The Man Who Can't Be Moved

“Every married couple goes through shit like this,” New York Islander Bruno Gervais assures me, as I pace the length of my kitchen in just a pair of ratty grey sweats worn low on my hips, my hair -still damp from a shower- sticking up in several different directions, glasses perched upon my face and the cordless phone pressed tightly to my ear.

I’d had a hell of a fucking night; plagued by not only excruciating pain that began in my torn shoulder muscle, travelled to the nape of my neck and spread the entire length of my arm all the way to the tips of my fingers, but the realization that my marriage was already in serious trouble. I can’t deny the fact that it seems as if I’m losing Emma-Leigh a little bit at a time; since she’s come back to Pittsburgh she’s slowly slipping away and I feel completely useless when it comes to finding a way to stop it from happening. I don’t want to compete with the past she’d had with Sid or with the lingering feelings she possesses for him; I shouldn’t have to compete or accept it as ‘part of the package’. I don’t doubt that she loves me; I don’t question the reason why she married me or her declarations of unwavering devotion. What I wonder about is whether she loves me enough. If what she feels for me is strong enough to get her past whatever it is she still feels for Sid. I didn’t go into this marriage half assed; I didn’t decide on the spur of the moment to pledge my undying love to her or to make promises of ‘always and forever, forsaken all others’ on a whim. I’ve never once regretted getting married so soon; I’ve never cursed myself for giving up my previous life in order to embark on an entirely different one with Em and I certainly don’t want to ever go back to the way I was before.

The thought of being completely powerless against her slipping away is driving me insane; the agony and uncertainty in my heart is a hell of a lot more painful than any goddamn shoulder injury. Regardless of how well things had ended the night before -lets face it, sex is always a welcome distraction no matter fucking big a problem is and you’re always able to forget about all the bullshit when all your body is concerned about is getting itself off- I can’t shake the feeling that Em and I are treading on extremely thin ice. This morning it had seemed as if we were walking on egg shells around each other; as if we had to closely monitor every comment that came from our mouths because we were afraid of offending one another and shattering the fragile state of peace we’d managed to attain. I’d spent the entire night tossing and turning and worrying incessantly about my marriage and the threat that Sid posed it and I’d had to censor myself from saying anything about it to my wife because I’d been afraid she’d view it as a personal attack or think I was accusing her of doing something wrong.

My mother had warned me that the first year of marriage was the hardest one to get through. That if I survived the initial twelve months remotely unscathed, I could get through anything. Right now, the only thing I’m worried about is getting past the first six.

“Trust me, things like this happen all the time. Especially during the first year of marriage,” Bruno continues; I can hear the shrieking and chattering of his kids in the background and his wife Melanie’s threats of ‘sending them somewhere far, far, far away’ if they don’t stop running around the house like ‘wild banshees’. It’s the first time since I’d gotten married that I actually allow myself to consider what daddy hood would be like. I feel slightly jealous that Bruno seems to have the perfect package; gorgeous wife, equally as beautiful kids. And despite my worries over Em’s physical and mental health and my desire for her to go back to school and get her degree, I can’t help but wonder if maybe having a baby isn’t such a bad thing after all.

If maybe it would actually save us. And bring whatever exists between her and Sid to an end.

“Honestly Max, this isn’t a big deal,” my best friend stresses. I trust him with my life; he’s the keeper of my deepest and darkest secrets and the one person I know I can go to about my marital issues and feel a hundred percent confident that he’ll not only give me some decent advice, but keep my shit to himself. We‘ve been tight since attending -along with Tanger- Collège Antoine-Girouard, a private unisex high school in Sainte-Hyacinthe, Quebec. We’ve even formed a charitable foundation in both of our names and donate all the proceeds from our annual summer golf tournament and various other smaller events to breast cancer awareness and the Red Cross in our birth province. “Il est normal. Livré avec le territoire.”

“There’s nothing normal about someone’s wife still being in love with her ex,” I grumble. “Since when did that come with the territory? Since when was it okay for someone to be married to one person yet be in love with another?”

“You’re totally making a huge mountain out of a molehill,” he sighs in exasperation. “I highly doubt that she’s still in love with Sid. She’s just having a hard time letting some of the past shit go. I mean, the other night at Flower’s that you told me about? Wasn’t that the first time she’d ever been face to face with the guy since all that drama went down? After she broke up with him to be with you she went into hiding and then you shipped her off to Montreal. No one’s seen her since October. You can’t just expect her to move back to Pitt like nothing ever happened. You can’t just expect her to not feel anything for a guy she went through all that crap with. It wasn’t just a normal boyfriend, you know? They were going to have a baby together. They were going to get married. It wasn’t just something casual. But just ’cause she’s got something lingering towards him, it doesn’t mean she’s still in love him.”

“He’s still in love with her,” I point out. “He doesn’t make a point of hiding it from anyone.”

“He’s probably got a lot of mixed emotions going on right about now. Do you really blame the guy? His girlfriend kicked him to the curb and practically ran off with his best friend. It’s not like you handled things in the best way, Max. It’s not like you couldn’t have stayed away from her until she broke it off with Sid first.”

“You’re beating a dead fucking horse,” I grumble.

“The point I’m trying to make is that Sid got fucking screwed. Big time. He loses a baby, his girl dumps him for a friend of his, she goes completely AWOL out of his life and the next thing you know, he’s finding out she married said ex friend who still happens to play on the same hockey team meaning he’s got to see the guy on a daily basis. That would fuck anyone up.”

“Never thought of it that way,” I reluctantly admit, and leaning over the island in the middle of the kitchen, absentmindedly pick at the food that I’d laid out earlier for myself. The more I talk about Emma-Leigh and Sid, the more my appetite depletes; the mere possibility of losing her to him makes the bowl of fruit salad -she’d whipped up two massive containers of it the afternoon before- and the bagel with cream cheese seem nauseatingly repulsive.

“I don’t see what you’re so worried about,” Bruno says. “She picked you over him, right? She married you freely and willingly; you didn’t hold a gun to her head and force her down the aisle. She wouldn’t have done it if she hadn’t have wanted to. You’re just blowing this Sid thing way out of proportion.”

“Maybe she married me ‘cause she felt obligated. Maybe she felt she owed it to me ‘cause of everything I did for her. Or maybe she did it because she knew Sid didn’t want her. She knew he wouldn’t take her back and there I was; willing and eager to take care of her for the rest of her life.”

“C'est complètement ridicule putain,” he growls. “Are we honestly having this conversation? Since when are you so goddamn insecure? This isn’t the Max Talbot I know. At all. The Max Talbot I know is a borderline obnoxious, arrogant fuck who never second guesses himself and never feels threatened by anyone.”

“That was the old Max Talbot. The evil one. The one who always swore up and down that he’d never get married and that he’d be a bachelor forever. Everything’s different now. I can’t lose Emma-Leigh. Especially to him.”

“Max…listen to me…I seriously doubt you have anything to worry about. If she wanted to be with him, she would be. She doesn’t seem like the type of girl that would settle for someone out of some sense of obligation. She’s with you because she wants to be. I was at the wedding, remember? I saw the way she looked at you; like you’re the most amazing man in the entire world. Mind you, it made me seriously question both her sanity and taste in the opposite sex…”

“Don’t be such an asshole,” I mutter.

“She loves you. There’s no doubt in my mind. In anyone’s mind that knows you guys. And this whole thing with Sid and what they may or may not still be feeling? It’s all about closure. Neither of them got any if you really think about it. They broke up, she took off to Montreal and then suddenly resurfaced five months later married to you. They never really dealt with things, Max. And they need to. Especially Emma-Leigh. She needs to have closure and you need to be man enough to let her get it. You’ve gotta pull up your big boy pants and swallow your fucking pride and let her talk to Sid. Face to face. ‘Cause the sooner she does it, the sooner you two can get on with your lives without all the baggage weighing you down. What the hell are you so worried about? You’ve got some weird ass hang up that she’ll be alone with him and suddenly decide she wants to be with him over you?”

“Stranger things have happened,” I reason.

“You’re being a total bitch over all of this. You’re stressing out for no reason and you’re making a huge deal out of nothing. Since when did you start needing to have your ego stroked? Or is that the problem? Your pretty little wife isn’t going enough stroking of something else and the frustration is driving you insane?”

“Don’t you be worrying about what is and isn’t being stroked. Sex isn’t an issue. Actually, it seems to be the only thing that isn’t an issue. And no one can fall into a habit like that; no one can expect to solve all their problems with sex. Can they? I mean, is that healthy? It can’t be healthy, right?”

“I don’t see anything wrong with it if that’s the way you two solve problems,” Bruno says. “I guess if it gets to the point where that’s all you’re doing…”

********

The sound of keys jingling as they manipulate the lock on the side door sends the dogs into near hysterics; their shrill, excited barking erupts from the basement and is soon accompanied by the pattering of their paws against the hardwood and the tinkling of the tags on their collars as they haul ass up the stairs in order to greet their mistress. And I cut my conversation with Bruno short just as two loud, nerve rattling squeaks signal the opening and closing of the door and Emma-Leigh stomping snow off her boots as greets Copper and Todd with her usual exuberance; calling them ‘her babies’, asking them if they missed her or if they’re glad that ‘mommy’s home’ and if they were ‘good little boys for daddy’ and carrying on a lengthy, vibrant conversation about the snow and all of the things she’d bought at Wal-Mart.

“Did you buy the place out?” I inquire, as my wife’s soft foot falls indicate she’s climbing the small flight of four steps that lead into the kitchen. “Do you we need to move to a house as big as a Wal-Mart to hold all your stuff?”

“I am not that bad,” Emma-Leigh replies, as she breezes through the open doorway and journeys into the kitchen; several plastic shopping bags clasped in each hand and the dogs nearly tripping over themselves and each other as they weave in and out of her legs as she walks. “Okay…you know what?” she sighs heavily and drops her belongings on the kitchen table. “Maxime…you really have to start putting some clothes on and you really need to shave on a regular basis. You can’t be wandering around the house with your hair all mussed up like that and your face all scruffy and your body on display. It’s a danger to my hormones and it’s getting to the point where I don’t want to step out the front door.”

“You act as if that’s a bad thing,” I tease.

“I do have to function outside of sex,” she points out. “Not that I’m complaining about the quantity or the quality. It’s just that…” she blows her bangs off her forehead and uses her hand to fan her face as she joins me at the island. “…you just can’t keep doing these things to me. There is life outside of the house, you know.”

“I know…” I sigh dramatically. “…and I promise as soon as I get enough of you, I’ll let you live it.”

“At that rate I’ll be eighty and have one foot in the grave,” she teases, and runs her hand along my shoulder and down my back; her fingernails scraping lightly across the elastic band of my sweats and travelling around to the bottom of my rib cage as she wraps her arm around my waist. “What have you been doing? Did you just get up?”

“About an hour ago,” I confirm, as she plucks a grape from the bowl in front of me, swipes it through the cream cheese seeping from the edges of my bagel and pops it into her mouth. “I’ve been lazy.”

“You’re allowed,” she says. “You didn’t sleep well at all last night. You must have tossed and turned until about five in the morning.”

“My shoulder was bugging me,” I tell only half the truth, and then reach out to clear cream cheese from the corner of her mouth with the pad of my thumb. “And I couldn’t be bothered to get out of bed and get some meds. You have fun with Peyton? Are all the credit cards maxed out? Am I going to have to get a second job just to pay all the bills?”

“I was a good girl,” she confirms, and then tips her head back as I lean down to press a tender, feathery kiss to her lips. When I attempt to draw away she digs the nails of one hand into my side and buries the fingers of the other in my hair and holds my head in place as she deepens and intensifies the kiss.

“Mmmm…” I grin down at her when our ‘moment’ finally ends, leaving us both breathless and a familiar, delicious ache stirring in the pit of my stomach. “What was that for?”

“Just because,” she shrugs. “I have to have a reason to kiss my husband? There has to be some kind of explanation to why…?”

I silence her with an equally passionate kiss. “No reason,” I say, and placing my lips against her forehead, place my hand lightly on the top of her head and allow it to slowly drift over her hair and down her back until it comes to rest just above her ass. “Is everything okay?” I ask, stroking her back soothingly as she wraps both arms tightly around my waist and presses her body against mine. “You seem a little…I don’t know…different.”

“I’ve just been doing a lot of thinking,” she reveals. “About everything that we talked about last night. About you feeling as if you’re constantly having to compete with Sidney and how I have a really bad tendency of not putting you and your feelings first and how…”

“Emma-Leigh…” I sigh heavily and drop a kiss on the top of her head. “Do we really need to rehash this? Do we really need to get into it? Because if we start this all over again, we’re going to both end up getting pissed off and when we’re upset we both say shit we don’t mean. And I don’t want to be like that anymore. I don’t want us to be like that. I don’t want to be one of those couples that fights constantly and then expects everything to go back to normal. It’s not always easy to forgive and forget and…”

“I don’t want to be that way either,” she says, and then lifts her head from my chest and looks up at me. “I don’t want to be that kind of couple…” tears glitter in her eyes. “…you’re my everything and I don’t want to lose you, Max. I love you too much and I’d never be able to live without you. And I’m sorry about last night. I’m sorry for making you feel the way I did and I’m sorry that I’m an epic fail at being a wife. I’m trying. I really am. I don’t mean the things I say or do and I don’t…”

“C’est bien, mon petit bouton…” I slid my hands up her back, over her shoulders and then tenderly cradle her face in my hands. “We’re going to fight. Every couple fights. It doesn’t mean that there’s something wrong or that I’m going to leave you. You’re stuck with me, remember? Toujours et à jamais. There’s lots of things we both need to work on. All we have to do is work on them together instead of fighting each other all the time. It’s not that bad, okay? Ne pleure pas. This isn’t worth crying over. Everything’s going to be fine. There’s nothing so bad going on that we can’t fix it.”

“Yes…there is…” she valiantly struggles to hold back a flood of tears as her coffee brown eyes burrow into my own aquamarine ones. “…there is something that bad. And I don’t know if we can fix it. If you’ll want to fix it.”

Dread immediately settles in my stomach; my heart hammers wildly in my chest and my insides twist and contort painfully.

“What did you do?” I ask, my tone accusatory as my eyes search hers in a quest for answers. “What did you do, Emma-Leigh?”

“I didn’t do anything…” the tears finally trickle mournfully down her pale, smooth cheeks. “…it wasn’t me. It was both of us, Max. We both did something wrong and now…and now I don’t know if you’ll wantto make it better. If you’ll want to live like this.”

“Em…you’re talking in riddles here…you’re scaring the shit out of me…what…?”

“I’m pregnant,” she whispers.

And with those two simple yet life altering words, my entire world grinds to a sudden halt.