Lucy

Chapter 1

The crystal tumbler slipped away from my fingers at the exact moment that my brain came up for a breath through the fog of fury.  The gin ran in rivulets down my crème colored walls that Eric and I had painted together two years ago.  Now he stood with shattered glass around his feet.  He looked scared.  A fitting response to me breaking.  I liked to stay in control in all things.  Emotional bouts like the one I had just let slip were a sign of weakness.

“I’m sorry about that.”  I replied out of habit.  “What do you mean a year ago?”

“It was a long time ago, baby.  I just… I couldn’t lie to you anymore.”

The endearment had always aggravated me.  I’m not a toddler.  Now it made me feel sick to my stomach.  I looked back to the Tangueray, glistening in the light where it ran down the wall.  My fingers twitched with the urge to wipe up the remnants.  What a waste. 

“So a year is the time limit on betrayal?  Maybe you thought a year was enough time for me to let it go.” 

1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6… I counted, trying to calm myself before lunging toward him and took a deep breath to get myself to 10.  7, 8, 9, 10. 

I tried to rationalize his coming clean, give a reason to his tearing my heart out before my parents arrive for dinner.  The thought processing helped.  My anger subsided as I pulled my phone out of my purse on the couch, texting my mom.  I let the blame lie with work, telling her that a client had changed our meeting to tonight and I had forgotten to cancel. 

March kept me busy, people who plan to do their own taxes start to scramble, looking for someone like me to finish the job in record time.  Those things I understand, structure, deadlines, numbers.  This?  This was mass confusion.  The urge to strangle him tried to overrule my list making. 

Get my anger under control- Check

Cancel dinner- Check

Get him the hell out of my house-

“Get out.”  He didn't move so I tried again.  “Eric.  Please remove yourself from the premises.”  

A vein protruded through the skin on his forearm, his hands fisted by his side.  I took a quick inventory of his nonverbal language, a craft I’d learned in a community class my sister had enrolled me in.  According to her, hermits existed that possessed more people skills than me.  Inability to read people factored into that. 

Eric had let me practice on him throughout the course.  Now, I saw nothing.  If I didn’t know any better I’d think he was devoid of emotion but the fists at his sides and the fact that he still stood in my living room disproved that notion.

“I don’t understand why you’re still standing here.”

“It was a mistake, Lucy!  Are you going to punish me for something that happened a year ago?  I’m not that guy anymore!”  The emotions were coming to the surface.  His brow furrowed and his jaw was thrust forward.  He was mad.

“How long did it go on?”

“Why does that matter?”  The words echoed off the walls loud enough that the neighbors knew we were having it out.

“You’re right, Eric.  Get out.”  He hesitated again.  I turned to go into the kitchen.  The swinging door jerked on the hinges before settling closed, cutting me off from the train wreck in the living room.  Eric went fishing with my brother the weekend that I’d set aside to paint the kitchen.  As punishment I painted it sunshine yellow.  Maybe that was just one of the many things that pushed him into the arms of my sister-in-law. 

That was another thing I added to the list, let Charles know that his wife was an adulterous bitch.  I shook my head, trying to shake the bad feelings away. 

The front door slammed as I pulled my lasagna out of the oven, Eric’s favorite.  I let it cool off on the stove and went to gather his things.  The tears fell while I packed up our memories from the last three years.

Of course, I could let him stay, try and work it out but logic told me that I’d never be able to look at him the same way.  Eric was the kind of person who could bed another woman while I sat at home waiting.  Furthermore, I hated being out of control.  That was the bigger betrayal, making me lose it. 

His property sat by the front door in storage boxes waiting for his arrival.  The lasagna waited on top with a note,

Keep the dish.