Addendum 2.7 – "Angela's Ex pt. 2"
February 1985 – Fairfield, CT
Angela ran her hand over Jonathan's hair as he scootched his feet down toward the end of the bed, "Did you brush your teeth, sweetheart?"
Jonathan looked up at her innocently, "No."
"Go on," Michael nodded toward the door.
Jonathan let out a good-natured grunt and climbed back out of bed.
As soon as he left, Michael sat down on the bed. Angela let out an anxious breath and put her hands on her hips. Her elbows went backward as she paced, and she noticed Michael watching her. She put her hands down and clapped them in front of herself.
Michael waited a second and then gave her an encouraging smile, "We've got to do this, Angela."
"I know. It's just hard," she said quietly clasping and unclasping her hands. You weren't here the first time.
He nodded and they both looked in different directions until Jonathan barreled back into the room.
"All done!" Jonathan said, jumping into bed.
His little smile was enormous, and Angela looked down at him, wishing with everything in her that she didn't have to kill it.
Jonathan's smile evened out as he looked from his mom to his dad. Angela sat down on the other side of the bed.
Michael spoke first and kept it clinical, "Jonathan, we need to talk to you."
Angela held her breath, watching Jonathan's ever-rounding eyes closely.
Michael continued, "You know your mother and I were wanting to be together, but it isn't working out like we hoped."
No trace of a smile was left on Jonathan's face. He just stared at his dad.
Angela lightly held Jonathan's foot under the blanket, "Sweetie?"
Jonathan's lagged response finally made it to Angela.
Knowing they were slicing out their son's heart, she winced for him, "We really did want it to work out, and we're sorry for confusing you. We weren't trying to do that."
Michael leaned his head over to catch Jonathan's eye, "What we're trying to say, son, is that we've both signed the divorce papers, and I'm leaving for Africa."
Jonathan's eyes were instantly soaked, "No, Daddy!" He got up on his knees and scooted over to hang on Michael's neck. "Don't leave, Daddy! You just got here!"
Michael let Jonathan hold onto him but looked at Angela with wide eyes. She made an angry motion for Michael to hug him. Michael rolled his eyes but complied.
All this time, I was worried about myself getting attached to Michael and didn't notice how fast Jonathan got there. Our baby's in so much pain and we walked him right into it.
Angela reached up to rub Jonathan's back and he clung tighter to Michael. "I don't want to stay, Daddy!"
Angela's heart dropped.
"Come on, son, you need to be brave," Michael said, patting his back stiffly.
Angela glared at Michael, who gave her a 'What!?' expression with his hands.
Jonathan let go of Michael and scrambled off the bed. He scurried over to his bookshelf and pulled out the spider book. Running it back over to Michael, he opened it up to the orb weaver and started reading fast and loud, his finger running across the page.
Angela couldn't see through her tears. He must be reading to try and distract us. She wanted to hold Jonathan's little face and tell him how sorry she was, but she was afraid he'd flinch away. She didn't want to push him, and she didn't know if she could take the hurt.
Michael sighed and made a long blink. "Jonathan…" he interrupted.
Jonathan looked up, with renewed energy, "See, Daddy, I'm brave! You can take me with you! I won't be afraid in the jungle!"
"No, Jonathan; I can't. You have to stay here."
Jonathan smacked the book on his knees, "But I don't want to stay here. You left and Tony left and Sam left, and now I want to leave! I'm big enough! I want to go, too!"
Michael looked to Angela for help, but her face was frozen in pain. He looked back to the headboard behind Jonathan and held him. After several blank seconds, Michael tried again to reason with him, "Jonathan, you can't go. I have to work."
Jonathan held tighter and kept crying. Angela wanted to leave so badly. Her guilt and hurt clamored for the most powerful position in her heart. Unable to hold up her head anymore, she dropped her chin and cried silently onto her lap.
She felt a tap at her wrist and blinked open watery eyes to see Michael's wide ones trying to gain her assistance. Glaring at him, she reached over and rubbed Jonathan's back.
"Baby," she sniffed.
"I'm not a baby!" Jonathan cried defiantly.
"I know, Jonathan. I know. I'm sorry we hurt you."
She ran her hand along the back of his head, and he moved it farther from her. Angela dropped her hand as her voice broke, "I'm so sorry. We love you and didn't mean to hurt you, but we're very sorry we did."
His angry cry now sounded sadder, "I want to go with Daddy!"
"I know." Angela tried to focus on her son's hurt, but she was having a hard time seeing past her own. She took a breath, "Baby-"
"I said, I'm not a baby! I can go with Daddy!"
"Stop it, Jonathan," Michael's solid voice came in. "You can't go with me."
Jonathan held on even tighter, and Michael didn't let go.
Shaking her head, Angela hoped for forgiveness as she got up and left.
The light was still on in their room when Angela woke up. She lifted her red cheek from where she'd fallen asleep diagonally across the top of the bed.
Michael's travel alarm clock said 12:35. She blinked and saw it was black outside. Slowly, she pushed her sore body up to standing.
She didn't know why she was sore, but her head hurt, too. The heaviness that had dropped her onto her stomach hours before now trudged with her every step. Angela rubbed her forehead. ...like I'm fucking Jacob Marley. She plodded to Jonathan's room, and her guilty chains squeezed tighter when she got there.
Michael was on his back the top of the bed with Jonathan's hands still clenched behind his father's neck. Her shadow from the hallway light darkened over Michael's eyes and his head stirred. He blinked his eyes open and turned to look at Jonathan, squinting in the new light over his eyes. Angela didn't move.
Michael carefully took Jonathan's hands off him and rolled away. Angela picked the throw blanket off the rocking chair and placed it gently over Jonathan. Michael rubbed his eyes and stumbled out, trailing an absent hand across her shoulder as he passed.
Angela stood and looked down at her son. She pictured his destroyed little face as he'd cried, and her indignance wafted away, revealing the cold, ugly truth. As angry and hurt as I am about Michael, we both nailed this coffin shut. We did this to him.
She wanted to brush Jonathan's bangs from his face and hug him tightly. She wanted to keep saying she was sorry. But he wasn't ready, and she just got to hurt.
I hope at least your sleep is peaceful, baby. Squeezing her eyes shut, Angela turned and followed Michael's footsteps, closing the door most of the way.
Angela heard drawers opening and walked to their room. Michael was at his dresser, sifting loudly through the meager contents. "No fucking laundry…"
Angela shut the door and sat on the bed. She watched him with her head leaning on a bedpost.
Finally, he slammed the last drawer shut, "Damn it!"
Breathing hard, Michael turned to look at her. She stared at him but said nothing. She didn't have to.
He put his hands on his hips and looked at the wall.
It took at least half a minute to slow his breathing, but he finally dropped his hands. Barely glancing up, he walked past her. "I've got some sweats in my gym bag."
Angela stayed where she was. The heaviness that had held her down now held them both. This was consequence time, and she had nothing to say in their defense.
Michael came back in wearing his sweats without a shirt. Her heart hurt. As much as they'd been bingeing each other, tonight with Jonathan made it very clear that it was over and that part of them was gone. The flirty way they'd toyed with letting go in the past was no longer a part of their reality. It felt cold, empty, and sad.
Angela looked away as Michael brushed his teeth, accepting the extra 50 pounds of pain she'd felt like she'd just gained.
He got done in the bathroom and walked slowly over to his side of the bed. "I'm gonna sleep on the couch," he said quietly and picked up his pillow.
She nodded but kept looking down. She wouldn't have been able to see him through her tears anyway.
Angela came into their room the next evening after work.
"How is he?" she asked, again leaning against the bedpost.
Michael looked up from the box he was taping. "Well, after spending the morning under his blankets, he eventually allowed your mother to bring in a Happy Meal. She took him the rest of the day. They're still out. …It wasn't the day to make him go to school."
Angela made a small smile, "I agree."
Michael pulled a permanent marker out of his cargo pocket and wrote on the side of the box. He carried it over to a pile of boxes by the door and looked up. "My laundry is done; bathroom stuff and drawers are packed. I just need to get my things from the closet."
Angela smiled sadly and grabbed an empty box. "I'll help you."
Michael walked into the closet, and Angela kicked off her heels and followed him in. He reached high and pulled down his duffel. Angela's heart squeezed. This was not going to end how it had before, and it hurt. She opened the duffel and stood ready to pack it.
Michael gave her a handful of shirts on hangers, "It feels different than it did last time."
Angela nodded, "I couldn't bear to watch you pack before."
"That's why you left that day?"
She nodded, taking the first sweater off the hanger and starting to fold it.
He blinked. "I thought you couldn't care less."
Angela made a quick laugh of disbelief, "It is unfathomable how poorly we communicate."
Michael chuckled as he folded a pair of cargo pants, "I'm gonna miss that."
She squinted her eyes at him, "What?"
"It is unfathomable how poorly we communicate," he enunciated in a pompous British accent.
Angela rolled her eyes, "I'm sorry. I meant, 'Yo, yo – we suck!'" she said, speaking loudly with her arms and arching her torso off to the side.
Michael laughed and shook his head. He smiled softly at her, "Nah, it was just right the first time."
She smiled back as she kept attempting to fold the sweater.
Michael stared at the sweater for an obnoxiously long time. Slowly, he brought his eyes up to hers, and without saying a word, he took it from her hands. He didn't drop eye contact as he refolded it himself. "Are you gonna be okay by yourself?"
Angela put two rebellious fists on her hips. "Excuse me. I'm helping you."
He reached for the next shirt in her pile. "Not really," he laughed softly.
She rolled her eyes and exhaled, deciding to busy herself with taking the shirts off the hangers.
"I'm gonna miss that," she said quietly.
"What?"
"You arguing with me," she said sheepishly.
Michael made a small laugh.
"I think we both got off on it a little," she offered, honestly trying to make her point.
"Sure, we did," he smiled wider, staring at her as he continued to fold and pack. "Arguing with a pretty girl? Just adds to the heat."
Angela's mouth fell open, "You did that on purpose? All this time?"
Michael's amused smile didn't leave, and he shook his head, "So did you."
Angela kept her annoyed eyes on his but couldn't drop her smile. After a few seconds, she exhaled. "I guess you're right. If we'd wanted to communicate better, we would've."
Michael made a cocky, slow blink, "Naturally."
Angela laughed, but shook her head, smiling, "You are an asshole."
He grinned at her, "You've got a dirty mouth."
Angela glanced to the side for a couple seconds, then back to Michael who'd stopped folding shirts.
"So… this isn't the start of one of our many arguments? It's just us flirting?" she translated.
"Well, we're pretty talented; we can make anything into a fight." His swaggering smile tipped his shoulder to the wall. "And, of course, we're flirting, but we're not just flirting."
She kept her eyes on him. "I agree. It can't be just flirting. You really are an asshole, and it bugs the hell out of me."
"I know. And you really do have a dirty mouth," he rolled his eyes, "- even if you never show it in front of our son. The thing is, we like that about each other."
Angela's stalled expression gave Michael room to explain. "It's just the game, Angela. See, normally, by this point, you'd have about thirty seconds 'till I made my move." He stuck out his chin in consideration, "Another minute, 'till I had you on the bed… minute and a half, tops."
Angela's indignant jaw dropped to the floor, but she couldn't stop smiling.
Michael didn't stop smiling, either. "Don't even bother. You know you loved it."
Angela's smile disappeared. "I loved you, and sometimes that fighting really hurt."
Michael's arrogance tapered off and he nodded seriously. "That's why we ended up in bed. Because we were hurt, and that felt a whole lot better." He paused, then added softly, "That's been our MO from the very first time."
Angela distinctly remembered Michael's body weight on top of her after Ben died - every tear that fell, his kisses had rounded up like a sheepdog.
Her smile was small, but she meant it, "Yeah."
She stared at him. He stared back.
So much hurt. So much comfort.
What a cycle.
"I think I'm going to get out of your way," she whispered and nodded toward the door.
Michael nodded silently in agreement, and she walked out.
Angela watched as the coffee maker brewed a pot of decaf. She wasn't antsy. She wasn't stalling. She knew it was time, and she was ready.
He's right. It was a game, and I did like it, even if it hurt me. But I don't want to play that game anymore. I want a relationship where I don't have to play games. I don't need to be confused to have a good time, and if I do, that's not the relationship for me.
Angela poured Michael an insulated to-go mug and was looking for the lid in the cupboard when he came in the kitchen.
"All done," he said brushing his hands against each other.
Angela stretched as high up as she could and flopped her wrist around blindly on the top shelf. Michael paused and smiled at her, "Here; let me."
Angela took a breath and stepped out of the way. "There's a lid up there somewhere."
Michael eyed her dryly before reaching up and grabbing the lid almost instantly. He pulled it down and presented it to her.
She took the lid and rolled her eyes, "Congratulations: you're tall."
He looked at her for several moments. "Are you sure you're going to be okay?"
She dropped her eyelids halfway down. "We may have to go with uncovered coffee now and again, but I've heard the survival rate is good."
Michael tilted his head, "No, I mean it." He spoke softer, "Are you going to be okay?"
Angela looked up at him, appreciative that he dropped the game for a second. She lowered her voice to match his, "Michael, you've been rescuing me from the beginning." She shrugged sadly, "That's not your job anymore."
He squinted at her, looking like he wanted to ask her something, but seconds went by and neither said anything.
I wish things were different. And I'm excited about the future.
But something bothered her.
Actually, it hurt.
She decided to broach, even if it were in a little voice. "Was it always a game, Michael?"
He grinned broadly, "Angela, even I couldn't sustain something this long."
Rolling her eyes dramatically, she shook her smiling head and stepped backward. "Oh, brother! You sure don't need me, do you?"
He stepped toward her and spoke quieter, "Angela, you've been my downfall since we met-"
Her face instantly received the barb, but his gentle voice continued, "and my reason to get back up. Of course, it wasn't always a game." He shrugged, "…The game just lets us act how we want to act, and know we'll still find each other at the end."
"But sometimes we went too far," she said seriously.
"I think we did that a lot."
"More than we let each other know."
He nodded.
They watched each other for many seconds. It frustrated her how well he understood them. Did I want to be confused? Is that my part of the game? Maybe my willful ignorance made it easier for him to believe I was stupid.
Maybe he doesn't understand us as well as he thinks he does.
She started to feel tears and blinked them away. The whole thing was sad, and the silence was starting to get comfortable. I need to move this along.
Looking back at the counter, Angela screwed the lid on the travel mug and slid it on the counter toward Michael, "Jonathan's in my mother's apartment. They're watching a video, when you're ready to say goodbye."
He tipped his head back and groaned, "I'm not looking forward to this."
She smiled at him sadly, "I know."
He waited a long time with his eyes shut. Then he slowly dropped his head and raised his brows at her, "…Do you want to say goodbye?"
She volleyed a stubborn gaze back to him, "We already did that."
Michael reached for her arm, and she stepped back. "But I didn't know that was going to be our last time…" He snarled his top lip, "I mean, at your office? Really?"
Angela looked at him squarely. "I believe that was my point at the time. But the next morning… I think we both knew we were done," she said quietly.
He smiled through a lengthy exhale, "Okay, yeah, but… me knowing exactly how you liked to be touched… you knowing what gets me off… years of research… just going down the drain?"
"Michael, you have to talk to him," she said quietly.
Michael stared back in her eyes for many seconds.
"I know," he said.
As he seemed to siphon strength from her eyes, Angela felt a growing compassion for her husband. She knew how hard this was. As much as she didn't love the thought of being used, she found it entirely understandable why he'd rather have a quick roll in the hay than face his fears. And if she could have compassion on that, maybe she could have it on herself, as well.
And maybe they could move forward.
Stepping toward Michael, Angela gave him a tight hug. They held each other for a good minute as her lifeblood sighed.
He smells like soap and …Michael.
She didn't let go when she finally spoke.
"Do you want me to go with you?" she muffled into the hug.
He didn't answer for a few seconds. "No. No, I can do it. He seems to want to blame you for everything right now …but that's my job."
Angela laughed behind his ear and lightly smacked the back of his head.
They still hadn't let go yet, and Angela was okay to make the hug tighter for a little longer.
"I'm really going to miss this," she whispered.
"Yeah, you will," he snarked. Her annoyed exhale started to pull back, but he held on, "…and so will I. You still feel like heaven."
She hugged him tighter for a lot longer. I could stand here the rest of my life. She was starting to binge and didn't care.
"One more ass grab for the road?" Michael's cautious voice tried.
Angela stepped back and pointed toward the back door. "Out," she grinned.
He backed up his smug smile, and she watched him obey.
Thanks for snapping me out of it, Beautiful.
