The Sick Wife Page 9

  Like, maybe larger chunks would have been okay. To be fair, I was sort of having a mental breakdown? Actually, it was a powerful event for me. Kind of a huge turning point in my life. It was a moment of strength and clarity. A moment of catharsis.

  I’ve been feeling a lot better since that day.

  I still miss Gabriel like crazy, but I am much less depressed about everything. I am more accepting of the circumstances, and I know that I made a terrible mistake to get into a relationship with a married man in the first place. It was a huge lapse in judgement, and I was probably already falling into depression before we got close. I think I already felt like I was drowning, and I was clutching at straws for survival.

  Gabriel was a straw. I was trying to grasp at anything to keep afloat, and there he was. I held on so tightly, more tightly than was reasonable. He was the only thing I could focus on for a while. I should have let go on my own, but he was rudely ripped away before I was ready. I almost drowned, but I somehow found the strength to kick and swim my way to the surface. What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger, right? I haven’t found a raft to climb onto yet, and I’m nowhere near dry land, but I hope I will figure it out soon.

  I just can’t keep wishing that Gabriel will be the source of my happiness anymore. Still, I could never regret all those special moments we shared together. There was something about our love that felt really special. Like a magical feeling you only get to have once in your lifetime. Maybe I’ll never feel that way again, and I’ll just have to cherish those memories, and store them away in my heart. I’ll just have to be more practical, going forward. I’ll have to make better choices, and find a relationship that makes more logical sense.

  When my doorbell rings, I remove my cleaning gloves and continue humming as I head to the front door. I peek through the peephole, and I am confused when I see that it’s blocked by a blurry dark red object. Blood? That is my first thought. Must be a nurse thing. But I’m sure that no one sent me a body part or a threatening telegram. Unless Yvette was feeling vengeful…

  I shrug off those thoughts and pull the front door open.

  It’s roses.

  Blood red roses.

  The same color as the ones that filled my apartment not too long ago. And there’s a man standing there, holding them tightly, with his fingers around the stems.

  Chapter 21

  Gabriel? The roses are covering the man’s face, and all I can see is his fist wrapped around the flowers. How did he get into America? My heart jumps with happiness. I want to run forward into his arms. I am stepping forward, flustered with emotion and ready to squeeze the life out of him… until the roses are lowered to reveal the face of Doctor Mike. I am startled. Shocked.

  Disappointment washes over me, but I try to conceal it from my face.

  “They’re beautiful,” I tell him forcing a smile onto my face. “What’s the occasion?”

  “I was just thinking of you,” he answers.

  “Thank you, Mike. Come in—I’ll put these in some water.”

  Speaking of practical and logical choices—Doctor Mike has been coming over to my apartment sometimes, lately, to visit.

  I don’t really remember when it started, because I was too depressed to notice or care. I think it was when I first missed a few shifts at work, and he thought I was physically ill and brought over a bowl of chicken soup. That’s sweet, right? He didn’t step inside, just delivered the soup and left, but it was quite thoughtful. Even though I couldn’t eat much of the soup. I looked and felt physically ill back then, so he never really knew what was going on with me—although I think he suspected. He always asked a lot of questions about my bad breakup.

  But when I got fired from the hospital, I think that’s when Mike started visiting more often.

  I fill a tall vase with water, and add the packet of flower food. I then grab a pair of kitchen shears to trim the bottom of the rose stems, before placing them in the vase and arranging them carefully. I then lean forward and put my nose close to the flowers, and inhale. They aren’t from Gabriel, but they smell just as nice as the roses he sent.

  It’s important to appreciate the love you have.

  “I’ll make some coffee for us,” Mike says.

  “That would be great,” I tell him, moving to the living room to make things a bit presentable, putting away my cleaning supplies so we can sit down and chat.

  Maybe I’m just not one of the lucky ones who get to be with the person they care for most. That doesn’t mean I should be alone and miserable forever. That doesn’t mean I should be unloved and unwanted (in addition to unemployed) and crawl into a corner, curl up and die.

  Mike is somehow an expert at making coffee. You would think he was a Starbucks barista in a past life. I stare at his back as he moves around in my kitchen, and try to list positive things about him. Trick myself into developing feelings. He’s tall, handsome, a fairly good doctor, kind. Already divorced, not just lying or exaggerating about how he wants to be.

  Best of all, Gabriel always seemed a little annoyed and jealous of Mike.

  Put on the ring. Maybe that creep Doctor Mike will stop hitting on you if he knows that you’re no longer a single woman.

  He seemed territorial and insecure about me working with him. Maybe if Gabriel knows I’m getting closer to Mike, it would somehow make him more afraid of losing me. Maybe it will make him reach out and do something… try to fix us.

  I know it’s wishful thinking, and it’s wrong. I should only get close to Mike if I like him. And I think I do. At least—something has been different between us lately. Mike has been very comforting, caring, and sincere. I still remember when he placed his hand on my shoulder when I sat by Evie’s bedside. When he called me brilliant.

  The man brought me chicken soup, for God’s sake.

  And he’s here. He’s actually standing here in my kitchen. I have no idea why or how, because I don’t remember even inviting him—but he actually just wanted to be here. He wanted to be nice and loving and come over to take care of me. And it was easy. There was nothing stopping him from it—no woman to disappoint, no one to get in trouble with if he makes a phone call. He’s just free to do whatever he chooses to do.

  He didn’t even ask for anything in return—he’s actually been a perfect gentleman.

  He hasn’t tried to sit too close to me on the couch or to lean in for a kiss. He’s been completely and perfectly respectful. Professional, even, with just a bit more warmth than before. He’s been patient and sensitive, offering me compassion when I needed it most… even if I couldn’t always appreciate it. Even if I was totally blind and impervious to it for a long time. His kindness is wearing me down.

  Did I mention that he makes a damn good cup of coffee? Maybe that’s all you really need in life, to be happy. He has placed a steaming cappuccino in front of me, in a customized mug that Veronica got me for Christmas: I was a nurse during the COVID-19 pandemic. What wars have you fought in? He has designed a heart in the foam. I kid you not. Lifting it, I sip with my eyes closed. Oh my god. It’s so good. I sigh with appreciation.

  “This coffee is better than an orgasm,” I say without thinking. Then I open my eyes, afraid I’ve been inappropriate.

  But he’s chuckling. “Not the orgasms I give.”

  Oh, my. I smile at that, too. A genuine smile. We’re flirting! Yes, I’m fixed. I’m capable of flirting! “I’m not sure why your wife would ever leave you, if you made her coffee like this every morning,” I say, lifting the mug to the sky wistfully, with both hands, as if it’s the holy grail. I take a few more long, satisfying sips.

  “Well, I’ll be honest,” he says softly. “These last few years… I am not very proud of the way I acted. I didn’t prioritize my wife. I put my work first, always. And then when Covid hit… it was like placing our relationship under a microscope. We were suddenly trapped in the house together, and we were so uncomfortable. Like we didn’t even know each other anymore.”

  “That s
ounds awful.”

  He takes a long swig of his own coffee. “I didn’t even realize that she had been cheating on me for years. She didn’t even have to pack—she had most of her belongings at his place already. She had been living there part of the time, I guess, and I didn’t even notice she was gone. Because I was always at the hospital.”

  “I’m so sorry, Mike.”

  He shrugs, as if to undermine the pain. “Now here I am. In my mid-40s with no children. No family. An empty house and hardly any friends. Isn’t it funny how life just leaves you with nothing sometimes? After you’ve given people everything—given them all your years and all your love and devotion, and they just walk away?”

  I don’t know what to say. He’s been through so much more pain than I have, and I never saw him falling apart. He lost so much, and he remained strong and kept working diligently. I just reach out and place my hand over his, in what I hope is a comforting squeeze. “The job is hard… people don’t understand how much we work. You deserved better than the way your wife treated you.”

  “She just needed more of me. More love and attention… I was never there. I can’t blame her.” He drinks from his mug; a bigger mouthful now that it’s cooling off. It’s another novelty nurse gift that a coworker got me, which says Some Heroes Wear Scrubs. “I should have made her coffee every morning… like you said. Instead of racing out the door without a kiss. Without even saying a word to her, like she didn’t exist. There were a thousand things I should have done better, and maybe she would have stayed.”

  “You learned from it—you’ll do better next time,” I tell him.

  “I’m trying to do better right now,” he says with conviction. He squeezes my hand back in return… and holds onto it for a few seconds. He plays with my fingers lightly, interlacing them with his.

  “Oh,” I answer with surprise, blinking. I guess it’s pretty obvious from the roses, chicken soup, and cappuccino with a heart in the foam. The daily questions about my ring. He’s into me.

  “Do you want to have kids, Milla?” he asks me softly.

  “Yes, of course. At least a few,” I answer. Then I smile sadly. “My ex-fiancé and I always talked about having seven.”

  “Then let’s have eight,” Mike suggests. “How about it? Screw your ex-fiancé and his false promises. He doesn’t know what he’s lost.”

  I laugh lightly. “What? Mike…”

  “I know it’s crazy and fast to be suggesting that, when we’ve both just gotten out of failed relationships. And we’ve never been on a proper date. But you and I have known each other for years. Let’s be honest—I’ve probably spent more time with you than I have with my wife throughout my entire marriage. I mean—my waking hours.”

  “That’s… probably true,” I respond. “Especially lately, with Covid…”

  “You know the strangest thing?” Mike asks. “It somehow felt more uncomfortable and strange when you weren’t there at the hospital every day… than when my wife wasn’t there at home every day. I guess it taught me a lesson about who I really can’t live without.”

  Whoa. Those are intense words. I find my forehead knitted up in confusion, as I stare at him hard. Does he really mean that? I grab my coffee and take a big, deep drink.

  “I have a suggestion,” Mike says. “Why don’t you let me spend the evening here with you? We can watch Netflix, relax… and then if you feel good about it, I would love to stay overnight. We don’t have to have sex. Just sleep beside each other. Maybe cuddle if you want. See if you like having me around, if it feels normal.”

  I put my mug down and study him carefully. “And if it does feel normal?”

  “‘Mike and Milla’ sure would look great on wedding invitations.”

  Chapter 22

  The past few nights, Mike stayed with me.

  The first night was the worst. I was kind of overemotional, and I couldn’t even handle sitting close to him on the couch to watch Netflix. I kept sneaking away to the bathroom to cry. I wasn’t ready. Gabriel was still all over my brain. But I knew I had to force myself to move on.

  I tried to sleep far away from Mike in the bed, but he may have noticed me trying my best to not let my shoulders shake as I cried silently for hours. He was very respectful and understanding, not asking any questions or demanding that I talk about what was wrong. He just offered to hold me. Once he put his arms around me, and pulled me close, something seemed to change. My body seemed to calm down and just magically melt into him and the bed.

  It was the best, deepest sleep I’ve had in months.

  Sure, I got fired—but all the patients I lost were still here with me in my bedroom, their faces covering the ceiling and walls, staring at me every night, keeping me awake. I forgot the simple, soothing comfort of having a man’s body beside mine. This was the medicine I needed to make their faces fade. Not the lofty, distant, transient promise of a future with Gabe. Not the brain-chemistry-altering antidepressants.

  All along, maybe I just needed a fucking hug.

  Mike was kind of a genius to trick me into this whole arrangement of sleeping together in my bed. I got used to having his body next to mine within a few days, and I already am afraid at the thought of trying to sleep without him. Isn’t that funny? How quickly you can grow to need someone, if you give them a chance to get close enough. Having him beside me just causes a perfect, relaxing, sedating effect.

  Is this just my hormones? Maybe oxytocin, released by cuddling? It’s seriously powerful and addictive.

  Oh, yes. And last night while I was happily sleep-drunk, Mike whispered something in my ear that sort of sounded like he was asking to marry me? I think I agreed. I don’t know, exactly. I was just way too comfortable in my drowsy, peaceful state to pay much attention. You know that feeling when you’re trying to wake up and get out of bed in the morning, but your body just feels so soft and perfectly nestled into the bed, almost like you’re glued to the bed, or part of it? When it takes every ounce of willpower to move?

  That’s how it feels when Mike holds me. And I guess I could get used to that. Maybe marrying him isn’t a terrible idea. Anyway, it’s something. Something to do, something to have. Something to take my mind off things. Some kind of progress and forward motion.

  Maybe it’s not necessary to be totally, madly in love. Maybe it’s good enough for someone just to be reliable and there. I hope I’m not clutching at another straw.

  I am sitting in my kitchen and trying to make sense of what happened last night, when Mike kisses my cheek and places a cup of coffee in front of me. With another heart drawn in the foam.

  “I’m sorry I didn’t get you a ring,” he tells me. “It was just kind of spontaneous and I wasn’t planning to ask just then.”

  “It’s okay,” I tell him, sipping the coffee.

  “I know you had a beautiful engagement ring on a few weeks ago, and I don’t want you to feel like you’re downgrading. I’ll stop at a jeweler and grab a proper ring after work,” he tells me. “What size are you?”

  “Six,” I answer softly, slightly confused about all of this.

  “Okay. We can take some photos and announce our engagement on Instagram. Your ex-fiancé is going to regret letting you get away.”

  Well, actually, that doesn’t sound too terrible. I have barely posted on social media lately. I wasn’t really able to tag Gabe in any sort of engagement post, because he was still married… it would have looked really bad to his friends and family. Thank goodness we weren’t too public about anything, considering what ended up happening… that would have been dreadful.

  I never even got to tell my father about Gabe before he passed away. That somehow makes me a bit sad. I’m not sure why, but I kind of wish he had died knowing something good about me… even if it was a lie that even I shouldn’t have believed.

  “You look worried,” Mike says. “Are we moving too fast?”

  “No, no. I think it’s a great idea,” I assure him. “The engagement photos, the announce
ment, your whole pitch about the ‘Mike and Milla’ invitations… I love all your ideas. I just hope the ring is shiny.”

  “Shiny?” Mike asks. “I’ll get you something that glitters so much you’ll go blind if you look at it in the sunlight.”

  “Perfect,” I tell him with a laugh. “I look forward to wearing it.”

  “I look forward to making you happy every single day,” he tells me.

  “Mike,” I say cautiously. “There’s only one problem. We haven’t had sex. I thought you said I’m supposed to look under the hood before buying the car?” I glance at his crotch with a teasing smile.

  “Well, I know I said that,” he says with a blush, almost burying his face in his coffee, “but I’m actually a bit old fashioned. I’m not really comfortable with the casual hookup culture… I tried dating apps after my wife left, but it was a bit strange. I just like getting to know someone first. And I feel really safe with you, Milla—I know everything I need to know about you. We already have so much trust built up from working together, saving lives together. I am not worried about our physical chemistry. Are you?”

  “Not really,” I tell him honestly. “If those relaxing cuddles are any indication, I’m sure we’ll be fine. I guess it could be nice to save something special for after marriage—if that’s what you want to do. No one really does that anymore.”

  “Then let’s kick it old school and wait,” Mike says with a wink. “Buy the car without looking under the hood. Take a leap of faith. Maybe it will build anticipation and excitement, make everything hotter and more intense later on.”

  “Maybe,” I say with a smile. But I have to admit to myself that I feel relieved. For some reason, I don’t really feel ready to have sex with Mike. And the idea of having children with him seems strange too. It’s probably just that I haven’t gotten over Gabriel.

  But I have to get over him, because he’s gone.

  And my father’s gone. My mother’s been gone for a really long time. I’m all alone in the world.