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Before: Do You Still Dunk Your PBJ Crusts?


Ashley

I don't know how or when he did it and he never told me (other than to say "it's what happens when you have strings to pull") but by the time we got to his house that afternoon, someone had been in and set up the guest bedroom for me. There were flowers on the side table and fresh yellow sheets and a quilt. The guest bedroom overlooked the ocean view his back yard afforded and there was food in the fridge and the smell of dinner wafted through the house.

His dog, Nacho, had greeted me at the door and followed me onward through the house, bouncing excitedly.

"Hey," I said for like the zillionth time, bending to pat the crazy little pug. "Hello, hello... I've said hi to you like fifteen times, yes I have... yes I have..."

I looked around as I ran my hands over the dog, his skin shaking side to side under my palms. I'd never seen Nick's house so spotless.

Even as I thought the words, Nick dumped his jacket over the back of a chair, kicked off his shoes, leaving them laying in the kitchen, and pushed open the back sliding glass door to his patio. The rush of the ocean sound filled the room. I smirked at the trail of crap Nick had managed to leave behind in less than a minute of being home. Nacho rushed to get out onto the patio, his ears flapping behind him like flags as he hurried out, skidding across the tile on his claws. He bounded down the side steps of the patio, out to the sand and salt water grass below to do his business.

I heaved myself back up from my crouching position - easier said than done, given my girth - and waddled out to stand beside Nick. The ocean seemed to stetch forever. Nick was leaning over the railing, watching Nacho down below. "Get up here!" he yelled at the dog, but Nacho ran the opposite way. "Aw damn it," Nick muttered, and he shuffled down the steps to the sand. I watched as he ran after the dog, sand kicking up behind him as he flapped his arms and crowed, laughing as Nacho bolted back toward the house, narrowly escaping Nick's clutches like a greased pig at a county fair. "Get back here!" he yelled, laughing.

I smiled, watching Nick.

If only things had gone differently, I thought, this would be it. This would be life. Everyday.

Nick spent a good ten-to-fifteen minutes out on the sand, barefoot and chasing after the dog before he finally caught Nacho after he'd dropped belly-up in the sand, tired. Nick scooped him up and carried him upstairs, both of them panting and covered with sand. Nick put Nacho down, and Nacho shook off sand and bulleted into the house, tongue lolling out of his mouth.

Nick's face was flushed from the running he'd just done. He put his hands on his hips, then looked at me. "Well," he said, "Let's get you inside. You want a be--" -pause- "Water?"

I laughed. "Yeah. Water would be good."

Nick laughed. He led the way into the house and pulled out one of the stools at the breakfast bar in his kitchen for me. He walked around and opened cupboards and got out plates and lifted the lid on a crockpot set up in the corner. He stirred it. "Well it ain't poison," he joked.

"What is it?"

He shrugged and scooped it into a bowl. It looked like beef stew. He pushed a bowl across the counter to me and opened a drawer, producing a spoon, which he put in the bowl. "Eat real food," he commanded, "Those sandwiches were like sponges with turkey flavoring." He turned back and got himself a bowl, too, then opened the fridge and produced two bottles of Fiji brand water. He came around and sat beside me on the other stool. Nacho buzzed around our feet.

I felt so natural, like we did this every night, when in fact I don't think I'd ever done anything so normal with him. Certainly not in years at least. I remembered times when we were kids, when we'd go to his house and his mom would have peanut butter and jelly sandwiches for us and we'd sit in the kitchen table and dunk our crusts in the milk. I looked over at him, and wondered if he still dunked PBJ crusts in milk.

I was about to ask when he said, "I think you made the right choice today."

I knew he was talking about the kit, about my choice to come clean about what Chris had done to me. I felt like shit about it. I chewed and stared at my bowl. After a moment, I pushed the bowl away. I looked at Nick. "He only did it because he loves me," I said.

Nick almost choked on his food. "What?"

"Chris," I said, "He only did it because he loves me. Because he's afraid of losing me."

"With love like that, who needs hate?" Nick asked.

I looked away. Why couldn't he see the betrayal that I was guilty of? I struggled to my feet.

"Where ya going?" Nick asked, concern in his voice.

I waddled down the hallway, "Bed," I replied, "I'm tired."

Nick watched me go, wordlessly.




Nick

I put the soup away in the fridge and dumped the bowls into the sink. Nacho had trotted off after Ashley and left me alone in the main part of the house. I stood in the doorway at the patio, staring out at the ocean and wondering how Ashley could possibly think that Chris truly loved her, when he'd tried to kill her not even three days before.

I wondered how long it would take the police to find him, if he was stupid enough to go to work or any of the other places Ashley and I had told them that he frequented, like the bar or the apartment or his mother's house. Somehow, as much as I wanted this to go quick and smoothly, I had a feeling Chris was smarter than that.

Ashley's defensive attitude toward him scared me, too, because it frightened me what a hold he had over her. Saying he hurt her because he loved her... I shook my head and wondered how many times he'd had to say that to burn it into her mind like that. And I'd realized that what was missing from her eyes was the fire that she'd always had. Ashley had never been a weak person. She'd always been so strong, and it was devastating to me to see her broken down like this, to see her frightened.

Moreover I began to recognize things that I hadn't when I took her to coffee, or that I had noticed but mistaken for nerves. In the car, I'd reached over to change the radio station and she'd flinched when my hand moved her direction. Like she was afraid I'd been about to hit her or something.

Suddenly Nacho was back at my feet. I crouched down and patted him and he licked my hand before running off and jumping on the couch. Ashley came around the corner a moment later. She looked exhausted and her eyes were red and puffy like she'd been crying. "I'm sorry," she said.

"For what?" I asked, confused by the apology.

"I think I just got mad at you," she replied.

I laughed, "You aren't sure?"

Ashley rubbed her eyes. "Well I mean - I can't tell if I'm mad at you or myself or Chris. Maybe all three at once." She sighed. "It's just so complicated. I feel so overwhelmed right now."

"I know. It's a big situation, there's a lot of stuff going on at once, it's easy to get overwhelmed."

"Nick, what does me living here mean?" she asked.

"It means you're safe," I answered.

"No, I mean, like, about us."

I shrugged. "What do you want for it to mean?" I asked.

Ashley put her hands on the back of the couch, leaning. Nacho climbed up on the back of the cushions and snuggled against her hands. She absently patted him. "I don't know," she answered. "I mean, I'm still married."

I nodded.

She was staring down at Nacho as she spoke. "Do you still dunk your PBJ crusts in milk?" she asked.

"What?"

"When we were kids, you used to dunk your crust in your milk," Ashley said. "I was thinking about it before and ...I just was curious."

I shrugged, "I usually cut the crust off now. Nacho eats them."

Ashley rubbed Nacho's head, then turned to face me. "I guess we'll see where this goes."

"I guess so," I answered.