“Where are you going?” I ask Joey as she stands up. Her back is to me, but I don’t need to see her face to know what she looks like right now.
“I’m going to pack.”
“Pack for what?” I walk over to her and see her shudder when I step behind her. My throat swells as tears threaten to fall.
“I’m going home.”
“Your home is with me.” My voice is barely audible when I say the words. If she leaves me, I won’t know where she is. I don’t know where our home is right now because living out of a hotel isn’t a life that we should be living. I don’t want her home to be in Springcreek, Oregon, but with me. I should be where home is, not where her parents live.
“This isn’t a home, Josh.”
“We’ll go together.”
She shakes her head and moves away from me, but I follow. I’m not giving up without a fight. It’s out of desperation that I grab and spin her around so she’s facing me.
“Talk to me, damn it,” I beg.
“What do you want me to say, Josh? Huh? Do you want me to tell you that everything is going to be okay and I’m happy to share my fucking Christmases with Jules and your child? That everything I envisioned for us, that I have been dreaming about these past few months will never happen because you’ll be tied to her forever? If anyone should be giving you a child it should be me, but you made it very clear that you didn’t want one and now you’re having one with her,” she cries out. “I can’t do this, Josh. I just can’t. You don’t understand how she makes me feel. She’s mean and vile, and in love with you. She’s having your baby and that is something you and I will never share.”
“So you’re going to leave me?” I ask. My hands go slack on her arms, feeling defeated. She takes a step back and I feel our bond slipping away.
When she walks into the closet, she crumbles to her knees. The wedding dress she bought earlier hangs there. I made sure to hang it up so it didn’t get ruined lying on the too small counter in the kitchen. I wanted her to buy a dress, commit to a date that we could get remarried and she did, for me, only for me to ruin it for her.
Getting down on my knees, I pull her into my arms. She comes willingly and cries into my shoulder. “I’m so sorry, Joey. Tell me what to do to fix this. Please. Please don’t leave me,” I say these words over and over as I rock us back and forth. Her tears wet my shirt and mine dampen her hair. I knew shit was too good to be true for us.
“There isn’t anything you can do. You have to be in the baby’s life. I can’t ask you not to be, nor will I stop you.”
“I will if that is what you need. You’re my life, Joey.” The words tumble out of my mouth before I realize what I’m saying. She glances at me briefly, then returns to my shoulder. I saw the look in her eyes; she knows I was wrong for saying that. Being that parent would put me in the same category as my father, something I’ve strived to never be. He always chose his wives over me. And that is something I’ll never do. Joey knows this and so do I.
We stay like this for hours, wrapped in each other’s arms while sitting on the hard closet floor. Every part of my body aches, but none more so than my broken heart. Joey is the only one who can heal me, and deep down I know that’s not going to happen. The wedding I want to give her, the traditional honeymoon and a life are slipping away faster than quicksand because of a foolish mistake I’ve made. Even as I sit here with my wife cradled to my chest, I’m asking myself when this happened and for the life of me I can’t remember. I couldn’t even tell you the last time I was with Jules before the show because I’ve been so consumed with Joey and the life we’re trying to build that Jules was no longer a factor.
Well into the hours of the morning we finally move to the bed where I hold my wife to my chest and remind her how much I love her. The emotions we’re both feeling are different. Joey’s hurt, I’m scared. I’m scared of losing her over something I could’ve prevented, but was too stupid to pay attention to. Even though sleep evades me, I close my eyes and pray for some answers. Anything to guide me, tell me how I’m supposed to survive this with Joey by my side, plus raise a child with Jules. Joey’s right, I’ll be there for the baby because it’s the right thing to do. No, it’s not the right thing; it’s the only thing to do. I won’t be like my parents … but even as I say that in my head, I can’t help but wonder, do I put Joey in front of the baby or does the baby come first?
Sometime by mid-afternoon there’s a knock on our door. Neither of us moves because neither of us cares. As much as I want the knocking to stop, it doesn’t, and once my name is called I know I have to get up and answer it. Thing is, I don’t want to let go of Joey for fear that once I do I’ll never get to hold her again.
She makes the decision for us by untangling herself from my arms and rushing toward the bathroom, leaving me no choice but to get up an answer the door.
“I’m coming,” I yell out, hoping the knocking will stop. Through the peephole I see Matt standing there, looking like he’s run a marathon.
“Hey,” I say as I swing the door open. He smiles, but it’s not what I’m used to. He’s in work mode.
“You fucked up, huh?”
Matt has been my agent since I landed my first role. Over the years we’ve become friends, but sometimes he forgets that he works for me, it’s not the other way around. I glare at him, letting him know that his question is out of line. I allow the door to slam and follow him into the room, pausing to close the door to the bedroom. I don’t know what Joey is doing in there, but Matt doesn’t need to see her if she’s not presentable.
“I know you fired Jason, so I took the liberty of using a friend to draw up some papers.”
“What kind of papers?” I ask, moving toward the table where Matt has dumped his briefcase.
“The first one is a paternity suit. You’re demanding that Jules have a paternity test done within forty-eight hours to prove that the child is yours. The second is a non-disclosure that Jules will sign. We don’t want her going to the tabloids, ever, about anything to do with you, the pregnancy, or the child if it turns out to be yours.”
“Okay.”
“This one,” he pauses before handing it to me, “is for your wife to sign saying if she seeks a divorce under the current circumstances that she won’t ask for financial restitution.”
I don’t even look it over before I’m ripping it in half.
“What are you doing?”