Page 31 of Friends That Heal Us
Her eyes flicker between me and our hands. I release her hand, thinking maybe she needs a little space. “Hey, don’t feel bad. Look what I married.” I chuckle. “I noticed things, and I still stayed. What does that say about me?”
Her lips press into a tight smile. “I’m glad we’re in this together. It makes me not feel so dumb.” Her eyes go wide. “I didn’t mean it like that. I’m not saying you’re dumb.”
A short laugh slips out of me, interrupting her apology. “I know what you mean. Sometimes the nicest people get the shitty end of the stick.”
Why didn’t I ever wonder if Zayn was treating her badly? He acted weird with our friendship. She always seems happy with him. She’s always happy, though. That’s the person sheis. There’s no way I would have known unless she had said something. She and Rya talked a lot, but Rya never told me much about what they would talk about. I just thought it was because of girl code or something. So I never pushed to ask.
Now that all this shit went down, we are seeing things we didn’t see before. Did Rya keep it to herself so I wouldn’t feel anything towards what Zayn was doing? She’s calculated like that. I started noticing it way too late in our marriage, but even more now. Did we lose sight of the truth because of our lifelong friendships with them?
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
VIOLET
I’ve beenon pins and needles since I walked into a homemade dinner made by Ezra. He’s cooked for me before, but never just the two of us. It brought back memories and feelings of the way Zayn would always get mad if I hadn’t cooked dinner and he had to cook for himself. And when I say cook for himself, he would only cook for himself and nothing for me.
When we were young and first married, we hardly cooked and ate mostly out of boxes or went out to eat. So when he started complaining about dinner not being cooked, I thought it was a need he needed from me. A healthy marriage requires needs to be met, and so that’s what I figured he needed. At times, it would have been nice for him to cook for us, but then again I thought meeting this need of his is what made him feel more loved by me—like it was part of his love language. Sometimes I did question it, but then I stopped because I started eating better and never cared if Zayn cooked for us. I knew it wouldn’t be the healthiest if he did. Shit, it might have come from a box. He brought takeout home a lot. I always thought that was nice of him.
Now that I’m sitting here talking to Ezra, I’m getting the feeling that it was more so a disrespectful and controlling expectation. My stomach drops at how blind I was. I felt the same anxiousness when I walked into my home and saw Ez cooking. As if I walked into Zayn having to cook for himself and I was already preparing myself to get belittled.
I’m glad I’m catching on, but it’s also stupid I ever let a man treat me like that, as if what I was doing wasn’t enough. I’ve always had a job and contributed to the bills, yet the household was always my responsibility. Marriage can’t always be fifty-fifty but hell, why was all of it my responsibility? And why the hell didn’t I notice it before? I mean, sure I did, but I did nothing about it. My chest constricts knowing what an ass he is. I deserve better. I always have. Is this a blessing in disguise?
Ezra grabs my empty plate. I look up at him as he walks it over to the sink. I hurry and stand and say, “Let me wash them.” I reach over trying to take the plate out of his hand, but his body blocks me.
“I got it,” he says softly. It’s a tone I’m not used to.
“You cooked. I can at least wash the dishes.” I stand on my toes trying to lean in further and get the plate from his hand.
“Vi,” he says in a low voice. “Let me wash the dishes.”
I stare up at him, releasing the tension in my shoulders. Here I go again trying to do something a man is more than capable of doing. I’m just so used to doing it all. I take a deep breath and let it go. It’s a constant pull that’s been drilled into me for so many years. I tell myself it’s okay, and the knot in my stomach slightly releases. This might take some time for me to get used to. But this type of partnership is something I could get used to.
Even though the sun is still up, I decide to get ready for bed while Ezra cleans up the kitchen. The sun is setting earlier in the evening now that summer is ending. Summer is my favorite time of the year. I usually get sad when it ends because it always goes way too fast, but this summer can’t end soon enough. Sometimes I wish I could blink and have the years pass by quickly so all this bullshit is over with.
Wishful thinking, right?
I head into my room and open up my dresser drawer to pull out a pair of pajamas. The small picture of Zayn and me on the corner of our dresser is what I see as I close the drawer and look up. I reach for it and stare down at the both of us. I remember this day as if it were yesterday. We’re both sitting on the grass with our legs stretched out in front of us. I have my arm looped around Zayn’s arm and my head resting on his shoulder. We were newlyweds and had the biggest smiles on our faces, brightness in our eyes and no idea what life was going to throw at us. I can tell I’ve aged since this picture, but the brightness I used to carry in my eyes has dimmed so much it’s making me sad looking at it.
I turn it over, open Zayn’s sock and underwear drawer, and shove it in there. But then I stop before closing it and look down at the drawer. My eyes linger over Zayn’s socks and underwear. My chest tightens. The pit of my stomach twists at the sight of them. Something so simple. Something that shouldn’t mean anything breaks me down. The same socks and underwear he took off before getting in bed with her…and with me. Sometimes my thoughts run wild, and it’s unbearable. I press my lips together as small tears run down my cheeks. My chest constrictsas I try to hold my tears in. I never thought he and Rya would ever be capable of doing something like this. But then again, I see the best in people. And like Ezra said,sometimes the nicest people get the shitty end of the stick.
Ashley is right. I need to get rid of his stuff and the stuff we shared. Hell, just thinking about it makes me exhausted. I slam the drawer shut and wipe my tears. How did she do it? I don’t want to pack his stuff. That shouldn’t be my responsibility on top of everything else. I could text him and tell him to take his shit out of the house. He’s not helping me pay for this house, so why should his stuff be in here?
Once I’m ready to sleep, I settle onto my bed. It seems weird to feel a sense ofwhat should I do now? Usually, I would be cleaning or picking something up. I look over at the shades and still see daylight. It’s too early for sleep.
There’s a small knock on my door before it slowly opens. I lift up onto my elbows and see Ezra peeking through.
“Hey, what are you doing?” he asks as he opens the door further.
He smells like a fresh rain shower—a warm, earthy and musky scent. I inhale a little deeper while taking in the sight of him. He’s freshly showered, with a plain white T-shirt on and gray sweatpants. Something so simple but makes him look so hot.
“Just lying here.”
He leans his shoulder against the door frame, crossing his arms. “You want to watch a movie?”
“Yeah,” I say. I don’t know what I would do without him. I’m glad he’s here. He keeps my mind off everything. If he weren’t here, I’d probably be staring at the ceiling crying my eyes out like I’ve done so many times before. Just soaking in my sorrow. It may not be an ideal situation, but this is everything I need right now.
We both slump down onto the couch side by side. I reach for the remote and turn on the TV. “What do you want to watch?”
He shrugs his shoulders. “Anything. I’m not picky.”
