Everything She Never Had // Chapter 11

Where I stand.

Baby? I thought, A BABY?!?!? He must be out of his damn mind!

“You can’t be serious?” I blurted out before I could collect my thoughts. “After what just happened —on our honeymoon?”

I stood up and started pacing, trying to wrap my head around what he had just said, then continued firing off questions without waiting for an answer. I couldn’t fathom how on earth he could be serious about this.

“Well... yeah,” Chris responded, slowly standing up from his position on the floor, suddenly grimacing in pain. “Isn’t that what you’ve always wanted? Isn’t now as good a time as ever? I mean, since we got married... I guess I just thought —this is what you wanted, Sam.”

He walked over to where I was standing by the window and firmly put his hands around my waist and in one swift move, flipped me around to face him.

“I love you more than you'll ever know, Sam,” he said, staring directly into my eyes, steadily and unblinking, making it clear to me that he knew exactly what he was doing, “I want to start a family with you. Let’s just try and see what happens,” he softened, “We don't’ have to make a big deal about it, or tell anyone, we can just casually —start trying to get pregnant and see what happens.”

Chris squeezed my waist and then wrapped his arms around me and hugged me tightly, “Besides, with your bone structure and my eyes, we would make the cutest babies,” he added, jokingly with a wink.

He had a point, I thought —about everything, not just their looks, but as desperate as I was to start a family, the way I'd always dreamt of becoming a mother, something about this timing seemed very off, and before my mind could catch up, my body felt it.

I bit my lip, “Why now, though?” I asked, still a bit shaken by the sudden change of intensity, “when we’ve literally never talked about a family timeline before... Why are you bringing it up now?

Could I get past what happened in Mexico, or how he seemed to have shape shifted into a completely different person since the wedding? I wondered, turning my back to him again to stare out the window. I had seen a few red flags in the past, but nothing to the extent I had witness and dealt with on the honeymoon. Could it have been an isolated incident or had I overlooked it in the past? Was it just the vacation? The drinking? The drugs? Was he doing heavier drugs I didn’t know about? I just wasn’t sure I was even going to be able to stay with him after all of that, let alone start trying for a baby! I couldn’t explain it, but I felt it, like a warning echoing somewhere under my skin.

“I’m just not sure I’m ready right now,” I said, quietly, still in a bit of a daze. “Chris, we just got married, don’t you want a little more time to have fun with just the two of us before adding a baby? It’s a lot of work and energy, I’m just not sure I’m ready for it all just yet.” It wasn’t the whole truth, but I wasn’t sure how else to say no.

Chris pulled away from me in a huff and walked into the bathroom, turning on the shower water without saying a word, then called out matter of factly, “I dunno, Sam, I thought that’s what you wanted, I’m just trying to give you what you want, that’s all...” then he slammed the shower door shut and left me to my thoughts.

I felt completely drained, this conversation, along with everything else had emotionally wiped me out. As soon as I’d gain my energy back and feel almost human, any interaction with Chris lately would knock me right off balance again.

The thought and image of a cigarette flashed through my mind and flickered through me like muscle memory. I pulled on my short robe, grabbed my purse, ran down the stairs and headed outside toward the backyard, snagging a small white dish that was sitting on the counter. It was basically useless where it was, so tiny, yet filled with random items that had no other home, so I emptied it out and brought it with me to the patio to use as an ashtray.

Sitting at the patio table, I rummaged through my purse and pulled out my pack of cigarettes when the colorful matchbook from The Cantina flew out and onto my lap and in a flash, the memory of Chris in Mexico, absent, partying with two strange girls, missing and then in the hospital bed, all rushed through me like an adrenaline jolt, a flashback in mind and body —and I shuddered, trying to shake it off as quickly as it came.

I pulled out a cigarette and instinctively placed it between my lips, lit it and inhaled deeply, holding it in and then letting the smoke out of my lungs slowly but in one swift blow, which immediately eased my heightened senses back down to my default settings.

With my cigarette perched in between two fingers, my free hand fiddled with the matchbook, and I was again, instantly drawn back into a daydream of Mexico. My one saving grace, Javi, had been so kind to me. How could a stranger treat me better than the man who claims to love me? The man whom I just married? The man who is now actively pushing a baby as the best option... or did he think this was a solution?

I fumbled through my purse looking for the envelope from the hotel, but it wasn’t in there. Why isn’t it here? I wondered, looking through my purse again, more frenetically, pulling out every item to make sure I hadn’t missed it. But sure enough, it was gone.

Digging into the zipper pocket, I found a small piece of paper, folded into a square and when I carefully unfolded it, opened to reveal a small penned sketch of a woman, me, asleep on a plane, her head resting on the wall next to the window and a signature at the bottom that said:

Sorry for boring you to sleep.

If you’re ever in need of a nap in the future, do let me know.

x, Michael Finnegan – Beginagain

Signed with a winky face and a phone number.

My heart raced with excitement. I ran my fingers over the pen drawing on the paper and felt the slight indentation left from the pressure of the ball point and smiled without realizing.

“What are you smiling about?” I heard Chris’ voice in the distance, as he was limping toward me. “Are you SMOKING?” he asked, loudly, surprised and with a hint of judgement in his tone.

I folded up the paper drawing as casually and carefully and inconspicuously as I possibly could while keeping my eyes locked on Chris and tucked it into my box of cigarettes without him noticing.

“Uh, yeah,” I said, looking down at the lit cigarette in between my fingers, then bringing it up to my lips and taking a long drag, “I guess I am – smoking,” I said, looking up at him while exhaling a slow stream of smoke into the air, deliberately holding eye contact.

“Since when?” Chris snapped back, limp-walking through the slider door and to the backyard patio where I was sitting, now standing directly above me.

“Since Mexico.” I said, “Since the morning I woke up and you weren't there.” I quipped back, resolutely, without apology, lifting the cigarette to my lips again and inhaling gloriously like the world belonged to me —slow, unbothered, in control, eyes locked on his, daring him to break first.

This is what I loved most about smoking, I thought, the confidence I feel, the power I command, even if only temporary or partly delusional, maybe it was more of a masculine trait I embodied as a smoker, which made me feel more powerful. I’d never thought about it until that moment, especially since it had been years since I quit and I was so young the first time around, I never paid any attention to how smoking made me feel, I just knew that I liked it and it was the only thing that helped me sleep soundly through the night while also helping me cope with life’s more challenging obstacles, —even if only for a short period of time in between the next cigarette.

“What, you don’t remember how hard it was to quit?” Chris asked, nastily, pulling up a patio chair and sitting across from me. “I mean, I don’t really care, you know that Sam, it never bothered me that you smoked, but I thought you said you’d never smoke again?” he said, flippantly, almost taunting me, most certainly seeking a reaction.

“Well, I never thought I would, Chris, but I also never thought you’d cheat on me, either, so I guess we both lied, right?” I snapped back, taking another puff and blowing it out over my shoulder.

“Sam, I told you, I didn’t cheat on you, why can’t you just let it go? If you keep bringing up the past, we’re never going to move forward, but whatever, you can believe what you want to believe, I guess.” Chris snapped back, but casually as if he didn’t care at all that I had been affected by his actions, betrayed in a way that I never thought he could. “What about you and Javi?” he asked, prodding me.

“What about me and Javi, Chris?” I asked, trying desperately NOT to be reactive, knowing that’s exactly what he wanted.

“You expect me to believe that nothing happened between you two?” he asked, mocking me in a way.

It was at that very moment when I realized exactly how the envelope in my purse went missing. Chris must have taken it at some point, thinking I wouldn’t notice, but I didn’t say anything. I knew if I asked him about it, he would just flip it around again and accuse me of something else I didn’t do to take the heat off of him. Instead, I decided to flip it with such absurdity that he’d be left speechless.

“Okay, Chris, yup, you caught me!” I said, smiling and egging him on sarcastically. “Oh yeah,” I said, leaning in and taking another puff of my cigarette and blowing out directly in his face. “I was actually HAPPY you didn’t come home that night, just so I could meet up with Javi,” I kept going, watching him glare at me, not sure what to make of my story. “Yeah… in fact, I set Javi up to tell the bartender to get you extra drunk and then lure you out of the hotel with the other girls to go and party at a club, all the while thinking I was asleep back in our room. It was all just a ploy so that I could spend the night with Javi! Yep, Chris, I played YOU and it totally worked, because while you were out all-night doing God knows what, with God knows who, Javi was back in our honeymoon suite, giving me the most pleasurable sexual experience of my entire life. I mean, you got me, Chris, you figured it all out! I was the one having an all-nigh fuck-fest on our honeymoon —with the concierge of the hotel, while you naively thought I was just sleeping, alone in our hotel room.”

I blurted it out proudly, shaking my head and smiling at the ridiculousness of the story I had just made up, taking another drag off my cigarette and exhaling vehemently.

Chris was fuming now but clearly keeping his anger in check. I could tell that he didn’t know what to believe but the way he didn’t trust me in that moment, thinking I might have actually done what he had accused me of, assured me that something did, in fact, happen with one of the girls in Mexico and that he had probably been unfaithful to me in the past as well. I couldn't know for sure, but my intuition was calling it and the feeling in my body was hard to ignore.

I stood up and put my cigarette out in the little dish and set it back on the table and leaning back in a more masculine position in my chair, I pulled one leg up in a bent knee on the edge. The silence between us was now deafening, but I wasn’t about to back down.

“Well, you’re going to have to quit when you get pregnant,” Chris finally said, breaking the silence and changing the subject. “So, you might as well just finish that pack and call it quits.”

Thankfully, my phone started ringing from my purse, saving me from any response that may have turned that last declaration into another argument, of which I had zero energy to partake, but I’ll be damned if I was going to let him dictate my life, especially after what had happened on our honeymoon. Instead, I flipped my phone open and started talking to one of my closest friends, Katie Ryan, ignoring Chris completely, who sat there, glaring at me while I spoke to her, knowing in this moment, I was holding all the cards, so to speak.

“Yeah, we’re home now, how’d you know?” I asked into the phone, smiling, looking up at Chris to monitor his mood.

“I ran into your mom earlier today at the farmer’s market, and she mentioned you were back, but she didn’t say why... so, what happened? Why did you cut your honeymoon short?” Katie asked.

I knew Chris could hear every word Katie was saying through the phone and was listening intently.

“Well, things got a bit crazy,” I said, concealing what exactly the crazy part was, “Chris ended up in the hospital with a broken ankle, so I decided that heading home was the best option, though he’s not exactly happy with my decision.” I said into the phone, still staring at Chris while he pretended not to listen. “He wanted to stay”.

“Broken ankle?” Katie exclaimed, “How? What happened?”

“Oh, you know, he just —tripped over a rock one night while we were a walking around the beach. We were a little tipsy, I guess, but he’s okay,” I lied.

I’m not sure she was buying my story entirely, but it worked momentarily since Chris was in earshot. We hung up and I lit another cigarette, just because I could, and it felt surprisingly empowering. I think smoking made me feel rebellious, like I was the one in control, instead of Chris, and I needed the strength to stand up to him right now.

“Hey Babe, why don’t we go to dinner tomorrow night?” Chris suggested, in a new, much softer tone, “I’ll make reservations at your favorite place and take care of everything.”

He used the table to push himself up, since he didn’t have his crutches, but was able to limp without them surprisingly well, only moaning in pain when he was looking for sympathy. “Thanks for not telling Katie about what happened,” he said, “Let’s go to dinner and I’ll make it up to you, okay?” he offered.

“Yeah, I guess,” I said, slightly rolling my eyes, not entirely buying it, which made it easy to actively not give one fuck about what he was planning. “Can you make the reservation for 6pm?” I asked, “I told my mom I’d stop by tomorrow, and I just want to make sure I can be back and ready by six.”

“Sure,” he said, leaning down on the table to steady his weight before kissing me on my forehead. “Love you.” he said and hobbled pathetically back through the slider and into the house —but I didn’t say it back.

The following day was uneventful, but there was still tension between the two of us. In the afternoon, I went to my mom’s and told her everything. I couldn’t help it, once I saw her, I just blurted it all out. Along with anger, followed by tears, I paced back and forth, sobbing uncontrollably retelling one story after the next, uncertain how so much could happen in such a short amount of time. It’s like I was holding onto a hurricane and once I opened my mouth, I couldn’t stop every detail from spilling out. I think I just needed to tell someone, and to see the look on her face, which matched the feeling within my body, was validation enough to realize I was in trouble.

When I returned around 4pm, Chris wasn’t home, which was a relief because my eyes were red and puffy and I didn’t want him to see. I sat in the backyard for a while smoking so I could keep my sunglasses on just in case, puffing the pain away, realizing I was already hooked again and in no way willing to give up after finishing this pack.

I’ll keep it to under-five a day, I promised myself, knowing that the uncertainty I was living through would be far more stressful and unhealthy than my new, but old, and hopefully short-lived smoking addiction would afford me. I needed something to get me through this, and I had already made my choice. Besides, five a day won’t kill me, I reassured myself, stubbing out the butt in the little dish ashtray that had found a new permanent residence on the patio table.

“Are you gonna be ready by six?” I heard Chris yell from the kitchen.

“Yeah...” I responded, “I’m getting in the shower now,” I said, heading toward the house. Once I walked in, Chris was standing at the counter rearranging a bouquet of what seemed like a hundred long stem pink roses in a massive clear vase, set on the countertop, with a matching pink ribbon tied around the center.

“Oh, not yet! I wasn’t finished arranging them!” Chris yelled out, while still moving the roses from one side of the vase to the other, not making any visible improvement to the bouquet. “You walked in before I was ready,” he continued, “but look, I got you flowers!” he said, grinning from ear to ear, with his hands open like Vanna White, so proud of himself, he could barely stand it, waiting for my reaction like it was Christmas morning.

I tried to hold back a smile, but I slipped. They were beautiful, and I was surprised by the gesture. “Thank you,” I said, walking toward the arrangement to take in their soft aroma.

“Don’t they smell so good?” Chris asked, enthusiastically, watching me actively sniffing them. “I picked them out myself,” he continued, “each one, separately, adding only the most perfect roses, just like you —perfect.” he said, walking over to me and kissing me.

I smiled coyly and thanked him again as he went on describing how he chose each flower and how he arranged them in the way he had, somehow making this thoughtful gift that was supposed to be for me, all about how great of a flower picker he was. But who was he kidding? This thoughtful gift was more about getting out of the doghouse than making me happy just because.

“They’re really beautiful,” I reassured him, again, “And I love the way you arranged them.” I said, again, recognizing his efforts, while desperately trying not to sound patronizing.

“Thanks,” he said, “I tried my best, but whatever, I’m sure you would have done it way better. You’re better at everything.”

I ignored his baiting and simply said, “They’re beautiful, Chris” repeating myself again, nodding with approval, but my smile had faded. I was biting the urge to call him out for his bare minimum effort and the praise he was now actively seeking for his gesture, not to mention the compliment fishing for his arranging skills. The way he could take a gift that was supposed to be for someone else and make it completely about himself, was the work of a true psychopath.

Chris stared at me for a long moment, waiting for more praise, when I finally said, “Okay, well, I’m gonna go hop in the shower and start getting ready. Thank you for the flowers, they’re beautiful.” I said, again, and kissed him absentmindedly and left the room. The flowers were a start, but I gave him no indication that he had won me over yet.

As I headed upstairs to shower Chris called out, “Hey, why are you bringing your cigarettes upstairs? I hope you don’t think you’re going to smoke in this house.”

“No, Babe,” I said, turning back to look at him over my shoulder, “I wouldn’t think of it. I didn’t realize I was still holding onto them, that’s all.”

Once I was upstairs, I made a beeline for my closet, not only to decide what I was going to wear, but to promptly find a better hiding place for my little note from Finn. I didn’t want to chance Chris finding it, but I couldn’t part with it either. I found a vintage beaded clutch bag in the back of my closet that I hadn’t used in ages and carefully placed the folded note in the small satin pocket inside, then set it back on the shelf, behind multiple other small purses, for protection. I pulled out my favorite dress and hung it from the edge of the door casing before jumping in the shower.

To my surprise, Chris was ready at 6pm on the dot. It was clear he was pulling out all the stops to make this night perfect. His effort suggested that he was acting more like the version of himself I had gotten used to before we got married and I wondered, which “Chris” was the real deal —but I was more confused than ever.

“How do I look?” he asked, before extending a bent arm so I could latch mine onto his to walk me down the stairs. Although, technically, with his broken ankle, I was helping him walk, more than he was being a gentleman.

“You look good,” I replied, with a smile, waiting for a compliment in return, but he said nothing.

Once we descended the staircase, I pulled out a few items from my larger purse and threw them into a smaller clutch bag that matched my dress when I heard a tapping at the front door. Chris opened it to reveal a man in a black suit, standing, with a black SUV running in the distance behind him at the curb.

“I got us a driver for the night!” Chris said, excitedly, smiling and holding the door for me as I walked out. He set the alarm and shut the door, locking it behind us and we followed our driver to the vehicle. He opened the door for me and helped me in, then did the same for Chris.

“Where are we going?” I asked, still only partially invested in whatever he was trying to pull, but I must admit that I was getting curious at this point.

“Your favorite place,” Chris said, “Yamashiro!”

I paused and then said...

“No… actually, Yamashiro is your favorite place, not mine,” I responded, dryly, looking out the window, in utter disbelief and a hint of sadness. Does he even know me at all? I wondered.

“I thought you said it was your favorite place too! Well, shit, I guess I fucked everything up.” Chris said, hanging his head down, “I was just trying to make you happy, and I couldn’t even get the restaurant right. What an idiot!”

“It’s okay,” I said, looking at him, “Yamashiro is good, it’s just not my favorite, but it’ll be great.” I reassured him, yet again, noticing my own propensity to ease his emotional consequences while he’s actively disappointing me.

I looked down at my deep red dress and how the late summer sun was reflecting the silky rippled fabric through the window and smoothed it out with my hands. I opened my clutch and took out my lip gloss, twisting open the top, and reapplying it, rolling my lips together repetitively to get every inch of my lips glossed. I didn’t really have much to say, so I just stared out the window until we arrived at the restaurant. Chris did the same.

Our table was ready as soon as we walked in, and I was mildly impressed with Chris’ efforts, considering just being ready on time helped us avoid a fight before even leaving the house. So far, it felt positive, even if it was performative and transactional, but I had to wonder if I had just gotten so used to bare minimum that any effort felt monumental?

Chris ordered cocktails for the both of us, as well as appetizers and entrees. Finally, I thought, Chris was acting like a man again, -like himself and I felt myself falling back into his energy. I softened into my chair, sipped at my cocktail, smiling, and I could feel all my mental walls start collapsing, one by one.

“Have you thought about what I said any further?” Chris asked.

“What do you mean?” I replied.

“About it being time to start trying to have a baby...”

“Oh, that.” I said, frankly, “No, I hadn’t thought any more about it. I’m still not so sure it’s the best time, considering we just got married. Maybe we should try it with just the two of us for a while before adding a baby, don’t you think?”

“Sam, we’ve been together for years now, lived together even, we know what it’s like with just the two of us already,” he said, point blank, which I guess, technically was correct, but everything had felt so off since day one of our honeymoon, and I still wasn’t sure if I had just turned a blind eye to all of his behavioral issues, or if he had truly hidden them, but I’m guessing the truth was somewhere in between.

“I mean, you’re right,” I agreed, “...but the honeymoon, babe, it was really bad. YOU were a totally different person. What am I supposed to do with all of that?” I asked, sincerely.

“Yeah, I know, and I’m sorry, I’m not sure what got into me, but it won’t happen again, Sam, I promise, I love you, I don’t want to lose you, and I want to have babies with you, build a family with you and grow old with you... I just think it’s time we start now. What’s so wrong with that?”

“Nothing is wrong with it, Chris, but you put me through hell these last few days and it hurt me, not to mention, scared me! I don’t want to stay married to someone who I can’t trust.” I finally said, holding back tears. “And now I feel like you’re pushing a baby so heavily as if that’s going to make up for everything you did, or at least distract me, hoping I’ll forget in time and stop bringing it up.” I caught myself explaining, which I knew wasn’t going to help my situation.

“Come on, Sam, you know me! That was just some random drunk-induced fluke. It was the Mexican air, the humidity, and all the excitement that just had me out of my head. I wasn’t thinking. It's never going to happen again.”

“Yeah, well, I’m not so sure of that yet, I guess.” I said, wiping tears from my eyes.

“Look,” Chris said, getting more stern and emotional, “I said I was sorry, it won’t happen again, what more do you want?” he continued, “If you keep bringing it up, how are we ever going to get past it?”

“I keep bringing it up because I don’t know IF I’ll EVER be able to get past it, Chris! I guess I just hope that if we talk about it enough, that maybe, I’ll be able to see it from another perspective and be okay with how it played out... with how horribly you treated me!”

“There you go again, saying I treat you so bad!” Chris retorted, “Sam, if I am so bad, then why don’t you just leave? Why don’t we just call it quits now?” He said, egging me on.

“Chris, I don’t want to argue, and I don’t want to feel threatened by you either, but I have to be honest and if you can’t have an adult conversation with me about it, then I’m not sure I’ll be able to move on from it at all, let alone have a baby!” I continued, “I still have no idea who you partied with or what you did with them, and it’s constantly in the back of my mind! You accuse me of bringing up the past, Chris, but it was like 3 days ago —and on our HONEYMOON!”

“I already told you that nothing happened with those girls, yes, I went out with them to the club with the other bartender, and HE was trying to hook up with one of them, not me. I told you all of this.”

“Actually no, you didn’t tell me that part –about the bartender trying to hook up with one of them. It doesn’t matter, Chris, it seems like every time you retell the story, more details come out that were hidden the previous times and I don’t know what to believe.” I said, trying not to ugly cry and mess up my makeup at the restaurant.

“How are we ever going to move on if you won’t believe me, Sam?”

“How can I belive you when you’re not telling me the whole story? In fact, why don’t you start with the hoop earring, Chris?”

“What are you talking about, Sam? What hoop earring?”

“The hoop earring that was in the pocket of your jeans —the jeans you were wearing that night?” I finally blurted out, immediately regretting it.

Chris was stunned, shocked, wide-eyed, and racking his brain for a story he could tell to get out of this one.

“I don't know what earring you’re talking about,” he finally said, trying not to yell in the restaurant, but clearly upset. “You sound crazy, Sam!”

“You know exactly what earring I’m talking about, Chris, you just didn’t know that I knew about it.” I said, watching him get more and more upset each minute I was calling him out.

“What were you even doing going through my pants pockets?”

“Chris, I’ve been doing your laundry since we moved in together, checking your pockets before each load, but this time was different. This was an accident, the earring went flying out of your pants when I picked them up to put them in your suitcase.”

We both went silent. He had no further explanation for the earring or for what happened and now had a look of defeat wash over his face. This night that he was trying so hard to win me over with had failed, and he knew it. I could see his facade starting to slip once he knew it hadn’t worked on me. I could see him falling back into his real self, the Mexico self, and I didn’t like the look of it.

We were silent on the drive home, but it was nice having a driver so I didn’t have to worry about Chris’ recklessness behind the wheel, trying to punish me again, for his own mistakes. The car pulled up to our house and as we came to a stop I quietly asked, “Do you like my dress?”

The driver opened the door and extended his arm to help us out. Chris paid him as I walked to the door, unlocked it and opened it, waiting in the doorway for Chris to finish and come in.

“Do you like my dress?” I asked again, as he limped toward me at our front door, barely looking up at me.

“Uh, yeah Sam, I like your dress, I’ve seen you wear it before,” he said.

“How come you didn’t tell me that I looked nice tonight? Even after I complimented you, you didn’t compliment me back.” I said, quietly. “Why can’t you tell me I look beautiful?”

He stopped in front of me, keeping his head down, then looked up, dead into my eyes, as the front porch light shined brightly behind his head…

"Because you already know you’re beautiful, Sam, why should I have to tell you?” and he walked past me, into the house, leaving me where I stood.

Everything She Never Had is a work of fiction, inspired by some facts and some true events, based lightly on the timeline of my life. All names have been changed. Chapters are released once a week (Thursdays, usually) and (most) are available to read for free for up to two weeks before they are locked and only available to paying subscribers. 💌

• Read: Chapter 1

• Read: Chapter 2

• Read: Chapter 3

• Read: Chapter 4

• Read: Chapter 5

• Read: Chapter 6

• Read: Chapter 7

• Read: Chapter 8

• Read: Chapter 9

• Read: Chapter 10

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