“Where ignorance is bliss, ’tis folly to be wise.” – Thomas Gray

As with all seasons in New Jersey, there are very brief transitions between; one day, I am layered and bracing against the heavy cold, and literally the next day, I can open the door to 75 degrees, wearing a t-shirt … and that’s how the spring arrived that year. Within only a few days, the sharp bite of winter was gone, and gentle, warm breezes arrived. Long icicles melted from house gutters, vivid green grass sprang up virtually overnight and sleepy bumble bees floated around the budding plants and flowers. The drone of lawnmowers could be heard all around the neighborhood and fresh, fluffy mulch was being laid around flower beds, decks and trees, making everyone look forward to spending time outside again. The atmosphere was lighter, brighter and happier both in the world and inside of me.

I had very happily upheld my promise to not look through his phone again, because, honestly, I didn’t even want to. He said he wasn’t lying to me anymore, and I believed him. He was present, warm and loving, and sincere. I felt like we had a true and honest breakthrough and we were on our way to having a life together, uninterrupted. He had often said, “Shannon, you’re not all alone in New Jersey anymore,” and I finally began to relax and believe it. We spent a lot of time together and I felt closer to him than I ever had, and I honestly believed the Showgirl was gone and he had decided on me. It was over. With all of my heart, I believed it.

The weekend of the Kentucky Derby arrived and it so happened that it was also Mother’s Day weekend, as well. We had spent that week together, alternately sleeping at each other’s house and we talked about the fun of the upcoming weekend. Since I love to cook and entertain, I was looking forward to both of these days, even though I wasn’t hosting; I still got to cook and make beautiful platters, which I love to do. His cousin hosted a Kentucky Derby party every year that we attended, and we looked so forward to it. He always had a beautiful spread and barbecue, with wine, cigars, and desserts and fun Derby games that made even grown adults excited … with the men dressed and the ladies in hats and southern charm all around. We both happily anticipated the fun of the weekend, ending with a trip to his parent’s house for Mother’s Day. We planned to leave from the Derby party and drive that night to his parent’s house so we could sleep over at their house and have all of the next day, Mother’s day, with his family. Things were really going well and I was settling into a very comfortable place.

Friday night, the night before the derby party, I was in my kitchen making food to bring to both parties. I was making sea salt dusted peanut butter cookies, dark chocolate chunk cookies, my specialty deviled eggs, and spinach dip with garlic bread chips. He was home that night after working all day, and he texted me again at 10:00 pm. “Hi Baby,” he said, “I’ll pick you up tomorrow at 1, and we’ll go to the party. Don’t forget your stuff for Mom’s house, too.” “Ok,” I answered. “How was your day? Did you get everything done? I made your deviled eggs!” “Great,” he said, “Yeah, I did finish and I’m wiped. I can barely keep my eyes open. I’m going to bed. I’m shutting my phone off because I honestly cannot field one more text from another customer. Done. I’ll see you tomorrow.” “Ok, goodnight!” I said. “Nighty night, Baby.” I smiled at the sentiment and put my phone down and slid the last tray of cookies into the oven, wiping my forehead with the back of my hand. I was wiped, too. I’d worked all day but cooking never felt like work, and I was looking so forward to the weekend festivities. I felt sorry for him and how tired he must have been, because he rarely complained about fatigue, and for him to shut his phone off meant he was crashing. I wished I were there with him.

The next day, late morning, as I scuttled around my kitchen, he called. “Hey,” he said, sounding bright and cheery. “What are ya doing?” “Hi baby … I’m just boxing up all the food and getting ready to get all dressed up! I bought a really pretty blue dress for today. I think you’ll love it. It’s midnight blue, clingy, knee length, and I have matching heels. And I got it for almost nothing! Caught a great sale.” ” … Ah,” he said. “Yeah … I slept like a log last night. I went to sleep the second I hung up with you. So beat. … So, did you end up buying a dress for today, like you wanted to?” I furrowed my eyebrows as I taped a box of cookies shut. “Yeah … I … I said I bought a dress. … you okay?” “Yeah! I just didn’t hear you. Ok, and change of plans. I’m driving in with my brother to the party, so you meet me there, ok? And then we can take your car to Mom’s. Good?” “Yeah, that’s ok,” I said. “Good. … wow, you’re in a super mood,” I said. “Yeah, that’s what happens when I get to sleep more than 3 hours,” he answered. I nodded my head and said, “oh, well I’m so glad you slept.” “Ok, hun,” he answered. “Let me go and I’ll get showered and get moving. See you at 1. … what are you wearing to the party?” What? “… I’m wearing a new blue dress … I just told you … that I bought for today. … what’s going on? Are you alright?” “Huh?” he said, “Yeah … sorry. I got a million things on my mind. See you at 1. I’ll be starved so I’m looking forward to your food.” Standing in the middle of my kitchen, my stomach grew heavy and my chest fluttered. Something’s wrong. Something happened.

I silently went around my kitchen, wiping counters, putting things away, intentionally ignoring the warning bells clanging in my head. I had absolutely no reason to think anything was wrong but he felt so different, and my gut had never been wrong before. Glancing at the clock, I saw it was close to noon and I needed to start getting ready for the party. So I picked up my phone and headed to my bedroom to get my dress. The phone chimed in my hands; his brother sent me a photo of himself and his brother that they had just taken. “We are good looking bastards,” he wrote. I looked at the picture of them … my boyfriend and his brother, standing side by side in front of their house, dressed like gentlemen going to the Derby, posing and smiling … and I sat on the bed as I said out loud, “Oh my God, he looks awful.” I was floored at how truly awful he looked. For someone who slept like a log, he looked like he was getting over the flu. He was smiling brightly, standing tall, and he looked happier than usual, but he was disheveled; he had dark shadows under his eyes, his jacket was open, not buttoned … the kerchief in his breast pocket was sort of stuffed in, not crisp … it just wasn’t him. He looked distracted and hurried. It was so weird. I mean, it was more of a feeling I got from the picture, as odd as that sounds. He wasn’t sloppy or messy, but he looked like he was ill or something. For a lack of better words, there was an “atmosphere” around him. He just didn’t look like him. “What, no applause?” he brother texted, teasing. I loved his brother, so much. What a good guy he is. I laughed. “Gorgeous picture, gorgeous guys,” I texted back. “Who are they?” “Hope you made your spinach dip,” he texted. “I did. See you soon!”

I tossed my phone on my bed, sat down, and leaned over my legs as I pulled my stockings up. What a terrible picture. I wonder if he’s coming down with something … I stood up, put my dress on, slipped my feet into my heels and walked in front of my closet mirror. That’s a nice dress if I do say so. I pivoted my body to see my profile, sucking in my stomach. If I can keep my stomach sucked in all day, I’ll look fantastic. … and then I’ll pass out from lack of oxygen. Turning to walk through my bedroom door, the sound of my high heels clicking across my wood floor, I gathered up my bags of food and scooped my keys up from the coffee table. But I couldn’t shake it. Something’s weird. And driving through town to his cousin’s house, it bothered me still. Again, there was nothing but a feeling … and for me, that’s always more than enough, and that old, familiar unrest in the bottom of my stomach was waking up from it’s induced coma.

When I arrived at the party, I saw it was already up and going. The ladies were in hats, milling around smiling and chatting, and the men were smoking cigars and talking about which horse they’d chosen to win the Derby. I was carrying a large bundle on each arm, making my way through the group, smiling and saying hello. He saw me and made his way over. “Hey,” he said, placing a quick kiss on my cheek, and then he cleared his throat and looked away, before he turned and walked off to talk with his brother, leaving me standing there, struggling to hold my packages. Uncharacteristically, he didn’t help me carry in my load, he just walked away, as if he didn’t even see that both of my arms were full. He was distracted and no where near the party or me, in his head. Here we go again. Embarrassed that the ladies saw him do that, I awkwardly chuckled and shrugged as I struggled into the house, with someone holding the door for me. “Men. What are they good for?” she said, with a laugh and obviously sympathetic eyes. “Yeah,” I answered, politely laughing, my face burning red with embarrassment.

He kept his distance for the entirety of the party. He wasn’t avoiding me, but he was clearly intensely distracted and his thoughts were occupied to point of choking out anything else that tried to invade his mind. I saw him staring off into space. I saw him drop his words mid-sentence as his eyes clouded over. I saw him stand in a group of boisterous men, silent and “gone”, as they drank their whisky and loudly laughed at their own jokes. But for once, not him. He stood among those men as if he had earbuds in and was listening to something completely removed from their conversations. When he came near me, he would absentmindedly drag his hand across my bottom, or give me a small pat … or occasionally include me in his conversation, but, to my great fear and regret, “he” was back: the distracted stranger who stepped into my boyfriend’s body and stole him away. I knew what I was looking at, and as much as I internally screamed at myself to stop it, I knew why he was acting like this. I knew. Long dormant butterflies sprang to life and swarmed from my stomach, clear into my chest, taking my breath away. The black sludge began to rise inside of me again.

Hours later, the party was coming to a close and he walked up, kissing my forehead. “Hey,” I said, “Let me change my clothes and we’ll head to your Mom and Dad’s. Want me to drive?” “Nah,” he answered. “Let’s sleep at your place tonight and leave early in the morning.” ” … but, Mom’s waiting, and I packed all that stuff,” “It’ll keep in the car. It’s cold enough,” he replied, walking away in the middle of my sentence. “Well, it’s a two and a half hour drive,” I said. “What time are we leaving?” “I dunno … 5? 6?” he answered. “Ok,” I said, weakly. “You … you want me to call Mom, or … ” “I’ll call her,” he said over his shoulder. So we joined the guests kissing cheeks and hugging goodbye, and we drove back to my house. He reached over and took my hand, while he yawned and sank deeper into the driver’s seat. “Yeah, I’m too beat to drive all the way to Pennsylvania tonight. Zero chance of that,” he said. “But you were asleep by 10 last night,” I answered, looking out the window. “You said you slept great. Why are you so exhausted? You feel ok?” “Yeah, just tired.” he said. I looked out the window and then closed my eyes, as if it would help block out the dread I was feeling.

Back in my house, he headed straight to bed, while I took care of a few small things around the house. When I came back into my bedroom, the lights were off and he had clearly settled in to sleep, not even with the t.v. on. So I hung up my dress and peeled off my stockings, undressing in the dark. I lifted the covers and slid into the bed and cuddled up against him, like always … and discovered he was in his long pajama pants and t-shirt. He went to bed dressed, and that, as I knew by now, was a signal. It was a blinking neon sign telling me he wanted to be left alone. I lifted my head and looked over his shoulder at the nightstand on his side of the bed, and saw his phone was not there. “Hey,” I whispered, “Do you want to charge your phone for the night?” “No,” he mumbled. “I left it in the car.” My stomach knotted up. “Want me to go get it?” I offered, hoping against hope that he’d say yes, because that would mean he wasn’t hiding it, like I now suspected. “No,” he answered. “It’s fine. Night.” “Are you okay?” I asked. “You’ve been a million miles away all day long. What’s the matter?” He sighed heavily. “Nothing is the matter. I’m tired. I told you. Everything is fine, I’m just exhausted and I need sleep.” “Why … but why are you so tired? You texted me at 10 last night that you were falling asleep. You said you slept all night like a log … I … ” He cleared his throat and tapped his foot against the bed, deep under the blankets. “Hun,” he interrupted. “Sshhh. Night night.” He reached behind to pat my bottom as I laid against him.

My chest tightened as the thick black sludge slowly stirred, deep within me. “… what happened last night?” I pushed. “Something must’ve happened to make you this … is everything ok? Are we ok? I haven’t seen you for a few days and you barely spoke to me at the party and … and now you came to bed with pajamas. I mean … are we ok?” With “that tone”, he answered me, clearly frustrated. “Shannon. Stop. I know what you’re getting at. Can we please just have one night where I’m simply tired and you’re not accusing me of things that I’m not doing?”

I closed my eyes in the dark, inhaling and holding as I willed myself not to react. Stop it, Shannon. Don’t.

“Shannon,” he continued with the dreaded words he only used when he’d been caught: “This is how you’ll lose me. Keep accusing me. Keep pushing. If you’re going to accuse me, I’ll just go out and do it.”

My heart was thudding in my chest and in my stomach, butterflies were tumbling over themselves, suddenly alive again and swarming. In my head, I answered him. You already are.

To be continued …