Elasticity (noun) : The ability of an object or material to resume its normal shape after being stretched or compressed.

Autumn was coming to a close and the leaves were almost all down now. Mostly barren trees stretched their branches across the grey sky and the sharp cold of Winter was already filling the air. We had been back together for a couple of weeks, me still elated that he had chosen me, that he wanted this second chance … but I was walking on eggshells, afraid of my own shadow. I didn’t want him to leave again. We drove in comfortable silence, me holding his hand in my lap as I softly ran my fingertips up and down his arm. My eyes followed the white line of the road as it curved along the bends and slopes of the landscape, fences and telephone polls sweeping past as we drove. Warm light spilled out of the windows of houses we passed, and so many people had already decorated for Christmas. It was Thanksgiving and I leaned back in my seat and let out my breath, relieved that Fall was ending and the new year was a little more than a month away. I just wanted an “official” new start, new year, new everything. This was a good start, for sure, but I wanted to reach the finish line.

Finally we arrived at his brothers vacation house, deep in Pennsylvania. He owns a 150 year old Victorian mansion, and it is really something to behold. It has wrap around porches, balconies, steeples, large and grand double doors … rolling hills … it’s beautiful and completely intimidating and, if seen through certain eyes, the spookiest house ever. If Victorian houses aren’t your thing, this would not be the place for you. We were there for a Thanksgiving party, and as is the nature of his brother, it was a dressy occasion, and I was glad to dress up. I wanted to feel like me again, and this was a good way to do it. Since I had agreed to “try again” with him, I wanted to make him glad he decided he still wanted me.

He went inside with the food I had prepared, while I stayed in the car for moment longer to reapply my lipstick. As I was getting out of the car, I was a bundle of nerves. I really was. I hadn’t seen his family for a very long time, and I assumed they knew all about our breakup. I didn’t know if they’d met the showgirl, and if they preferred her over me, or if they were disappointed we were back on again. I didn’t know what was going on. So, naturally, I was unsure of their feelings about me. He had told me that his brother (whom he often tried to emulate) had encouraged him to leave me, as I was not “the one” for him, I was not “fundamentally equal” to him. I thought the whole world of his brother, but this hurt, and frankly, surprised me. So, I was equally as surprised with the softness on his brothers face as I approached him.

I was in a floor length black Calvin Klein clingy dress, long sleeve, crew neck, simple and classic. It showed off my figure very well, but also revealed that weight loss I had sustained as a result of our breakup. His brother was leaning against his door frame, as he usually did, and he was softly swirling a glass of scotch. “Hi, Shannon,” he said, as he reached for me, hugging me and kissing my cheek. “Hi,” I said, sheepishly, very embarrassed to be near the man who had encouraged the leaving. “How are you?” I asked, smiling bravely, looking him square in the eye. “I’m good.” He said, tilting his head, looking me up and down. “Jesus.” “What … ?” I said. “You lost some weight … you lost a lot of weight.” I smoothed my dress over my thighs awkwardly and shrugged my shoulders. “oh … yeah .. I guess so.” “What, were you sick or something?” Feeling a surge of bravery, I placed my hands on my hips, cocked my head and raised my eyebrows, flashing a brilliant smile. In a fake sing – song voice, I said, “No, I used the ‘My Boyfriend Dumped me for a Stripper Diet.’ It’s better than Southbeach.” Mid-sip of his expensive scotch, he choked on what I had just said and erupted in laughter, repeating my words. ” … my boyfriend dumped me for a stripper diet?? Is that what you said??” and he broke up laughing again with his head back and his hand over his eyes. That really cracked him up. He squeezed my shoulder and said, “Shannon, I’ve missed you.” “Oh?” I said. “Your brother said you encouraged the breakup because I was ‘beneath’ him.” He jutted his face forward to look into my eyes. “Are you kidding? I told him he’d lost his Goddamned mind when he said he left you.” “You did?” I said. “Shannon. Please. We all said it to him and each other. God, he can be so stupid sometimes. You aren’t beneath anyone. And … ” he said, taking another sip of his brandy, “You know me. If I thought you weren’t good enough, I would’ve said that to you myself.” I laughed, warmly, and said, “Yeah, that’s true.” We hugged again and he escorted me into his house. Weird. Why would he lie to me and throw his brother under the bus like that?

As I made my way through the massive Victorian, I greeted the family, albeit awkwardly and stiffly, employing that fake smile I have perfected over the years. I caught quite a few sidelong glances, and I didn’t know what to make of it. I asked his mother, whom I had been lucky enough to have a great relationship with, what was going on. “What’s everyone looking at? Is it my dress? Is it too tight? Do I look cheap? Please … you can tell me.” “I dunno what they’re looking at,” she said. “Who cares. They’re probably looking at you because you lost so damn much weight. Don’t lose any more, though.” “Oh,” I laughed. “Well, that’s ok! If I’d known the side effect to getting dumped was getting my figure back to high school days, then he should’ve dumped me years ago!” I laughed, awkwardly drumming my fingers on my glass, but she didn’t laugh, or even smile. Instead, she shook her head, no humor in her eyes. Oh no. I overstepped. “I … I’m sorry. I was only … I mean,” and she interrupted me. “It isn’t funny. Nothing hurts like a broken heart … I’ve been there, too, you know. You didn’t deserve that.” Wow. I didn’t expect his mom to say something like that, and the way she said it made me feel like this wasn’t her first go around with one of his girlfriends. Is this a pattern or something?

We all gathered in the grand dining room of that Victorian house, around the table when dinner was ready, standing behind our chairs. Someone said, “Shannon, you look really great. What a dress … fits you like a tailored glove,” and another person said, “Yeah … it looks like you’ve lost a few pounds.” I smiled and shrugged. “Thank you,” I said. He was standing beside me, and placed his hand on the small of my back, rubbing in slow circles, obviously proud. He reached up and moved my hair off of my shoulder, which is his mark of affection. Touching me at that moment was his display of ownership, I knew. Is this how he reacted with the showgirl when strangers would tell her after her performance how wonderful she was? Did he puff up with pride when she was in costume, with the shimmery tiny thong and the feather headpiece? Did he feel so lucky when she was on stage showing off her perfect dancer body, knowing she was meeting him in the lobby afterward for all to see? I felt that thick black sludge of hurt and betrayal bubble in the core of me, just simmering itself into a slow boil. I hated it, but there it was, a part of me now. I looked from face to face, and I also looked at his face, reflected in the mirror directly across from us. I looked at this person and that person, wondering who knew, who met her, who was aware all along, while I was blissfully in the dark, like an idiot, having no idea. I looked at myself, too, in that mirror. Yeah, I had lost a lot of weight, and I did look good. But, strangely, those sincere compliments from his wonderful family, and they truly are wonderful people, actually pulled me down, and hard. Yes, my cheekbones were high again, my collarbones were on display, my tummy was flat … because my eyes had cried gallons of tears, and my heart had broken down into pieces so small, that when I tried to gather it in my hands, it fell through my fingers back to the floor. … that floor I laid on night after night, curled up and sobbing into a pile of his clothes, desperate for his scent, for some kind of contact with him, after he had so suddenly left me. I looked so good because I had sobbed my guts out in the shower, and I had been too sad to remember to eat and I had shouldered the stress of going to work with a smile every day, and I had carried the unimaginable guilt for ruining the best relationship of my life, and not knowing why or how to apologize, and not even knowing where to find him if I could apologize. Yeah, I looked great. If they could only peel off the outer layer, they’d find my charred remains, just below the surface … then nobody would tell me how great I looked, because I didn’t. And I wasn’t fine. Instead of grieving my heart out, now I was dizzy from holding my breath, wondering if he would leave again. Instead of feeling that heavy sadness, I was forcing myself to enjoy every moment because I didn’t know when he would leave again, because now I knew he had it in him. But they didn’t know that. As usual, I was fake. As usual, I was muscling my way through, fooling everyone. As usual, Shannon, the “Everything’s Fine Champion of the World”, had again earned her title. I turned my head and tilted my face up to look at him. I immediately softened the moment my eyes swept his face because I just could not resist him. He was beautiful, and I decided to just knock it off. I’m here tonight, not her. He had chosen me. I was lucky to be back and enjoying this Thanksgiving with his family. And just like that, I switched back, drinking in his profile, his rugged handsome face, feeling the blinding light of love bursting through my cracked and taped up heart. Oh God, I love him. Please don’t leave again. Please love me. Please. He turned his face to look at me, too, and he softly smiled. He gave me a slow wink. My stomach flipped as it always did when he winked at me, and when he bent his head to kiss me, all the anxiety disappeared, like a curl of smoke just melting into the air as if it was never there.

His brother picked up his crystal wine glass and gently tapped his spoon against it three times. The bright clear tone hushed the group and we all turned our attention to him. He smiled and said, “This night is perfect. This is the first time we have hosted a dinner in this house, and it is exactly as I envisioned it; and everyone who is here tonight, is meant to be here,” and he looked directly at me. I tilted my head and smiled, feeling very loved and accepted. He raised his glass, and we all raised ours. “Before we eat, I want to propose a toast to all of us. To family, to success, to happiness, to fulfillment, to us.” We all answered him and took a sip from our glasses.

As the bubbly champagne slid down my throat, I felt him remove his hand from my back. He set his glass down and pulled his phone from his pocket. You brought your phone to the table? He turned his body away from me, and swiped his screen to open his phone. My stomach lurched immediately. Then, head bent down, eyes transfixed on that phone, he wordlessly walked away from the table to a corner of the room, his back to me. There he stood, deep in text conversation, while the world around him disappeared. He was lost inside of that phone, oblivious to even where he was. When he had finished texting, he slipped his phone back in his pocket, and stood there for a moment. He turned around and caught my gaze as I stood across the room, watching him. He stopped and looked back at me, wordlessly. My heart was thumping as he slowly walked toward me. “What … ?” he said. I didn’t answer. He walked up to me and moved my hair off of my shoulder. “What’s going on?” he asked. I looked up at him and said, “Who’s texting you on Thanksgiving? Everybody is here.” We stood facing each other silently. He didn’t answer right away, instead, kept staring right into my eyes. He swallowed. I knotted my fingers together and felt panic rising in my chest. “Was that her?” I asked. “Shannon,” he said, “Sshhhh … ” He shook his head as his eyes slid all around my face. “Was that her?” Silence. “You never bring your phone to the table. Were you waiting for her to answer you?” Silence. My face began to pinch up as panic rose in my chest. I blinked as I looked away, nodding my head. “Yeah,” I whispered. “It was her.” “No,” he whispered back, “It wasn’t her.” I turned my face to look at him again and said, “Who’s texting you on Thanksgiving? Who is so important that you kept your phone on you, and then you walked away with your head in the clouds, totally gone, to answer. Who is it?” He tilted his head as he looked into my eyes and he exhaled through his nose, his mouth closed tight. “Shannon, that was the owner of the restaurant I’m building. You know he’s adding a second location, and I am the project manager. We’re going home tomorrow, and I’m working straight through the weekend. Cold cases and freezers are arriving and there is duct work happening, too. The owner is just making sure it’s all happening on schedule.” “On Thanksgiving? Can’t it wait?” I asked, incredulously. He touched my hair and shook his head. “Hun, deadlines don’t pause for a holiday. We have inspections coming up and there’s just a ton of work to be done. As a matter of fact, I could use your help. I was hoping you’d give me a hand this weekend.” “Why’d you walk all the way across the room to answer him?” I asked, looking at the floor. “Because it’s rude to text at the table and at such an occasion, Shannon.” He replied. I looked up at him and searched his face. “No more of this,” he said. He kissed my lips very gently, and with his mouth still against mine, he murmured, “Please stop. I’m with you right now.” He kissed me again, reached around and patted my bottom. I relaxed as I leaned against him, wondering if I had jumped the gun … I could have caused a terrible fight and ruined a wonderful evening. I looked into his eyes and nodded my head. “Ok,” I whispered, as I laid my head against his chest, him holding me around my waist. He kissed the top of my head and then tilted my face to kiss my forehead. He jerked his head once toward the dining room. “Let’s eat,” he said, turning and walking. I smiled, and said, “Yeah.” But I suddenly didn’t feel like eating.

And as he walked away from me, my eyes darkened, my smile faded and my heart thumped in my chest. My heart and my mind were wrestling again. I didn’t buy it. I didn’t believe it was the restaurant owner texting because his body language was different; he felt like he did when I was suspecting something before, but didn’t know what it was I was feeling. It probably was the showgirl. She’s a woman, women are emotional, it’s a holiday and she probably missed him, so she reached out. Maybe she was responding to him reaching out, first. Oh, God. I didn’t know and I didn’t want to feel like this again. I had no reason to think it was still going on, because I saw no indication it was until now … but I just couldn’t shake it. I took a deep breath and held it for a moment before slowly blowing it out, shaking my head and blinking a few times. He turned around, reached his hand toward me and said, “Coming?” I smiled and nodded as I walked toward him. I took his outstretched hand and walked beside him to join his family, as the warning sirens screamed loudly in my head.

To be continued …