A message pops up on my screen.
Dylan: I don’t like vegetables… And are you pretending to enjoy your surprise party? You never did finish explaining why you hate them.”
I nearly laugh. Is this how affairs start with hot male contractors? My husband acts like an asshole, and Romeo comes riding in on a horse? I’ve seen enough movies to know this path never ends well for everyone. That doesn’t stop me from messaging him back.
Me:Pretending, yes. Doing a good job of it, no. My face never lies.
I look around the room full of fake smiles. And the empty space where I wish my dad stood for my birthday.
The dots appear almost instantly… he’s typing.
Dylan:Still avoiding my question. You do that a lot. Was looking forward to finding out if Jackson’s the killer.
A small smile forms on my lips. Somehow, a few words from him make the crowded room feel less lonely. Dylan has this strange superpower—he pulls me out of my own world and lets me escape into his.
A tap on my shoulder makes me jump. I turn around to find Jacob, his face a little twisted. I quickly click the button to turn my screen black.
“Hey, you okay? I know you don’t like these parties. But your mom insisted. She’s convinced if we keep celebrating, you’ll eventually come around.” He shrugs, like that somehow makes it better. “I figured maybe she’s right.”
Hate is the right word, Jacob. But sure, keep doing them. Keep thinking I’m fine after that conversation.
“I know, Jacob. You can never say no to anyone—except me.” I try not to let the bitterness creep into my voice. “The party was nice. But please, don’t act like things are okay right now.”
“Are you serious?” His brow furrows. “Don’t tell me this is about that dumb conversation with the guys. I was kidding. I didn’t mean anything by it.”
“Kidding? You were kidding?” My voice trembles, despite my effort to steady it. “Is that really how you see me?”
He looks away, almost shrugging. “Jinx, I was venting. I needed to blow off some steam. You’re reading too much into this.”
“Too much?” I shake my head, feeling hurt. “You humiliated me. You shared things I didn’t even know were an issue for you. Instead of coming to me, you went to them. You made me look like… like a burden.”
“Oh, come on. It’s not that serious.” He sighs, like I exhaust him. “Can we drop this?”
“No. You should talk to me! Your wife! I’ve been asking you to let me in for years.” My voice rises, but he stays silent.
This is our daily dance. I speak. He listens. But we don’t hear each other because we speak two different languages. Frustration builds, and then silence takes over our predictable cycle. He sees the world in black and white. Mine is all shades of gray. He values work, money, and success. I crave connection, growth, and intimacy. I keep chasing growth, while he stays locked behind a closed vault. One I have no damn key for.
Maybe he’s always been this way, and I didn’t see it. When we were young, he swept into my life like a knight in shining armor, saving me from Ryan. Back then, he was charming, patient, and he put effort into understanding me. At least, that’s what it felt like at the time. Maybe that’s how it is when you’re dating—everyone is on their best behavior, hiding pieces of themselves that don’t fit. Maybe I mistook his confidence for depth andignored how his way was always the right way. Or maybe it’s marriage that changed us both.
“And these surprise parties? I’m done,” I snap, dragging myself back to the argument. “I know you and my mom think this helps, but it doesn’t. I hate crowded places. I feel lonely here. And all it does is remind me of him. I wish that, for once, instead of pleasing everyone else, you’d try to please me.”
He exhales sharply, rolling his eyes. “Why can’t you be grateful? I’m trying. Your mom thinks it’s good for you, and everyone else seems to have a good time. Except you.”
“Do you hear yourself?” My voice is unsteady. “Parties for everyone else onmybirthday? Shouldn’t I have a say in how I spend it? Do you think I want to relive my thirteenth birthday every year?” My voice pitches loud enough for a few guests to have something to gossip about later.
“Jenna…” His voice drops, quieter now. “I know your dad hurt you, but I’m not him. I’m here. I just thought this would help. Can we not do this tonight?”
He gives me that puppy dog look. The one meant to smooth things over, to push the mess back under the rug. “How about I make it up to you later with a bath and a massage?”
Before I can respond, our daughters come charging over, their giggles cutting through the tension. And I remember one of the reasons why I stay…
Chapter 10: Pretend Perfection
Jenna: October
Moonlight glows over the guests as they linger outside, smiling and waving to each other. I sit in the front seat of the car, watching through the window. Jacob’s exchanging drawn-out goodbyes with his friends and family. In the rearview mirror, I smile at the girls, sound asleep, worn out from cake and dancing. Then take out my phone and start scrolling through photos from today. One catches my eye. Our family, frozen in time with matching-colored shirts, perfectly combed hair, and forced smiles. I want to jump inside the photo and mess up Jacob’s hair, smear chocolate on Lily’s cheek, and slap an ugly, vomit-colored shirt on Ava. Anything to make it look more fucking real.
I swipe up and read Dylan’s message again.
