What Love Has Made of Me

Disclaimer: Still not mine.

Thanks to everyone for their kind reviews of chapter one!

One year earlier…

We were a tight knit family at Steve's Pharmacy. There's Steve, the owner, me, two technicians and a cashier. After working that closely with people, they learn to read you. So when I walked into the pharmacy that Monday after James had cancelled on me for our anniversary dinner, I knew that I'd have to spill the beans, whether I wanted to or not. Kara, one of the technicians, only had to take one look at me to know that things didn't go well the night before. She was older, maybe in her late fifties, and was like a surrogate mother for the one I'd left behind in North Carolina. Her strawberry blond curls were scraped into a messy ponytail as usual, and her emerald eyes were brimming with sympathy.

"Oh, Julie," she cried, running up and embracing me. "What happened?"

I just shook my head. "The usual," I said, trying to brush it off.

"But it was your anniversary," she continued. "You made those reservations months ago."

"I know," I shrugged, slipping into my lab coat. "But James can't control when his patients get sick, so..." My words trailed off.

"You need him too," Kara said softly, looking into my eyes. "He's not just a doctor anymore; he's a husband too."

Her kind words nearly broke my heart all over again. It was nice to have validation for what I'd said to James last night, even if it was slightly selfish. That's what I hate the most about his job. No matter how much I need him, I still always feel a twinge of guilt for pulling him away from a patient. Let's face it, who's going to get more sympathy – the child with cancer who is fighting to live to her seventh birthday, or the seemingly self-centered wife who doesn't know how good she's got it?

No wonder House and his crew despise me. All they see is the cancer patient. They don't see me at home, watching as another uneaten dinner congeals, canceling plans and obligations with friends and family at the last minute while making excuses for James, crying because our anniversary wasn't as important to him as a dying kid. All they hear is "Julie wants me to come home now. I have to go be with Julie. Julie kicked me out of the house again." Blah blah blah.

Okay, so I'm not perfect. I do have a temper. But I think even Saint Peter could lose his cool with James. I mean, seriously, how many times do you have to be put off before you just snap? And that night of our anniversary, something big had snapped inside of me.

He means well; he really does. I'll scream and yell (and occasionally throw things, but never at him) until I go hoarse and he just sits there and takes it. Is it a guilty conscience? Maybe. And sometimes, I do kick him out. But I know he'll either end up back at the hospital or at House's. Like I said, even when he leaves it's only because I force his hand, not because he wants to go.

But back to Kara. "Thanks," I whispered back, refusing to cry.

"Are you going to be ok?" she asked, looking at me doubtfully.

"I always am," I replied, trying to sound more positive than I felt. "Next week it'll be roses and chocolate."

Kara gave me a look as if to say roses and chocolate couldn't excuse every sin of James', but didn't say anything. "Well," she said, turning back to the order. "I'm here if you need me."

"Thanks," I said, before turning my attention to the pile of prescriptions on the counter. The first script I picked up was for Vicodin. I sighed. It was going to be a long day.

Steve and I were closing up later that night when he confronted me about James. Seeing as how he was fourth person I'd had to talk to that day about James, I was rather snappish.

"Julie," he began, approaching my side so we could finish up the daily paperwork.

"Look, Steve," I started, "You know I love you guys like my own family. And I am truly appreciative of your support and understanding. But I just do not want to talk about James anymore."

I looked up at Steve then. He was smiling, but I kept my eyes narrowed, not trusting him. "I just thought that maybe you'd like to go to dinner with me. Not to talk about James," he said, holding his hands up in a peace offering when he saw my eyes narrow even further. "Just, you know, as friends, colleagues, whatever. I hate to think of you going home to an empty house after all you've been through."

My expression softened then, and I swallowed the caustic remark that had been lurking in the back of my throat. His offer was tempting. "Ok," I said. "Just let me page James." My wounded ego cheered that for once I was the one calling to say I wouldn't be home for dinner. I left my cell number on James' pager, and then followed Steve out the back door.

"Your choice," he said as he fiddled with the locks.

"Your treat?" I joked back. He laughed. Some days we would joke around so much that I felt like I should be paying him to come to work, because work couldn't possibly be this much fun.

"My treat," he responded as he moved away from the door and gestured towards his car.

We hit up a local pizza joint, Dave's, which arguably serves the best pizza in Jersey. I remember how pleased I was to hear that Steve liked mushrooms on his pizza. They were my favorite topping, but James wouldn't touch them. It'd been a long time since I'd had mushrooms on my pizza, and I closed my eyes and sighed contently with the first bite.

I don't even remember what Steve and I talked about that night, just that we laughed a lot. It felt good to laugh, and I hadn't felt this good in a long time. Recently, James and I had fallen into silence. I couldn't remember the last time he'd made me laugh, or me him. His boyish grin was a faint memory.

Steve dropped me back off at the pharmacy to pick up my car. "Thanks, Steve," I said before I got out. "Tonight was just what I needed."

"Anytime," he said with a slight smile. I hopped out of the car, with a ridiculous grin on my face. I was so fortunate to have such a great friend.

Thirty minutes later, I pulled up to my house. Our house, I reminded myself, although it seemed as though once again I'd be spending the night alone. The house was dark, and James' car was nowhere in sight. I pulled my cell out of my purse. No missed calls. I wasn't too surprised. James was only batting about 0.400 when it came to returning my pages.

I let myself into the house, wishing once again that we could have a dog. I wouldn't be so lonely if I had a furry face to come home to every night. But James is highly allergic to anything fuzzy, so I'm left to choose between an iguana, a python or fish, none of which will greet you at the door with uncontained joy.

I made a perfunctory tour through the house, picking up a stray glass here or a dirty t-shirt there, before heading to bed. I curled up in the bed and started shivering, wishing that James was home to warm me up. It was this time of day that I missed him the most. I could handle him leaving early in the morning, being gone all day and even not making it home for dinner until 10 pm. But I'd never gotten used to going to bed alone. After spending the first thirty years of my life sleeping alone, I'd quickly acclimated to sharing my bed with James. Going to bed alone reminded me too much of life before him.

I'd thought for sure that I'd be up all night worrying about James. But for once the exhaustion and carb overload won out, and soon I was snoozing like a baby.

I woke up the next morning, not surprised but disappointed to find that James had not come home again. I guess he was trying to avoid a fight for as long as possible. The scary thing was, his behavior failed to anger me anymore. It just disappointed me. Personally, I liked the anger better. At least then I'd cared enough to put some sort of emotion into our relationship. Now I just felt apathetic about the whole thing.

Steve and I went out for dinner again on Tuesday night, and once again we laughed until my side hurt. He was so good at making me forget my problems. I could practically feel my permanently tense shoulder muscles unclenching. And again, I came home to an empty house. I hadn't bothered to call James to let him know I was going out after work, and I didn't even bother to check and see if he had called. I felt a twinge of sadness when I climbed in bed that night, but then I got to laughing about something Steve had said at dinner. I fell asleep with a goofy grin on my face.

Wednesday and Thursday were a repeat of Monday and Tuesday. James' side of bed was empty both mornings, and I went to work and then dinner with Steve before coming home to an empty house. I didn't even care anymore that James had been gone since Sunday.

He finally came home Thursday night. I was already in bed asleep, of course. It had to be close to one am when I felt him slip between the sheets and snuggle up to my backside to spoon me. "I'm sorry, Jules." He whispered his pet name for me into my hair, thinking that I was asleep. I could smell the beer on his breath. Out with House again, I thought. "We lost her, Jules," he continued, whispering against my neck as his arm tightened around my waist. He was prattling, the way he always did after a few drinks, and I couldn't make out his rambled mumblings. In the past, I would have rolled over and talked to him, comforting him on the loss of his patient. But I stayed turned over on my side away from him. And the worst part of it all was that I didn't feel the slightest bit guilty for ignoring him.

He was gone before sunrise the next morning, of course.

TBC…