Chapter 19: The Apology
Between Us Girls, By Natalie Drenovac
If you’re new here, read: Chapter 1
Friday, October 4
Miranda’s already dressed when I walk into the kitchen. Hair pulled back. Coffee in hand.
We’ve been polite and careful with each other all week. Each of us trying to be kind to each other in a way that feels slightly staged. Hesitant. Like we’re handling something delicate from a display case.
“Morning,” she says.
“Morning.” I pour myself coffee. “So..the letter. I finished it.”
She turns. “You did?”
I hand her the pages. “I thought you could read it on your way to work or whenever.”
She takes it. Looks down at the neat pages. Then back up at me.
“Would you read it to me? Out loud?”
I wasn’t expecting that.
“Oh. I mean, you can just…”
“I think I need to hear you say it,” she says. Her tone is gentle, almost pleading.
I look at the pages in her hand. Dr. Chen did say this was about reunification. Maybe this will help us connect?
“Okay,” I say. “Let’s do it. Now?”
She nods with enthusiasm. “Yes, let’s have coffee together before I go.”
We sit down at the kitchen table. Miranda across from me. Waiting. Expectant. We both take a long sip of coffee in silence. I feel unbearably awkward. I have a flutter in my stomach like I’m about to go speak on stage for the school play. I pick up the letter.
Dr. Chen hadn’t given me a particularly clear brief when sharing this particular bright idea. I know she had suggested I should share what I was thinking. That the goal was to help Miranda feel more included. I knew there was a fine line I had to strike so whatever I wrote wasn’t deemed defensive. And I knew deep down which part my wife was interested in delving deeper into.
The sorry part.
In every fight we’d had recently, Miranda had said the same thing. I wasn’t caring about her, I wasn’t choosing her. I knew something in this letter had to touch on both.
I race through the initial context. What happened, what I was thinking, my understanding of the boundaries we had established. Miranda’s face is blank the whole time. A practiced ‘listening’ face that reveals nothing. She already knows this part.
As I go on, my voice goes quieter. I keep my eyes on the words because I can’t look at her.
I’m sorry I didn’t check in with you first.
I’m sorry I can be selfish.
I’m sorry I didn’t put you and our marriage first.
I’m sorry I didn’t think about how this felt for you.
My gut twists. A constant dull nausea that won’t quite tip over into being sick.
Because she did get hurt. Whatever else is true, that part is real. And I’m sitting here saying sorry and meaning it and my throat is getting tight and I can feel my eyes starting to burn.
I finish the last line and my voice cracks and I have to stop for a second because I’m crying now. Actually crying. Not a lot. Just enough that I have to wipe my face before I can look up.
“Can I hear that part again?” She says, her eyes are closed. She puts her fingertips to her eyelids, like she’s composing herself.
I’m sorry I didn’t check in with you first.
I’m sorry I can be selfish.
I’m sorry I didn’t put you and our marriage first.
I’m sorry I didn’t think about how this felt for you.
Miranda is watching me now. Her expression is strange. She looks satisfied. Like she needed to see this. And part of me knew she needed to see it too. That some scale needed to tip.
“Thank you,” she says. Soft. Warm.
She reaches across and takes my hand.
“I can see how hard that was,” she says.
I nod. Wipe my face again.
“But I think Dr. Chen was right, I needed to hear your apology to heal. I feel so close to you right now.”
We sit like that for a moment. Her thumb moves over my knuckles. The kitchen is very quiet.
Then she checks her watch. Stands.
“I have to get to work.” She grabs her bag. Comes around and kisses my forehead. “Thank you. Really.”
She’s almost at the door when she stops. Turns back.
“Oh my god, I have pickleball with David tonight, I totally forgot.” She slams her palm on her forehead. She rushes to grab her workout bag with its crisp white matching set, perfectly laundered and folded inside. “Oh baby, I’d love to skip it and just spend tonight with you but I’ve been working on that deal with David, so I need to show up. I don’t want to go but I have to.”
“What deal?”
“I’ll tell you when it’s more solid.” She pauses at the door. “It will probably be a late night.”
She’s turning the handle when she stops again.
“You know, I wish I could get an apology like that from Carmen. That’s all I want. Just an acknowledgement of how she spoke to me.”
She waits. Like she’s giving me space to respond.
“If she can’t do that I don’t think I can have her in our life right now.”
I don’t say anything.
“I mean, if she can’t even give us that, she clearly has no respect for us or our marriage,” she says.
I carefully consider my next words. We have only just gotten back to some feeling of warmth and connection and I don’t want to open myself to any accusations of not ‘choosing’ Miranda.
“Totally. That might be a bit difficult though, since we’re about to start a new project together.” I say, trying to keep my voice flat, neutral.
“Hmm maybe.” She says.
Maybe? What does she mean maybe?
“It’s not like we need the money, Alex. You don’t have to put yourself in that position if you don’t want to.”
She blows me a kiss. “I’ve got big plans for us, baby.”
The door closes behind her.
I sit there for a while. The letter is on the table. I don’t know what to do with it…does Miranda want to keep it? My face still feels hot.
I open my laptop. Try to work. Think about messaging Carmen. Don’t. Get through maybe twenty minutes of mindlessly scrolling email before my phone buzzes.
Emily.
Thinking about Wednesday.
I stare at that.
Wednesday. When she’d texted: I’m five minutes away. Can I come up?
She’d shown up at my door and kissed me before I’d gotten a word out. Not tentative. Not a question. Just her mouth on mine and her hands already pulling at my shirt and both of us laughing because we couldn’t even make it to the bedroom.
We’d made it to the hallway. Barely. I’d pushed her against the wall and she’d made this sound, low in her throat, and pulled me closer. Her hands in my hair. My mouth on her neck. The way she’d tasted like salt and something sweet I couldn’t name.
“Bedroom,” she’d said, breathless, and I’d started walking her backwards toward it.
But halfway there I’d stopped. Pulled back just enough to think clearly for half a second.
“What?” she’d said.
“The sheets.”
“What about them?”
“They’ll smell like you.”
She had looked at me for a beat and then down at the floor. At the rug by the bed.
“There?” she’d said.
And we’d gone down right there. Quick and desperate and laughing at the absurdity of it. Her pulling my shirt over my head. Me getting her jeans off. The rug rough under my knees and neither of us caring. The way she’d looked at me when I’d gotten my mouth on her. The way she’d said my name.
Afterwards we laid there on the floor, both of us trying to catch our breath. She’d checked her phone and said, “I have twenty minutes to get my kids.”
“Then you should probably get dressed.”
She’d kissed me once more. Hard. Then rolled to her feet and started pulling her clothes back on while I watched from the floor like an idiot.
The whole thing had taken maybe an hour. An hour carved out of a Wednesday afternoon. An hour that felt bigger than the rest of the week combined.
Me too, I write back now.
When can I see you again?
Soon.
Define soon.
Very soon.
That’s not a definition.
You’re right. I’m stalling.
Why?
Because the anticipation is half the fun.
Around 6, Miranda texts.
Miranda: Hey baby, wish I was home with you :( David definitely wants to stay out celebrating for a while tonight and I’ll have to stay too. He keeps talking about a ‘top shelf tequila’ he’s invested in. Wants to introduce me to the team xx
I look at that for a while.
Then I call Carmen.
She answers on the second ring. She’s at home. Kitchen behind her. Hair up, emerald silk robe, something green in a glass too.
“Hey,” she says.
“Do you have a minute?”
“Always.” She takes a sip. Studies my face through the screen. “What’s going on?”
“Miranda said something this morning.”
Carmen says nothing. Waiting for me to explain. I realise I have no idea how to broach this conversation. I just called her before I had a chance to convince myself not to.
“Yes?”
She waits.
“She wants you to apologize. For St. Barths. And if you don’t she says she can’t have you around for a while.”
Carmen sets her drink down slowly.
“She can’t?”
“Well, we can’t.”
“And you’re calling me because you want me to do it.”
“We have that film…”
“So you’re calling me because you want me to do it.”
I don’t say anything. I realise I have gone about this entirely the wrong way. I needed to present this more casually. Make it my problem that Carmen decided she wanted to help solve. Let it be her idea. Asking her outright to humble herself for Miranda’s unsettled feelings was a total mistake. The armour was on and Carmen was getting ready to saddle her high horse.
“Wow. Alex.” She leans forward slightly. “What exactly am I sorry for?
I can feel my face getting hot again. Good question.
“You don’t have to be sorry for anything. You can just be sorry it happened that way. Aren’t you a bit? I’m really sorry that’s the memory we’ll have of Giselle’s bachelorette.”
She is looking at me, lips pressed together, jaw tight.
“It will just smooth things over so we can move on.” I persist.
“Do you really believe that?”
“She’s so sensitive, you know that, she felt excluded and she needs to know we see that so she can move on.”
“How you handle these things is your business but I’m not going to throw away all my self respect because your wife got embarrassed.”
“I know.”
“Do you?”
“Yeah.”
“Then what are we doing here?”
I don’t have an answer for that.
Carmen watches me through the screen. She looks sad.
“The film will be fine. We’re both professionals” She pauses. “But don’t call me and ask me to make myself smaller for her. I won’t do it and I don’t have to.”
“Okay.”
“Okay?”
“Yeah.”
She looks at me for another moment.
“Take care of yourself, Alex. Seriously.”
She hangs up.
The afternoon drags. I bury myself in work and don’t realise it’s eight until Miranda texts.
Miranda: Oh also. David invited us to Montauk next weekend. Their holiday house. Just the four of us. Fresh air. What do you think?
I stare at that.
Me: Let’s chat tomorrow.
Miranda: Think it could be really good for us. Time away in nature. Spend more time with our married friends.
I can’t quite understand what she’s getting at. The mysterious deal with David. The complete lack of acknowledgement we’ve both fucked his wife.
I send back a heart emoji and and an x.
Two minutes later. Emily.
Emily: David’s out as I’m sure you know.
Me: Funny you should mention your husband.
Emily: Why?
Me: He just invited me to Montauk.
Emily: ???
Me: Your place. Next weekend. Apparently David extended the invitation to me and Miranda. The four of us.
Emily: Wait what?
Me: Yeah.
Emily: My HUSBAND invited YOU to OUR holiday house?
Me: Apparently he thought it would be nice.
Emily: Oh my god.
Me: I know.
Emily: This is so fucked up.
Me: Little bit.
Emily: I wish it was just the two of us going.
Me: That would be significantly easier.
Me: And more fun.
Emily: Though there is something about being that close to you.
Me: Two whole days.
Emily: In the same house.
Me: This is a terrible idea.
Emily: The worst.
Me: And?
Emily: And I can’t wait.
Around eleven, Miranda texts.
Miranda: Still out. SO bored. You need to try David’s tequila. Love you. xx
I look at that for a while. Then I put the phone down and go sit in the dark.
Montauk. Two days. Emily ten feet away with David while Miranda sleeps next to me.
The white peonies on the windowsill are completely dead now. Brown petals everywhere.
I should throw them out.
Keep Reading: Chapter 20
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Disclaimer: This story is a work of fiction. The characters, events, companies, places, names, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance, whether direct or indirect, to actual persons (living or dead), places, events, or businesses is entirely coincidental and unintended. Where reference is made to real locations or historical events, such references are included solely for the purpose of creating a sense of authenticity. They should not be interpreted as depicting real people, their actions, or their conduct. The author expressly disclaims any and all responsibility for any such interpretations or assumptions.
Wow wow wow!! Phenomenal!! Can’t wait for Montauk. Also Carmen is amazing!!