AUTHOR'S NOTE: This is the first story I've written - of any kind - since high school creative writing classes, so hopefully I don't embarrass myself too much. This is a brief character driven piece about how a young couple deals with one of them cheating, and how they try and get past it. This is not a story about characters you always make the right decisions, in fact, you might well find it a story about characters you never make the right decisions, but while this relationship dynamic might not work for everyone, I do hope I'm at least somewhat successful in making the case that it's believe for them. There is no sex in this story, partly because I'm not yet confident enough in my ability to write it well. I hope to change that. I really appreciate anyone willing to read this or even leave feedback to it, though I would be extra appreciative if any feedback came with a reason (less "I hope all your fingers fall off so you can never type again" and more "I hope all your fingers fall off so you can never type again because you suck at writing dialogue.") Thanks again!
"How late do you think you'll be?" I asked Holly while she gave herself one last look in the mirror. I couldn't imagine why. She'd done nothing but look at herself in the mirror for the last few hours as she got dressed for her girls' night out. I winced imagining all the discarded clothes and hangers she must've left strewn all over the floor, or all the open vials of cosmetics that probably dotted the bathroom, whose lids I'd spend half the evening tracking down. The outfit that won out - a white tube top that showed a strip of midriff above her belly button, skin tight black shorts that barely made it past her thighs, and open heels - was more revealing than I would've liked, but less revealing then she would've worn a year ago, so I wisely kept my mouth shut. Besides, she was also wearing the amber necklace I had gotten for her last birthday. Although she had cooed and smiled over it at the time, I had seen the first glimmer of distaste in her eyes when she opened it - jewellery was never my strong suit - and I knew if she was wearing it tonight it was mostly so I would notice and feel good. Which I did.
"Mmm, I don't know," she said. "I guess around 11ish?"
"Well, call me if it's going to be much later than that. Even if you're gonna be with..." I let the sentence trail off and she looked away, sheepish. An awkward silence hung in the air before her phone dinged.
"That must be the Uber." She chirped. "Bye Tim!" She gave me a quick kiss on the lips and I squeezed her around the waist, careful not to come near her hair or makeup. As usual, I was briefly intoxicated from the smell of her berry and caramel scented shampoo I loved. She practically skipped out the door, turning around to holler out "don't wait up," although we both knew I would. After locking up behind her I sighed and trudged upstairs to the bedroom of our rented townhouse, where I knew some kind of unholy mess would be waiting.
That was the closest either of us had ever come in almost six months to acknowledging the elephant in the room. To acknowledging that sometimes, when Holly goes out with her friends, she's also going to find another man to fuck. Or maybe it's always the same man. Or maybe it's every time she goes out. I don't know. What I know is that she can't help herself - impulsive control isn't Holly's strong suit in the best of circumstances, let alone when she gets horny or tipsy or excited. What I also know is that, as long as I never have to see it or hear it or think about it, I can live with it. She's worth it.
I first met Holly almost eighteen months ago, when she was working as the front door receptionist at an apartment building I was considering moving into. She was 25. "It's my first "grown up" job" she had beamed while I was waiting for the realtor. Although older at 32, I felt like I had just started my first grown up job too. After getting my PhD in American literature I bounced around a few fellowships or adjunct jobs before finally being offered a tenure track position in the city I'd just moved to. Teaching students raised on 10 second video clips and 280 character limits to enjoy James Baldwin or William Faulkner was sometimes an uphill battle, but so far there've always been enough who are truly interested to make it worth it.
I didn't take the apartment, but on the way out I did make another stop at reception. I couldn't get her out of my head. Not her thick, dark blonde hair, her small black eyes, her easy smile, or her easy conversation. I lingered by her desk for almost an hour and don't think I said more than a few dozen words, all while she filled me in on every topic that popped into her head, from her favourite skincare influencers to which reality shows she was watching to who among her friends was friends was fighting with who. All topics I couldn't care less about yet I hung on every word. She was so bright and bubbly and sweet sounding, even when she vented, that I could've listened for hours. "I'm sorry to interrupt," I finally blurted out, "but if I don't ask now I'll lose my nerve. Can I take you out to dinner?"
She smiled wide like she'd been expecting it. "Of course!" I got the feeling she gets asked a lot and rarely says no. "But you better impress me! I don't come cheap." I met her a few nights later at a new high-end Thai place slightly outside my price range. She was late, ate less than half her food, had one more drink than she should've, and again monopolized the conversation. I was just as enraptured as before. After knocking back one last daiquiri she surprised me with an invitation back to her place. We had to tiptoe to keep from disturbing her roommates and her room was a cramped, cluttered mess, but that night I slept better than I had in months. "I know the cool thing to do is to keep you waiting," I told her over the phone the next day, "but I'm not a cool guy, and I don't know how to play these games. I had more fun with you last night than I have in ages, and I'd really like to see you again." We had dinner again the next night, and then almost every night since.
I guess it's true that opposites attract. I'm introverted, quiet, a homebody, probably too self-serious and stuffy for my own good. She's loud and gregarious, always up for going out and doing something and being the centre of attention while doing it. There were clashes, especially at first. I still cringe remembering faculty parties where she showed up dressed more like an Instagram model at a photoshoot than a guest at a formal dinner party, loudly and tipsily telling one of my senior colleagues how boring his work on Old English poetry sounded (not that she was wrong exactly...) Her friends didn't exactly trip all over themselves with excitement at me either, being split initially between whether I was an old sleaze looking to get with a younger woman as an ego boost or whether I was just your run of the mill stick-in-the-mud best ignored. I like to think I've won them over, either through being a good sport about their barbs, a good and non disruptive host when one of them needs a place to crash or, I hope, by making them believe how truly devoted I am to their friend and to making her happy.
We've since rubbed off on each other, or met in the middle. I try a lot more things and accept a lot more social invitations than I ever would have before her and she's learned to appreciate the comfort and peace of a quiet night in with just us. I've started to take better care of myself, eating better and exercising and even trying one or two skincare products she's recommended so that I can look my best for her. She's taken up reading for the first time since school, and while she doesn't always love my recommendations it touches me to see her forge ahead anyway so that we can have something to talk about. I've helped her find a job she can actually care about and take pride in, doing administrative work at a local nonprofit, while she's helped me learn to unplug from work when I got home, and to realize that not every meeting or committee is life and death. She made me a better person, and, more importantly, made me want to keep being better. To be somebody she can be proud of, just like I'm proud of her.
Which is perhaps why, when I found a large chalky white stain on an otherwise bright red dress one night after she came back from out clubbing, I didn't react as explosively as I had always thought I would have.
It was a Friday night like this one six months ago, not long after we'd moved in together. It was a scene that had played out for us dozens of times in the past and would dozens of times in the future; I, waiting on the living room couch with some movie I was only half paying attention to, heard a pair of keys fumbling in the door and went to let Holly in, handing her a glass of water which she gratefully gulped down. Although she'd cut down on her drinking considerably since we started dating, after she stumbled while taking off her Uggs boots I decided letting her get up the stairs alone was a risk not worth taking, so I scooped her up bridal style and carried her softly up to our room.
She giggled as I picked her up and gently kissed my face and neck almost the whole way up. "I'm a princess," she slurred, "and princesses deserve to be carried." Even with her makeup smeared and her eyes drooping she was still the most beautiful woman in the world to me. "You are a princess." I whispered. She dramatically flopped down on the bed once we arrived and I had to coax her into sitting up again so I could take her dress off. "Okay, arms up" I sighed, ignoring her protesting moan. I slid her dress off intending to fold it, and that's when I saw it. The white, almost powdery stain right by the crotch.
"Mmm, can you get me more water?" She asked.
