Chapter 24 - The Night I Almost Ruined It Again
Six months into dating, I almost ruined everything.
Not with another woman.
Not with work.
With fear.
Isabelle was offered a partnership in Chicago.
A respected design school wanted Bell & Thread to create a permanent community sewing program.
She would need to spend several months there during launch.
When she told me, I smiled.
Too quickly.
“That’s wonderful.”
She watched me.
“You hate it.”
“No.”
“You are terrible at this particular kind of lying.”
I sat down.
“I don’t hate the opportunity.”
“You hate Chicago?”
“I have no opinion about Chicago.”
“Then what?”
I knew.
I did not want to say it.
She waited.
“What if you leave and realize your life is easier without me?”
There it was.
Ugly.
Small.
True.
Her expression softened.
“Gabriel.”
“I know.”
“No, come here.”
I sat beside her.
She took my hand.
“I left our marriage because I was disappearing.”
“I know.”
“I’m not leaving this relationship by going to Chicago.”
“I know that intellectually.”
“And emotionally?”
“I’m apparently still twenty-seven and stupid.”
“You were less stupid at twenty-seven.”
“Fair.”
She leaned against my shoulder.
The program required twelve weeks.
I helped her compare hotel rates.
Not buy a hotel.
Progress.
She rented a furnished apartment.
We agreed I would visit twice.
No private jet surprise.
No moving my schedule to Chicago without asking.
The first three weeks were difficult.
We spoke by phone.
Video.
Sometimes one of us was tired.
Sometimes conversation lasted ten minutes.
Nothing collapsed.
Then a photograph appeared.
Isabelle at dinner with Daniel.
In Chicago.
I stared at it.
Daniel had traveled there for a furniture restoration project.
The photograph showed him touching her shoulder.
That was all.
My body reacted before my mind did.
Rome.
Lies.
Humiliation.
The irrational hypocrisy of jealousy burned through me.
I called.
She answered immediately.
“Hi.”
“Were you with Daniel tonight?”
Silence.
“Yes.”
My voice tightened.
“You didn’t mention he was there.”
“I didn’t know I had to.”
“You don’t.”
“That sounds like you think I do.”
“He was touching you.”
Another silence.
Then:
“Gabriel, listen to yourself.”
I stood in my apartment, heart pounding.
“Are you sleeping with him?”
The moment the words left my mouth, I wanted them back.
Isabelle went completely quiet.
My stomach dropped.
“No,” she said.
“I’m sorry.”
“You should be.”
“I know.”
“You cheated on me for nine months.”
“I know.”
“And now a photograph of my friend touching my shoulder gives you the right to interrogate me?”
“No.”
“Then why did you?”
“Because I was afraid.”
“That explains it. It doesn’t excuse it.”
“I know.”
Her voice shook.
“I will not live inside suspicion again.”
“You shouldn’t.”
“I mean it.”
“So do I.”
She hung up.
For two days, she did not answer personal calls.
She sent one message.
I need space. I will contact you Sunday.
Old Gabriel would have flown to Chicago.
I booked nothing.
Sunday arrived like judgment.
At six, she called.
“I almost ended this.”
My chest tightened.
“I understand.”
“No argument?”
“What argument would help?”
She breathed out.
“I need you to trust me.”
“I do.”
“You didn’t.”
“For ten terrible minutes, I didn’t.”
“What happens next time?”
“I tell you I’m scared before I turn fear into an accusation.”
“And if I’m friends with Daniel?”
“I live with the discomfort.”
“And if I travel?”
“I miss you.”
“And if you build things that don’t include me?”
“I cheer.”
She became quiet.
Then:
“I love you.”
The room stopped.
She had not said those words since before the divorce.
I closed my eyes.
“Isabelle.”
“I’m still angry.”
“I know.”
“I can love you and be angry.”
“I know.”
“Say something.”
“I love you too.”
My voice broke.
“I never stopped. But I know that isn’t automatically noble.”
She laughed through tears.
“No speeches.”
“Sorry.”
We stayed on the phone for an hour.
When she returned from Chicago nine weeks later, I met her at the airport.
No flowers.
Her rule.
She walked through arrivals wearing the pale blue coat from the old closet.
The one I thought was gone forever.
I stared.
“You kept it.”
“Of course.”
She smiled.
“I wore it when I wanted to feel brave.”
May you like
Then she stepped into my arms.
And this time, neither of us was leaving.
