don’t. And I need it too. You know how I got when I was pregnant last time. This is worse. I can see you, I can want you, but I can’t have you. And I can’t see why you won’t. Do I disgust you so much?”
She’s tearing up, and I place a hand on her arm.
“You don’t disgust me, not at all. You’re lovely and beautiful and I want you so much. But I can’t. I keep seeing you and Wade in my bed and it’s like a knife in my guts.”
I make it worse, which was never my intention.
“I miss us,” she says, just holding on.
…
“This is so hard,” Quinn says to the Uptons.
“It is. And it will take time. It took you both two years to get to this point. It will take at least that to heal things.”
“Way to burst our bubble,” I say wryly.
“You need to be honest with yourselves. This will take work and time. You both know that. Now,” he says then, “we have an assignment for you both: we want you to set aside a day or a night this next week. We want you to have a proper date. We want you to go out and have some fun together. We want you to forget everything that’s going on between you, and just enjoy each other’s company.”
…
“What are you doing in Mexico?” I ask him.
“Honeymoon, man,” Wade replies. “Got married.”
“To the gymnast?”
“Of course to the gymnast.”
“Damn,” I say.
“Damn,” he says back. I guess he takes that as my congratulations.
…
“Hey, I... Well, I’d like to come home, if that’s okay. For good, I mean.”
“Sure,” she says and there’s a lilt in her voice. I think it was happiness, but I can’t see her face to see she’s smiling. I imagine it. I imagine she’s doing a little dance like I did at the office. “What about your flat?”
“I’d be happy to say goodbye to that place.”
“Okay, so when you come home, you can, well, come home.”
Nineteen
Monday
I’m standing there with my pants down around my ankles and he’s poking and prodding around places he’s got no business being near. Except that I’ve asked him to - and it’s his job.
He asked me why I was there today and I told him bluntly. He appreciated my directness and followed suit. Drop you pants, he said.
“Any rashes? Any itching? Pain when passing urine?” he asks, and I answer no to all of them. “Well, the good news is that you haven’t got any of the obvious sexually transmitted diseases.”
The term infuriates me. The fact that I’m here, having to endure this humiliation, galls me to the core. It is because of Quinn’s betrayal and carelessness, and Wade’s insatiable desire to bed every woman he comes across, that I’m here. He’s off having fun right now, swimming in the warm waters of the Gulf of Mexico, oblivious to the ongoing nightmare he’s caused. Quinn is going about her day, unaware of this current indignity. I forgive her again - over and over again.
“Pants back on,” the doctor says, and I comply, sitting down in a chair with a sigh. “That just leaves a urine sample and blood tests. I recommend your wife get tested too.”
“She is.”
“And you’re not having intercourse?”
“No.”
“And do you need me to recommend counselling?”
“No. We’re sorting that out.”
“I see you have your ring still on. Habit or hopefulness?”
“A bit of both, actually.”
“Well I have to say, from what you’ve told me, you seem pretty well adjusted.”
“This has been going on for months now,” I point out.
“Fine. Well, get these tests done and I’ll call you with the results. Okay?”
“Sure,” I say, and I leave. I pay for the visit and pee in a jar. The nurse inserts a large needle into my arm and draws out what I think is
a gallon of blood. I get a little dizzy, but I hide it. I walk out into the sunshine and sit outside the surgery and resist the urge to cry and yell and lose my mind.
I stay another night. It’s all I can handle of my mother, but our last conversation has been special...
“I’m proud of you, Judd. You know that, right?”
“Yes,” I said to her. “Thanks.”
“Forgiving Quinn, making a new start with her - it’s one of the bravest things I’ve ever seen.”
We stood there for a few moments. I waited for what usually comes next, but she surprised me.
“I always thought she’d come back to you.”
“Really?” I asked her when she said nothing else. “You’re not going to say something inappropriate?” I asked her. “You’re not going to mention my penis, or his penis, or something like that?”
“No, dear. Why would I do that?”
“I wonder.”
“Quinn’s problem had very little to do with which penis she preferred. It had everything to do with which heart. You know that already. And she chose yours because you have the bigger heart. She saw that because this pregnancy tested your heart and Wade’s and yours was stronger. Yours didn’t let her down.”
“And, I will say this,” she continues, “marriages have seasons. They all do. My marriage with your father, it had seasons. Some were good, some were bad, but in the end they were just seasons. They were moments in a wonderful, wonderful life. And that’s what happened with you two. Quinn was having a bad season and she needed to be with Wade because it helped her realise some things about herself, about you, about your marriage. She needed to be without you until she knew that she could no longer be without you. When she knew that, she was ready to come back.”
“There was more to it than that.”
“I know, there always is. But now that season has gone, she’s ready to come back to you, better and stronger. That’s love, Judd.” Then she smiled a little. “I have something for you.”
“What?” I asked.
“You’ll see.”
She went down the hallway and then returned with an old, dented, red, metal box. I’ve seen it many times through my childhood.
“Dad’s old tool box,” I said.
“He wanted you to have it.”
“Really? Not Paul, or Phillip?”
“No,” my mother said, “just you.”
“I’m not all that handy,” I pointed out.
“Maybe he wanted you to get handy.”
“I don’t think that’s even remotely possible.”
“Just take it and stop auguring.”
I shrugged. I took it from her - threw it into the back of my Jeep that is looking as scratched and dented as the box, as me in general.
Tuesday
I leave after breakfast in my old SUV for home. It takes longer to get back to the city though the weekday traffic and my car goes nowhere near as fast as the Porsche. But I’ve said goodbye to it now. There was no sense lamenting its absence. I’ve got bigger things to worry about.
It’s sad to think that my life for nearly four months has been focused around this depressing, little room. It had been my sanctuary, my hiding place, when all around me was falling down. Then it was my safety net when things started to turn around. Now my time here is ending, and frankly I’m a little sad to see it go.
I pay the owners what I owe them and pack my meagre belongings into the back of my car. I don’t own much, I haven’t needed to for a while. It’s odd to realise how little you actually need to survive, to live. I leave the television and the lounge, close the door behind me and that chapter of my life comes to an end.
As I drive back to our apartment, the yellow package that holds the divorce papers sits on the passenger seat, mocking me. Quinn and I have not discussed them. Either they were forgotten or they were ignored. Still the spectre of divorce still hangs over us – the ghost that I set free to haunt us. I don’t like that they still exist after all that has happened and I want to destroy them, but Quinn’s name is on them and I don’t have the right without asking her.
It takes a few trips to bring my belongings up to our apartment. I stand there and wonder how I’m going to get them all into the spare room, and then I find that Quinn has all but cleared it out. There are some cupboards and sets of drawers there now and I’ve now got somewhere to put my things. She’s been busy while I’m away, and I’m grateful for the surprise.
I call her at work and tell her I’m home. We plan to go out for dinner and I tell her I’ll pick her up rather than let her walk the four blocks. She’s grateful and there seems to be an easiness about us now. The tension is slowly fading away.
I drive down to her building and pick her up. She looks a little tired but she’s pleased to see me. She kisses me when she climbs into my car and we drive back home so she can change before dinner.
“Now don’t freak out,” she tells me, “but I’ve got that surprise for you.”
“I know. You cleaned up the spare room and got some furniture in there. Thanks.”
“Well, yes, but there’s more.” She moves her head like she means me to follow her. I do, down the hall to her bedroom. Our old bed is gone. There is a new bed, similar but different enough to be obvious.
“You did this?” I ask her, pleased and also frightened by what this will mean.
“I had help.”
“This is what you were up to the last two days?”
“Yes. Is this okay?”
“It is.”
She sits on the bed gracefully, pulls her hair out and motions me to sit next to her. I do. I notice that the mattress is new too. There are new sheets, pillows and covers as well. Next to the bed there is a picture of us, the same one in my room. Not our wedding photo that causes me pain. I’m starting to cry.
She takes me in her arms and holds me, rocks me gently. She kisses my forehead, pulls my face to her and kisses my lips. I feel my tears wet our lips as we kiss, harder by the second. I feel her hand reach around and cup the side of my face tenderly.
She pulls away and takes a deep breath. “I’ve got to stop doing that to myself.”
“Why?” I ask her.
“I keep telling myself that this is right and that everything is going to be fine. And I kiss you and I feel my love for you get stronger but I can’t make love to you and it hurts. It hurts so much.”
“I know.”
“You keep saying that, but you’re still not in my bed. You keep promising that you’ll make love to me soon, and you don’t. And every day I just need you more and I’m going to burst.”
I say nothing. I want to say that we’re walking through the consequences of our actions, but she’s not going to hear that. She’ll hear that I’m blaming her for my mental impotence, but I’m blaming myself more for putting us here. If I’d looked after my wife and my marriage a little better I might be making love to her right now, and there would be no need to replace the bed and the mattress and maybe even the whole damn apartment because I know he’s been in here and touched my wife and my things. And I’m still so damn angry at myself.
“Fine,” she says to my silence. “Let’s go to dinner then.”
I leave the room to let her change and she returns in a stunning top and pants. Her ass looks good in those pants, and she knows it and I wonder if she’s not punishing me in some way. Maybe she’s trying to inspire me. If she is, it’s working.
As we’re leaving she sees the envelope on the kitchen bench, ready for her signature to doom us. She knows what it is immediately, but she doesn’t look inside it. She picks it up and dumps it in the trash and passes me like nothing happened. She didn’t look pleased with me at all, but she disposed of one of the things that stood between us without a thought.
We eat out at our favourite Thai place. We sit in our usual seats and I wonder if Wade hasn’t been here too. This is not our date. This is us celebrating my return home, and her mood has lightened after we’ve
eaten the first course.
“So,” I say, leaning in, “a question...”
“Go on,” she replies.
“What’s your favourite thing to in bed?” I ask her and we break down into fits of laughter.
When we recover I have other questions. I ask her how she got the bed and the spare room done so quickly. She tells me she pulled the old bed apart herself, pulled it into the lounge room. Then the husbands of her friends, Allan and Mike, brought over the new bed, brought it in pieces up the elevator and assembled it in her bedroom. The spare room was done with the same organisational precision as the bed. I was impressed, and I told her so.
I thought of Grant’s assignment – of speaking life into her. I told her I admired her determination, her moving toward this goal even though she struggled with it. I told her that I loved those qualities in her, her loyalty, her perseverance. I could see her glow with the praise, because it wasn’t false. I did see these things in her and she could see the truth in me.
The next two days we fell into a familiar pattern. I would drive her to work to save her the walk and then I would go to the station. Wade was still away on his honeymoon and we were still doing re-runs. This left me time to develop future programming and talk to sponsors. I seemed that in this new arrangement I found myself doing a lot less ass-kissing and more proper negotiation. For the first time in my career it seemed that people were respecting me. My boss they loathed, but he brought in money by the bucket load, and for that they tolerated him. He’s changed, I tell them, for I’ve seen it in him. Time will tell if the changes are far reaching and permanent. Perhaps married life with settle him down – but who am I kidding?
The fact is, I was married for nine years and I didn’t grow up. Only now, when those nine years were almost nullified, did I see that I had to put away the childish, selfish me.
I’d stay until Quinn was about to finish work and I’d pick her up again and take her home.
Friday
Finally Friday comes and I drop her off at home, leave her at the bottom of the elevator.
"You’re not coming up?” she asks.
“No. It’s date night, remember? I’ve got a few things to sort out. You go up and get ready and I’ll pick you up at seven. Wear something warm.”
“Okay,” she says and heads up to our apartment. I drive back to the station to change and prepare. Tonight is going to memorable. The best bit about it is its virtually free.
I head up to our apartment at seven as I promised. I was being punctual these days and I knew she noticed. Quinn is wearing a beautiful dress, black and slim, with enough room for her growing front, and I whistle when I see her, tell her she is beautiful. She smiles warmly at my attention as I help her on with her coat. We ride down to my car and head out of town.
I wish that I’d kept the Porsche another week. Phillip’s car would have been perfect for my plans, but it’s gone now, and I’ve made some adjustments. The sky is dark and clear and full of stars when we stop in a quiet park an hour out of the city. I lay down a rug on the grass and put out food and wine. I help her sit and I join her. We’re alone under starry skies and she looks beautiful and I’m crazy in love with her. I want to make love to her under those stars - for some reason I think I can - but I don’t want to get arrested and I don’t want to spoil what is