Every Wrong Reason

He abruptly sat up. The blanket fell to his lap, hiding his important bits but exposing inches of smooth, muscled skin. His tousled chestnut hair fell over his forehead as he leaned into me. He had never been more beautiful, an angry Adonis rampaging for vengeance.

“I’m not blaming you for everything. I’m… I’m trying to make sense of this. And I need you to figure out what the hell you want. Is it me, Kate? Or is it this?” His arm flung wide, gesturing at the room. “Without me?”

“We’re in the middle of a divorce,” I repeated, but this time it was broken. This time it held the years of pain and hurt and heartache. “We’re in the middle of a divorce.”

He jumped from the bed as if it burned him to share the same space as me. “You’ve made that abundantly clear.” He gave me his back and naked bum and tore into the closet. I watched in horror as he opened drawers, then slammed them closed.

Tears streaked down my face, wetting the sheets I held tightly around my torso. “What are you doing?”

“Going home,” he growled. “Then I’m going to shower. Then I’m going to work.” His eyes flashed to mine, searing me from where he yanked on old ru

“Nick,” I sobbed. He waited. He stood there in his shorts and tousled hair, his jaw ticking with anger and pain and scars that I gave him, scars that I ripped open, and he waited for me to say what it was I wanted to say. “I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

I winced with frustration. “For this.” I waved at the room. “For the divorce.” I sniffled back a flood of tears. “For last night.”

He stalked into the room, his feet moving with determination and his body so filled with tension I felt it vibrating off him in waves. He hovered over the edge of the bed. I could smell him. I could almost touch him. His voice pitched low and serious. “I’m not sorry,” he declared. “Not for any of it.”

He gave me one more scorching glare, then turned around and left. His loud footsteps took the stairs at a clipped pace. There was silence for a minute and I could picture him yanking on the rest of his clothes. Then the door opened and slammed behind him.

I was alone- truly alone. And all I wanted to do was chase him down and drag him back to my room. I wanted to lock him in here until these feelings went away, until this fissure in my heart stopped tearing me apart.

I broke down and cried after that. I cried for a very long time. Then I called into work, explaining about my dog, but not about my husband.

Then I lay down again and cried all the way through my birthday.

Eventually, the vet called. A

But even A

If only I could figure out which of my mistakes was the right one to regret.

Last night?

Or the divorce…?

Chapter Twenty-Three

30. I can’t let him go.

Three days later, on the morning of our next mediation, I prayed for the flu.

When I did not immediately start puking, I prayed for an earthquake. When that didn’t work, I prayed for a tornado. Then an alien invasion.

And finally, a zombie plague.

Then I decided I should probably stop wishing thousands of people had to die just so I could skip seeing Nick again.

It wasn’t that I wanted thousands of people to die or a zombie pandemic to sweep the globe. Not really. I just thought, maybe it was more favorable than coming face-to-face with a man that was so pissed off at me, I felt like my entire house needed cleansing.

I pulled up Google on my phone. Was it possible to hire a witch doctor to hoodoo the shit out of my house and at the same time give me a non-life-threatening trip to the emergency room?

Chicago area witch doctors.

My phone rang, changing the screen to Kara’s name. I answered with a sigh. “Hey.”

“You sound glum.”

I decided it was better to go with the truth. “The only witch doctors Google pulled up are on LinkedIn. I swore to myself I would never get a LinkedIn profile. I don’t care how many emails they send me a day.”

“You’ve lost your mind,” she laughed. “You’re officially crazy.”

“I’m not crazy,” I argued. “I just want the flu or maybe malaria. Typhoid would be fine.”

There were thirty seconds of complete silence before Kara recovered. “Please don’t bring typhoid to school with you. I’m not sure if our health plan covers typhoid.”

“If I find the right witch doctor, you’re not going to have to worry about a thing. It will be an isolated incident. I just decided that I don’t really want to kill thousands of people.”

“Kate?”

“Yeah?”

“As your therapist, I’m going to need you to separate yourself from your delusions and tell me five real things that happened in your life this morning.”

Surprised laughter bubbled up inside me and I started to feel just the tiniest bit better. “Unfortunately you’re not my therapist. Also, does that work with your students?”

“How should I know? I just made that shit up.”

“I’m impressed.”

“Thanks! But if we’re honest, most of what I use is made up.”

“Wow, K. Summa cum laude from Northwestern is really coming in handy, huh?”

She let out a dramatic sigh, “I do what I can.” With a delicate throat clear she added, “And it was magna cum laude. I was off by three-tenths of a point.”

“My apologies.”

“You are forgiven.” Another pause. “Are you coming to school today?”

“No.”

“Mediation?”

“Yes.”

“This is your second sick day this week.”

“This one was pla

She made a tsking sound with her tongue and then said, “Give him hell.”

It was my turn to fidget nervously. I hadn’t told Kara any of the drama with Nick other than he had come to the vet when A

I was dying to tell someone. I wanted to hear an outside opinion. I wanted her advice, her perspective, her curse words.

But I couldn’t bring myself to say anything. Instead of blurting out what had happened, I kept it locked tightly inside of me. I felt like I had to protect it… protect Nick. Even if Kara would have ended up on his side of the argument, I was reluctant to put our marriage, or what was left of it, on trial.

I was tired of other people’s opinions. I was tired of looking elsewhere for answers and ignoring the strong, still voice inside me.

I was sick and tired of dissecting every single thing that Nick did wrong and giving it to a jury of my peers to decide how to feel for me.

I needed to figure this out for myself. And fast.

When I didn’t respond to Kara, she backed off and said, “Or give him really polite, pleasant discussion.”

I laughed, despite the seriousness of my thoughts. “I’m honestly not sure what he’s going to get out of me today. I guess I’ll decide when I get there.”

She gasped, “You don’t mean the house? Not A

“Stop,” I laughed. “You’re the crazy one. Not me.”

“I trust you, Kate. You know that I do. But this year has been emotionally draining for you. I just don’t want to see you get hurt because you’re tired. Promise me, you’ll be careful today… that you’ll think everything through? Even if it’s hard and you don’t feel up to it?”

Now those were some words I could live by. “I promise.” And I meant it. I would do exactly as she asked. “Thanks for being such a good friend.”

“Mwah! Love you. Good luck today.”