After Eleven: Liv & Callum

Chapter 9: Liv

Liv

Cal and Jaime both told me that they were leaving the hotel around 8, and Jaime and I chatted about the plan for the evening when she FaceTimed me to show me her outfit and complain about a guy that she's been seeing. Cal told me that he'd check in with me when he gets back, so I figure it'll be late. Annie and I go through our evening routine, and when she's down for the night I edit a few projects and then send them to a client of mine.

I don't want to fall asleep and miss Cal's call, because I'll take any chance for us to connect, even for just a few minutes. I end up looking at a few spas close to us, for when Cal takes some time off. I'll make sure that we take a few days with Annie and do all of the family things together, but Annie is happiest when her parents are happiest. And Annie's parents are happiest when they're together.

I end up picking two staycation packages that I think we would like, and three family packages. When Cal gets home we can sit down and decide which one we want. We're finally moving forward together and while I know we aren't out of the woods yet, I can see the light at the end of the tunnel. I can see us in 6 months and I just know it's going to be completely different.

I do end up dozing on the couch, but I'm awake enough to get Cal's call right before midnight.

"Hey! How was the lounge?"

There's a pregnant pause, and time starts to stretch. I'm not sure how I know, but something is wrong. My face feels hot, my throat clogged, and I wait for Cal to tell me that he's back at the hotel and ready to get home.

But that's not what he tells me.

"I'm so sorry, Liv. Baby I am so sorry. I love you so much and I don't know what happened."

"Tell me. I need you to say it, Cal."

"I - me and Emily - we... I'm so sorry."

I'm sitting up now, on the squishy couch that we've had since before Annie was born. We were talking about upgrading to a nicer sectional, but with just the three of it it felt wasteful. Plus, this is the couch that we bought when we moved into this house. The couch that our family sat on when we announced our engagement, our pregnancy. I nursed Annie on this couch, Cal cradling us between his legs during our night time feeds because I couldn't always stay awake on my own.

It's seen better days, but something in me just wasn't ready to part with it. Now, though, I want to walk to the kitchen, grab our longest serrated bread knife, and filet it into unrecognizable strips of fabric and stuffing. Then I want to take those pieces into the front yard and burn them. I want the entire neighborhood to see the black plumes from burning polyester and years of stains; they'll smell years of spilled drink and dinner parties and our messy baby. I want them to come out of their houses and linger on the sidewalk in front of our yard while the evidence of our lives together burns, until the ashes leave a scorch in the soil that will never again bear so much as a weed.

I need someone to witness this pain, because without an audience I have nothing. I have misery on an old couch that should have been tossed years ago. I have a sobbing husband on the phone asking me to say something, to make him feel better for what he's done to our lives.

"I told you. I told you so many times and you wouldn't listen. Why wouldn't you listen to me?"

In contrast to Cal's sobbing, I sound calm. I can hear myself, but almost as if I'm hearing someone else. Some other wife is having this conversation with her husband. I'm just watching from my old couch, observing from outside of myself.

"I don't know! It just happened. I don't know why I did it, but it meant nothing. We didn't go all the way and I-"

"Didn't go all the way? What are you, 15? Do you think that I really care about the degree to which you cheated on me? Do you want me to tell you that makes it better? Oh gee, baby, I'm so happy that you didn't fuck that other woman that I don't care about the rest of it! Get real."

"I wouldn't do that to you. It was one time, I swear, nothing has happened and I stopped it from going any farther."

"How many times do you think I've cheated on you, Cal?"

"I - what?"

"How many times do you think that I've cheated? If we're keeping score, even though it was only once, as you say, then you're still ahead. Somehow I've managed to maintain my vows to you, my promises. I have protected our relationship while you throw it around like something you've bought in the dollar bins."

"Please, Liv. We'll go to therapy, I'll quit my job! I'll send the email now and send it to you so that you can see. We have savings, so when I come home I can just be with you and Annie for a few months. We can fix this."

"I have been asking you to fix this, to work on this with me for months and you would not listen. You can do what you want, and obviously you have, but from here on out the relationship you should worry about fixing is the one you have with your daughter. I am not your wife or your partner anymore. We won't be friends, we won't celebrate each other's birthdays. I might just forget when yours is."

It's November 14th, and I already picked out what I was going to get him. Cal wants us to get into hiking so I found some outdoor adventuring classes for us to take and we would have had a great time. Maybe he can take Emily, since for all I care he can go live in a tent.

"Please just don't make any decisions until I come and we talk about this. I love you so much, I'm serious I'll do anything you need. Just let me try. You don't have to do it anymore, I'll do all the work."

"Trust me Cal, I've been on that side and it's no way to live. When you get back I'm sure we'll talk about this more."

I hang up on him, which is a first for me. His voice was just grating at my ears and the time-worn polyester of the couch suddenly feels like sandpaper. The lights on the appliances are too bright. My skin feels wrong. Itchy. My insides are too big for my body. I am seeping out of every one of my pores until the newly liquid parts of me stain in the hardwood. This feeling will stay in this house and warp the wood of the flooring for the new owners.

But none of that is happening. I am standing in my living room and my husband is texting me, calling me. He just told me that he cheated on me and I can hear the warm sloshing of the dishwasher. I can see a car drive past our front window. I can smell the lavender of the cleaning products that I use.

I'm in my home and I'm a mother, and I need to go to sleep. This will all be here tomorrow, but there will be no trace of the family who used to live in this house.