It had been a perfectly innocent Christmas Eve when Trip proposed to Grace. Naturally, since they were in front of Grace's parents, who were very classy and would never, forgive Grace if she turned down Trip. She accepted the ring he held out, but in her mind, she wondered about Vince, about their secret, about the night they had together. Grace felt guilty when she remembered how happy she felt, how full of life she was. She bit her lip and pretended to admire the ring.
Grace didn't like vacations. She preferred the simplicity of celebrating at home. Sure, she had grown up in a rich lifestyle, but ever since she met Trip's parents, she longed for simple things in life. Expensive wine didn't taste as good, looking nice wasn't as important. When Trip wanted to do something "special", what he called having poker nights with rich friends filled with hundred dollar wine and ashtrays, Grace plastered on a fake smile, and tried to enjoy herself. But she couldn't, she simply couldn't.
One night, Trip announced to Grace he wanted to invite a friend over. They had just gotten back from Italy, and Grace was exhausted. The last thing she wanted was to argue in front of a friend, and when Trip told her exactly which friend he wanted over, Grace could hardly hold back her longing to explain to Trip that they could simply not get along. While Trip greeted their guest, Grace practiced smiling, pretending that she could, in fact t, has a good time. She could hardly suppress admitting to the guest the things she had hidden from Trip all these years. She was sure that if she told Trip, he would simply storm out the door, perhaps run away to her parents, people Grace dreaded talking to now.
The evening went by horridly. Grace couldn't tell her feelings to Trip, and he could do the same. The guest was no help. After he had left, Grace wept in the bedroom, while Trip washed his sorrows away with the only comfort he had: Alcohol. Grace bit her lip and told herself that she was glad, so glad that she hadn't told Trip about Vince, about painting, about what she truly wanted. But in reality, it was what she wanted to tell him most.
Point of view switch.
Sometimes Trip had to tell himself that he loved Grace. She frustrated him easily, but who could blame him? She ignored the fact that she grew up with luxuries Trip had never dreamed of, she tried to be simplistic. Why couldn't she realize that this was the key to being happy, why couldn't she just realize that if she went along with the things he and her parents enjoyed, she could be really happy? He missed her smile, her real smile, the one he had fallen in love with. Ever since Christmas Eve years ago, he had never seen that smile again.
Trip had his fair share of guilt. On a business trip to Barcelona, after months and months of loneliness with Grace, Trip had found love with his client. Maria, a beautiful girl, one with a true smile and who didn't care about the ring on Trip's finger, the woman he called his wife, waiting at home for Trip to call. That didn't matter to her, and Trip liked that. If he enjoyed it so much, why did he feel so guilty coming home and seeing Grace at the airport? I can do what I want, he thought to himself. Grace doesn't have to know. In his head, he repeated the ways he loved Grace. He couldn't get past number 5.
When returning from work one day, Trip smelled watercolors coming from the study. Swallowing his words, he stepped out of the house and quietly went to the nearby pub. He could enjoy cheap booze, but his friends could never know about this. That wasn't the only time he smelled paint, but every time, he quietly stepped out of the apartment and went off to drown his sorrows and secrets. He couldn't let Grace know, he still felt guilty for forcing her out of art. It'll never take you far, Grace, why can't you realize this? The words he told her years ago gave him pain.
He desperately wanted to see his friend that had introduced those 10 years ago. They hadn't talked in so long; Trip was worried about what he might say. But he called him; he left a message, and received another one to confirm that his guest would be coming over. He tried to make Grace excited, he wanted to put on a big production, and after all, this was a special evening. Grace simply stormed off into the other room until the guest questioned where she was. Why couldn't she understand anything Trip wanted?
The words that rang in his mind repeatedly were simply I am sorry Grace, it's over. He wouldn't admit this, not to Grace, not to Kha, not to anybody. It would stay in his mind forever.
Point of View Switch.
One fateful night, Grace made her decision. She had carefully planned this night, after she felt all hope was lost. She began with alcohol. After Trip was so drunk he was woozy, she hit him over the head with a bottle of chardonnay, and dragged him into a room with a fresh coat of paint, still wet in it. She left him there, closed the door, and let him take in the poisonous fumes the paint released. She was free. But why did she feel so empty?
She called Vince, someone she hadn't talked to for years. She found his number in the phone book, and dialed his number, her hands shaking. Why couldn't she be happy? She was sure Vince was the one, the one who listened to her, the one who appreciated her art. A voice she didn't recognize answered the phone, a woman's voice. Grace felt her mouth grow dry. Vince had found love somewhere else. Sorry, wrong number.
Grace left the apartment, and checked into a hotel. Nobody could accuse her of what she had just done to Trip, she could paint without putting up a fan to air out the smell, she could do what she wanted.
But, what was this feeling of emptiness inside of her?