Vena Cava

He turned to look at me as I stood there, coffee in hand, waiting for a response.

​

“Me too”

​

I stayed there waiting for him to continue, to say anything but he was already in his car pulling out of the driveway. I watched the car speed down the quiet street before returning inside. I headed back towards the kitchen, grabbing his mug along the way before placing both into the sink. He said he’d be home early if he could, I can’t recall the last time he did. It was probably around the same time he started seeing her.

​

I didn’t realize at first, I mean, that’s not the first thing someone would think when their husband began working late. Especially not one in the same line of work as my husband. I noticed it one day by pure chance when he walked through the door late one night.

​

I had been waiting for him, as a surprise. I remember it so clearly: I had turned to look at him when I heard the door open, the laughter of a studio audience in the background. It took him a moment to notice me, he’d been smiling to himself so softly but the moment he saw me his face dropped;

​

‘What are you doing up?’      

‘I was waiting for you! You’ve been working late this whole week; I hardly saw you.’

‘I’m sorry.’

I pouted and walked towards him for a hug but he stopped me, ‘Honey, I’ve been in the office all day. Let me shower first, go to bed I’ll be there soon.’

​

He walked away from me, the smell of a stranger hit my face. Maybe it would have been okay if I reached out to him. I should have reached out to him.

​

Even despite the odd behavior I brushed it off as him being stressed and tired from work. But I couldn’t help noticing he no longer embraced me. He no longer kissed me goodbye. No longer ate with me. He slept next to me but the bed was always cold: so cold. The watch. I wonder if she gave it to him. He lied to my face. He was wearing it on the same hand he wore the wedding band he let me choose and didn’t like.

 

The first time he saw it he told me, “Wow, maybe I shouldn’t have let you choose my ring after all.”

I thought he was joking but he never wore it after the ceremony, only when I nagged him, “People are going to think you’re single! You’re my catch, no one else can have you” I’d say.

 

He wore it all the time now, maybe it was his way of compensating. When we first started going out he would look at me like I was the only rose in a field of poppies that went on for miles, like nothing could happen when we were together. In a second he’d wrap an arm around my waist, press his chest into my back, and whisper in my ear.

​

“Hey, beautiful.”

 

It was those times where I would lose all control of my reaction and shine brighter than a ripe Italian tomato. He knew. He always knew. He was someone that drew people in. A magnet at parties, the conversation always flowed and people gathered around him. I was one of them, in the beginning.

​

The whole room tilted; the couches, the lamps, the people all leaned towards him. The room swirled with a filtered energy and shone blue and pink as the light refracted off of the very essence of his soul. All the chattering blended into the background for every time he spoke all those who had been captured absorbed themselves into the words that flowed so smoothly through his lips.

​

            Watching from across the room I too felt myself being attracted to the wonder that lay beyond the borderland. I stood in the entry way, casually holding a glass of boxed wine watching the room swirl with a softness akin to that of melted gummy bears. He saw me and beckoned me to sit but I just smiled and watched him be quickly sucked back into the conversation.

​

 “Let’s go out on Saturday”

​

            He didn’t ask me to go, he didn’t have to. Then Saturday came along and when it was over I had his number and he had stolen my heart. Maybe I gave it to him, I don’t know anymore it’s been a long time. This went on for a while then, after sneaking in a sly kiss, he said,

​

“Be my girlfriend.”

​

The way he looks at you. He’s a smooth one, in a split second he’d have you and you wouldn’t want to leave. It was for those moments that we existed. I don’t think he was ever meant for me. Am I being selfish if I say I don’t care?

 

When he proposed and looked up at me with cotton candy eyes I couldn’t say no. He knew that. When I saw him standing there, at the end of the aisle, reaching for me. He’d held my hand like it was the most natural thing in the world, and it was.

​

“I do”

 

I placed the mugs back into the cabinet and allowed myself to sink into the couch for a few moments before I too began preparing for work. It had been far too long, at some point it seemed to stop progressing. Here I was, barren and alone with a husband who didn’t even glance my way. I can’t recall the last time he randomly sent me flowers, or when the cotton melted and left behind no sweetness for me. But he was so, so kind to me. Never would I find another like him, someone who with a single glance could pause the world and play a never ending game of butterscotch and bourbon kisses.

​

            Perhaps we existed because of those moments, and while I sat here waiting for him to come back he’d still be with her, his mind elsewhere no matter how hard I tried to drag him back to me. The rings were like shackles, he had no choice but to return even if all that came back was an empty wrapper long discarded by the heavenly sweet that once was mine.