A marriage is two people, having a baby requires two people; don’t I need to know what he’s thinking, where I stand in all this? The room feels cold and I can feel a drop of water from my wet hair trickle down my back, making me shiver.
‘Scott, do you not want to talk about this together? You don’t have to stay with Matt. If you don’t want to talk about babies anymore tonight, that’s fine too. Anything you want to do, that’s fine. I promise I can let it go, but you can still stay here.’ My voice sounds needy. I’m confused. I’m not supposed to be needy – society would scoff at me right now – but this is my husband. We have slept by each other’s side for the past eight years. My body trembles with fear. I don’t want him to go.
Scott walks past me towards the hall, stopping to give me a kiss on the forehead before he reaches the door. ‘No, it’s OK, babe. I’ll figure it out. I just need some time and we’ll be OK. I think this will be good for us and I’ve told Matt I’m coming now,’ Scott says, his voice somehow lighter. ‘I’ll see you soon.’
And he’s gone. The door closes behind him and I immediately drop into the chair. The tears that I have been holding in since I heard Scott utter the words ‘break from us’, come spilling out in heaves, splattering on to the red robin placemat my mum made for me a few Christmases ago, from a picture she took in her backyard in Colorado. The robin looks magical perched on the snowy branch of a pine tree. In the eight years Scott and I have been together he has never made me feel uncertain, unsure and unwanted, and right now I feel all those things.
Where was his fight? Why were we not having a discussion like a married couple should when a problem arises? How could he just walk out so easily? I have so many questions that remain unanswered, all while my mind is trying to comprehend how our romantic trip to Venice led to Scott wanting a break and not even being able to sleep in the same house as me. My blood runs cold at the thought; I feel disgusting.
Out in the hallway I can see the twinkling lights from the Christmas tree reflecting in the mirror. I can hear the slight murmur of the TV, which Scott must have switched on, announcing tonight’s Christmas movie on the Pegasus channel; reminding me of the fairy tales I helped write and how Christmas was one of the most romantic times of the year.
It looks like a Christmas bomb exploded in the hotel and I love it. Madi has gone to get us another drink and I’m stood by the eight-foot Christmas tree that is covered in so much tinsel and fake snow, I’m surprised it’s still standing. Everywhere I look there are trees and baubles and stars dangling from the chandeliers. It’s what Christmas grotto dreams are made of. I try and focus on all my favourite things and keep my mind from wandering to the shambles my current home life is in. Scott came home the other night after three days and it was like nothing had changed between us. The banter was lovely, the sex was passionate and hot until the minute it stopped, and I turned to ice when Scott insisted the break was working and it was what we needed. I haven’t heard from him in two days.
I’m swaying gently to the music – Michael Bublé’s ‘Let It Snow’, of course. It’s not really Christmas without Michael Bublé, is it? I soak up the words, trying to drown out my thoughts. The hotel is packed with people. I merrily smile and wave and chat to my co-workers. Suddenly I stop swaying and stand motionless in between the hustle and bustle. Through a gap in the clearing I can make out the back of his head. He is sitting at the bar chatting casually to a bunch of men in suits, colleagues I recognize from work events I had attended with him in the past. With Scott being in production, he attended events that didn’t always include writers like me, but mainly the directors and producers and all the behind-the-scenes staff from the movie sets.
That’s when it happens. I watch as a tall blonde approaches him. His face lights up, greeting the blonde with a smile. He places a hand on her hip and a delicate kiss on her lips. My stomach hits the floor with a vengeance making me wobble in my boots. I put my hand out to steady myself against the wall, feeling like a goldfish out of water. I can’t breathe. The air is not reaching my lungs.
I can’t let him see me like this, so weak, so pathetic. I try not to stare as I try to walk away, my legs not quite remembering how to do so as they shake with each step. Yet I can’t seem to pry my eyes away from the scene. She’s wearing a long gold sequined dress, half her luscious blonde hair pulled back with a few strands dangling around her beautiful face and her arms are resting on his shoulders, as she throws her head back and laughs at something he says.
I have to avert my eyes, but they won’t budge. All I can do is stare as I stagger for air, a space to breathe. Maybe if I stare long enough it will go away. Maybe the longer I stare the more used to it my brain will become. What’s that thing they say about spiders? The more you look at them and face them, the less scared you will become? Shoot, if it didn’t work for me with spiders, I sure as hell don’t think it is going to work now, because it seems the more I look, the more pain I feel.
I find a quiet corner, hidden by a gorgeous purple and silver Christmas tree, but I can still see him. I can still see her. My heart feels like it is about to burst through my rib cage, and I can’t calm my short gasping breaths. I feel stupid. For a moment I think I might be sick. What am I doing? I need to get out of here. Just then Madi finds me and panic fills her pretty blue eyes when she sees me. In that moment I see them out of the corner of my eye. They kiss, full-on kiss, and I am eternally grateful that my best friend chose now to find me. I feel like I’m about to pass out from the uncomfortable pain I feel in my heart.
I torture myself taking one last look at them before Madi grabs my wrist and pulls me out of there; away from the Christmas party that I look forward to every year.
*
I jolt as a piercing pain stabs my chest and I shoot upright. I’m in bed. My pillow is soaked, and my body drenched in sweat. I pat myself down, pinching myself, telling myself it was all a nightmare, when I turn to see Madi lying in my bed next to me.
‘Madi, what’s going on?’ I shout, the fear in my voice making tears fall fast and heavy down my face.
Madi stirs and blinks a few times, wiping her eyes before registering that I am awake and shouting at her. Her eyes suddenly dart open and she becomes alert, pulling me in for a hug.
‘It’s OK, sweetheart, it’s OK,’ she says softly, trying to soothe me. I don’t find any words, just more tears.
‘When is this going to stop, Madi?’ I whimper. It’s a week and a half until Christmas and it’s not the first time I have had this nightmare, which isn’t just a nightmare but my brain dredging up the events that took place last Christmas. My mind has re-enacted this scene over and over for the past twelve months, but since the countdown for the twenty-fifth of December began on the first of December, it has become the gift that keeps on giving every single night – hence Madi’s presence. I feel drained and completely spent, lying on my bed having exerted no physical energy whatsoever. I try to rake my hand through my locks, but I’m sat on most of my hair which makes it difficult. Instead, I wipe at my tired eyes, causing the delicate skin around them to sting as I do so.
Madi retrieves a brush from the bedside table and slowly and tenderly starts brushing my hair. ‘Harper, I’m your best friend and you know how much I love you. I value your feelings and respect every emotion you have gone through and you know I’d never rush you, but baby, enough is enough now. You can’t do this to yourself any longer. I can’t allow it.’ She pushes my arm gently so she can tug my hair from under me and brush out the knots. I glance around my bedroom, Scott’s
