– Casey Bossert

I love him. I think I love him. No, I know I love him, because he loves me. He walked me home that first night, and he didn’t have to. He just did. He knew it was the right thing to do. Like when he opens the door for me, or gets an extra dessert for me in the dining hall. He loves me. I love him.

“Yes. Yes I will marry you.”

I want to shout it to the world! I want to run to my parents, my family, my sister and wave my hand in front of their faces. I want to waggle my sparkling finger at everyone I see. I want everyone to know! He loves me, see? Right here on my finger, he loves me. And he’s so tall. When I look up at him, my throat gets tight with excitement and joy. And he’s just like me, but exactly different. We have precisely the same hair color: a sweet walnut brown with strands of gold and silver entwining and weaving together. Perfect. But he’s so tall and thin, and I’m short and… me. And he loves me.

But this whole thing is getting so big and confusing. How many chairs, what type of napkins, how big of a cake, which dresses…. I’m so glad he’s here to help with the decisions. He points out things I hadn’t even considered. Daddy doesn’t always agree with him, but I think Daddy’s just worried about losing me. I know that’s silly. I’ll love him forever.

Beneath the canopy.

Drink the wine.

Break the glass.

“I do.”

Dirty dishes everywhere. That’s what a dishwasher is for! Can’t he get that through his head? I tell him. He tells me they weren’t his, it wasn’t his turn, he made dinner, he does it all the time, he’s busy. I tell him again. He asks me why this is such a big deal? Why am I so angry? They’re just dishes. He loves me. He brought me flowers yesterday. They were beautiful — blue and white. He’s going to go put some more water in the vase, move it closer to the window.

“How was your day, sweetheart? While I water these flowers, can you please do the dishes?”

I’m huge. Bigger than an elephant, a whale, a planet! I have my own goddamned orbital sphere! But then, I feel a kick, and my heart flutters, and I’m a girl again. I’m nervous and excited all the time. And so hungry! He brings me whatever I want, be it pizza with peanut butter or papaya or a great big meatloaf. Mom says it’s natural.

Daddy’s in a daze I think. His little girl having a little girl. I love the smile that graces Daddy’s worn, whiskered face. I hope to God she has his smile.

“Ready, PUSH!”

Not another cry. God, make her stop crying. He won’t move. Make him move. I push him. He ignores me. I know he’s awake. He isn’t snoring. He says he doesn’t snore, but I know he does — great long, disgusting snores that make me want to smother him with the pillow. I kick him so he can’t pretend anymore. But your parents are coming tomorrow, he reminds me. He must be well-rested if he’s going to put up with them all day. Well, I put up with the baby all day, every day. Has he thought of that? I can talk to my parents. He can sit in this bed and sleep all day if he’ll only move!

“It’s not my turn to get up.”

Mom says I have dark circles under my eyes. The second one came so fast. I feel like five minutes went by, and pop! There he was, lying in my arms, his eyes shining brown and loving. His sister’s eyes. My eyes staring back at me expectantly, always wanting and waiting. When will he come home? When will he move the sofa back? When will he fill the ice tray? When can my parents come again? I miss them. I miss the flowers, wilted and gone. Where did you go?

“I’m going to the store. Can you get dinner ready?”

I’m shaking, and I check on the children without thinking. They’re safe in their beds. Sound asleep, unknowing. My whole face burns red, my ears ring. I collapse on the floor between the crib and the princess sheets. I open my arms and reach out to them, but do not dare to touch, lest I wake them. I stretch my fingers as far as they can go and grasp at the air; try to hold it tight in my fist. I cannot let go. I cannot lose control. If I let go, he’ll push me, and I’ll fall. His weapons are words reverberating back and forth in my mind. I must not let go. I must reach out to them. They love me, but his bullets sound in my ears.

“Bitch. I hate you.”

Driving and driving. Rain on the windshield mocks me with every smack on the glass. Michael dozes, but Rachel is awake. Her eyes are big, but she does not speak. I don’t think she knows the words yet. I don’t know the words. Sharp honks wail in my ears, and I revel in them. They drown out other shouts and shrieks that I keep hearing over and over again. As long as there are no sirens, I don’t care. No, I want to hear sirens. The policeman will force me to get out of the car when I tell him I don’t have my purse. I want him to drive me downtown and lock me in a cell where I can stare at the walls silently, and thick cement will protect me from the screaming voices and the pounding rain. But Michael yawns, and the rain turns to piercing hail. I cannot leave him. Rachel is so confused, so lost. So am I.

“Can you direct me to the nearest Super 8?”

The chairs are blue and white. He bought me blue and white flowers once. He watered them so carefully too. Their petals were soft, but these office chairs are scratchy. They chafe at my legs, and I rub them together. He looks at me with scorn. He thinks I am a child. Yes, that is why we are here. Yes, we are in agreement with custody.

We share responsibility for Rachel’s crying eyes and Michael’s angry wails. For now, it’s my sister who hears them and gives them sweets to make it all better. Daddy refuses to hold Rachel anymore. And he won’t look at Michael because he fears who he will see in that small angry face, who he’ll hear in the wordless shouts.

My finger is light, naked. My thumb reaches past the cold pen in my hand to touch the smooth skin. He used to stroke me, touch me, thrill me. He opened doors for me, and I couldn’t wait to look into his loving face. He loved me.