The Other Woman

    Rain drummed along the roof as drops chased each other down the windows, leaving remnants of themselves behind. They caught each other in little pools before flying off my car entirely, and I could only watch. The gentle storm reminded me of the day I first met Xander.
    Grey clouds hung low in the sky and caught us in a downpour on our way to class. We ran,
laughing together, into the same building. The romance of it was mesmerizing— his wet hair,
which he shook out onto the floor carelessly, and his big brown eyes that locked onto me. My
shirt was soaked and see-through, so he gave me his jacket before asking for my phone number.
He was a gentleman, if nothing else, and I fell for him faster than the rain fell onto our heads.
Three months later, the world was hazy again. The boy in the rain became the boy in my
diary and in my passenger seat. In that time, he washed over me like a tidal wave clearing away
all the undesirable things I disliked about myself. He recognized the parts I wanted people to see
and appreciated them— ever the optimist. I drove us over slick roads and ran the wipers across
the windshield as I accelerated beneath the green light.
    “What could you possibly talk about for that long?” I asked.
    “Everything,” Xander replied. “Our lives, politics, science, philosophy.” His fingers tapped anxiously on the dash.
    The nervous tick pulled my eyes away from the road briefly.
    “So, you save all of your boring worldly talk for her then.” 

I laughed at the prospect of my solemn boyfriend discussing philosophy every quiet Sunday morning before going home to watch hours of ESPN and ignore his math homework. He was a critical and factual being with a fear of being proved wrong.
    “Occasionally, we talk about you,” he said, placing his hand just above my knee. “You
look pretty today, Ciara.”
    I tried to focus on the road. “You’re not making me less nervous.”
    By the end of our second date, I knew everything I needed to about Molly, Xander’s best friend and the person he could talk to about anything and everything. They were neighbors growing up, and he described her as something of a little sister. Of course it bothered me at first, like it would bother any girl in a new relationship, but her opinion mattered to him, so it mattered to me.
    After parking the car on a back street, we walked carefully under the same umbrella around the corner to the restaurant. His hand rested on my lower back, guiding me around the corner. I brushed my palms over my jeans and praised my closet’s loyalty to dark colors. Black clothes hide the nervous sweat.
    Molly waited for us at a small table under a skylight. Even in the cloudy grey, the sun found her. She wore a bright yellow dress, and a brighter smile aimed toward us. When we approached her, she jumped up, opened her arms towards Xander and then hesitated. She turned to me instead with the smallest frown creasing her brow. It vanished in a heartbeat.
    “It’s so nice to meet you! I’ve heard so much about you.” She looked at me expectantly for an awkward moment. Neither of us knew how to act, but it seemed I was much better at pretending. She returned to her seat and set off in a sprint for words. “This is fantastic. I’ve been bugging Xander about meeting you for weeks, I swear.” She spoke so fast that I missed a few
words and started simply nodding along with the rhythm of her sentences. Xander hung on to her every syllable, bouncing our joined hands on his knee.
    She talked at me incessantly, but barely with me. She commended me several times for my great taste in men, and eventually she posed the ever-repeating college questionnaire: What are you studying? Early Childhood Education. Oh, what do you want to do with that? Teach elementary students. I love kids. How long until you graduate? Next Spring, I hope.

    I guess he hasn’t told her a lot about me.
    “This is nice,” Xander said. He looked at me and smiled at Molly.
    She smiled back at him, and I felt, for a short moment, that there was an unspoken secret
between them. I sat back, conversationally lost.
“It is. It’s so nice.” Molly turned to me with plastic enthusiasm before returning her giddy
attention to Xander.
Their rapport assumed a melodic pattern that I listened to in admiration for the rest of our
meal. They poked fun at and interrupted each other, but they never managed to say the same
thing simultaneously. They had built up a systematic dialogue from years of Sunday coffee dates.
“Molly,” he laughed. “Every once in a while, you have to stand up to people.”
“She needed someone to drive her to the airport,” Molly said. “I mean she couldn’t do it
she was—”
“Drunk.”
“Inebriated,” Molly corrected. “It’s fine. I needed the cash, and she only threw up once.”
“Molly!” Xander exclaimed, his hand on his head. She lit up every time he said her name.
I grimaced at her story. “You suck at driving anyway. You need a new gig.”
“I’m a better driver than you.”
They went on like that while I silently emptied the chip basket till salt and crumbs were
all that remained. My boyfriend, the mellow and shy, wore a wide, toothy smile and spoke like a
cartoon character, silly with thoughtless sentences. I enjoyed being in the presence of their
friendship, and although we never met again, I liked Molly. Sitting next to her made me feel
elegant and mature. She was the chatty friend I would have needed a break from had I spent
more time with her. She was humble and imperfect. Her clothes didn’t quite fit her right, and her
hair had patches of dry shampoo. Her makeup was splotchy, and her skin was untended. Xander
didn’t seem to notice these things. He looked her straight in the eyes and never mentioned the
knot in her hair or the lipstick on her teeth.
When we parted ways, she gave me a friendly hug and said, “It was nice to meet you.”
Then, she left without giving Xander so much as a high five, though I could see, it was a painful
and purposeful avoidance.
—
The Friday after I met Molly, Xander texted me to come over to his place before our
weekly date night. When Xander and I first started seeing each other, we moved fast. He did
more than kiss me on the first date, and by the third, I was packing a bag with the expectation of
staying over.
“There you are, gorgeous,” he said as I walked in. “How do you always look so hot?”
The door shut behind me as he pulled me in for a kiss. “Hi,” I said, flushed. I never knew
how to respond to his abundant compliments. They gave me a certain unease as if there was an
expectation I had to fulfill. I wanted to reciprocate when he said these things, but anything I said
seemed insincere and meaningless to him. My only form of reciprocation was physical.
We were so enamored by each other, most date nights we abandoned the formality, and I
would go straight to his apartment to start the night off with sex.
Afterward, we lay in bed together, embraced, with the lights off. In these moments of
bliss, we became individuals again with separate bodies and separate thoughts, silently dozing
off from time to time. I liked to let my mind wander, and that day, it wandered off to Molly and
her yellow dress. I thought of how talkative she was and how Xander laughed at her words.
Something churned in my stomach, but I couldn’t quite name the feeling.
I shifted around until I was facing him. “I love you. I love your smile and your kindness
and the way you tease me sometimes.”
He kissed my forehead and closed his eyes. “I love you too.”
“Why?” I needed something deeper than sweet nothings to pull me out of whatever
discomfort I had.
He laughed inwardly and thought for a moment. “You’re sexy, and you’re fun. We
always have fun when we’re together.”
I hummed a confirmation, but I didn’t understand his answer. I thought of things I
considered fun: parties, rides, movies, but I’ve never been in love with any of them.
“I’m hungry,” I said. “We should make dinner.”
He groaned into the pillow.
“Or we could order something?” I suggested.
“That’s a good idea,” he said. “I need to take a shower. Can you do it?”
“Ok. My phone is dead. Could I use yours?”
“Of course.” He sat up, grabbed his phone off the side table, and handed it to me,
unlocked. “Pizza?”
“I’m lactose intolerant,” I said.
“Right, I forgot. Wings? You know the ones I like.”
I ordered our food, and, while Xander was still in the shower, the mix of temptation and
opportunity became overwhelming. I needed to find some semblance of evidence in the least
possessive-girlfriend, creepy-stalker way possible. Something to calm the dull ache behind my
ribs.
I opened up his texts with Molly.
To my satisfaction, they exchanged no pictures, lies, or doting words. I kept scrolling up
and up through the past eight months. Aside from repetitive confirmations about where and when
they would meet each week, there were very few messages at all. A few texts from Molly,
spaced weeks apart, stood out in which she asked to meet Xander on days other than Sunday.
She invited him to concerts and plays, and he always replied with excuses, saying that Sunday
mornings were the only time he had for her. He even rejected her requests to call and talk. It
pleased me to know that he kept her confined to that one time.
When Xander came out of the shower, I closed out of his messaging app and set his
phone down. We dressed, and he cleaned up his room while I read my book until the food came.
We wordlessly coexisted.
I waited for that feeling in my stomach to go away, but my inexplicable jealousy was
undeniable at that point. I considered telling him. Then I considered what I could possibly say. I
had no justification for my feelings. It wasn’t that I thought they were cheating, it was this quiet
constant fear that he was going to wake up one day and realize he’s in love with her.
—
Four Friday nights later, I still wasn’t sure, but I had let the theory drift into the “It’s
Probably All In My Head” folder of my brain.
I was with him, reading in his bed, when he received one of those rare, unexpected texts
from Molly.
“Oh,” he said, scrunching his eyebrows together, frowning.
“What is it?” I asked.
“Molly can’t make it to coffee this weekend. She says she’s going home to visit her
parents,” he said, tapping his fingers against the back of his phone.
He frowned like he’d just found out his dog died.
I chewed on my lip. “I’ll go with you instead. How about that?”
He sat up from the wall, rubbed his hand against his mouth, and looked at me, “Maybe. I
mean, if you want.”
“Of course I want to.”
—
That Sunday, I stared at my closet searching for something nice to wear for the demure
occasion. I thought back to that lunch and the way she smiled at him, cheery and reserved,
meanwhile Xander often compared the way I dressed to that of a funeral attendee— although,
there was a low-cut high-hemmed quality I’m confident he enjoyed. There was something about
having a man wake up every day and choose me that was intoxicating.
But he didn’t choose me for this coffee date. I wormed my way into her spot, like an
understudy excited for the lead to be sick. This was my opportunity to prove I could play the part
just as well as she performed it. I stood up and dug through the pits of my hung clothes. At the
edges of everything I actually wore, I found a yellow sundress. A costume fit for the character.
Something Molly would wear.
Xander was already at the café, given he could walk there from his apartment; however,
the drive from my place was fairly long. I ordered and sat across from him. He usually greeted
me with a hug and kiss, but he didn’t even stand up that day. He dressed comfortably in a t-shirt
and jeans, a deviation from his usual polo and khakis. His shoulders were taught, and everything
about him was frigid. He stared at my dress, “I didn’t know you owned anything that bright.”
“I thought it was nice. Different.” I didn’t want him to think of me as manipulative, but I
suppose that’s what I was doing. I wanted him to forget I wasn’t her.
He nodded. Chewing on my bottom lip, I absorbed his non-compliment, and the
unnatural silence compounded with his disapproval, churning my stomach sideways. I wondered
what Molly would say if she were here.
“You look nice,” I tried. “Is that a new shirt?”
“No,” he said absently.
We went on like that for a few minutes, and I struggled to think of what to say. How was
school? How were your classes? Have you made any plans for the summer? Good. Fine. No.
My plan was failing, my composure cracking at the seams. I wanted to be there for him,
but instead I hurried away to get my drink when it was ready. It was a brief escape from my
game of pretend. The coffee was bitter, but I couldn’t drink dairy, and the barista had no other
options. I added two packets of sugar and looked to Xander for sympathy, but he was distracted.
“What drink did you get?” I asked.
He tapped his fingers on the table and looked around the cafe, biting his lip. “Green tea.”
“I didn’t know you liked green tea.”
“Hmm,” he looked at my dress again.
“What’s wrong?” I asked.
“It’s just weird,” he said. “I’m not used to being here with anyone else.”
“Right.” I stirred the sugar in and shivered under the air vent. “I should’ve brought a
jacket.”
This comment elicited quiet laughter from Xander, and he smiled for the first time since
I’d arrived. “I remember this one time Molly came in late and bundled up in too many layers of
clothes. It was so cold outside that day. She kept her scarf and coat on and just shivered in her
chair, but when I asked her what she wanted to drink, she asked for an iced latte. She loves that
sugary crap that doesn’t even taste like coffee anymore,” Xander traced his finger along the rim
of his mug, his eyes were unfocused. “Her teeth chattered the whole time, but she still talked and
talked. Her hair was matted from the wind. She was angry because the groundhog had said
Spring would come early that year, but it was still snowing. She loved Spring and superstitions
like that.” He sighed, dramatically.
“Geez, Xander. She’s not dead. She’ll be back next week,” I said harshly. With instant
regret, I softened my tone as if comforting wild animal to keep him from running away,
“Hasn’t she ever missed a week before? What do you usually do when this happens?”
“No, we never have.”
“I see.”
Not so suddenly I could feel all my frustration toward Molly creeping back to forefront as
I tried to form logical reasons and plan reasonable actions to counterattack this assault on my
relationship.
He tipped over his cup to look inside, then drank the last few sips.
“I wanna leave. I don’t feel good about this.” He stood up and awkwardly leaned over to give me a kiss on the forehead.
“I’m really sorry Ciara. Text me when you get home. OK?”
I nodded, masking my internal war plans behind a complacent smile, and watched him
walk out of the cafe and turn his face to the sun. He’d never talked to me about Molly this much
before, and something about her emotional presence having more power than my physical one
aggravated me more than any text or private joke between them ever could.
He left me with his dirty dish and my unfinished coffee.
My head rested against the wall, and I sighed, eyes fixed on the empty table, before
pulling back to see a mural of wildflowers covering the wall in yellows, oranges, and reds. The
vibrancy was too much for my tired eyes, so I closed them. At that moment I began to teeter on
the edge of indecision. If I stayed with Xander I’d have a quiet version of infidelity. A secret
promise that she would give him what I couldn’t. I’d have to learn to cope with my shortcomings
instead of running through our relationship throwing on sundresses anytime I felt bothered. My
eyes ached with swelling tear ducts as I considered my other options. How do you leave
someone you know you’re falling in love with? In vain, I tried to disappear into the painting,
behind the wall of daffodils.
—
The air was thick with the smell of fried foods sizzling in the summer evening heat. In the
humidity, walking felt like swimming through cooking oil and sweat stuck my jean shorts to my
legs. I tied my hair up, combing through the bottom strands that had melted into my neck.
The Saturday after he left me at the cafe, I guilt-tripped Xander into joining me at a local
carnival. He gave in only to appease my complaints about how he ditched me the previous week.
I was testing him— testing us.
“It’s hot,” he said, fanning himself.
“It’ll cool off as the sun goes down.”
We wandered through the colorful booths filled with bottles, balloons, and plastic figures.
Xander guided me with a hand on my lower back. We played a game of mini basketball, and he
stood behind me, helping me aim.
He swung a hammer for another game, and a red notch shot up a scale to ring a bell at the
top. The carnie in charge of the game cheered and clapped his chubby hands together. “We have
a winner,” he announced to passersby, who continued on, disinterested. I felt sad for him, putting
on such a show for the crowd, and his efforts were unappreciated. I smiled at him, but his
caricature excitement faded away. “Pick any prize,” he said to Xander.
I eyed a pink dinosaur plushie, and Xander pointed. “We’ll take that one.” The man
pulled down a panda bear so large I couldn’t imagine where he would put it in his small
apartment. “For you,” Xander said, handing me the bear and smirking with pride.
“Oh. Thank you,” I replied, grabbing the stuffed toy by the neck.
We continued through the grounds, and when we reached the end, we got in line for the
Ferris wheel. The seat didn’t have room for more than the two of us, so I left Xander’s prize
behind to watch from the ground. We strapped the bar down, and the ride took off, pushing us
forward and rocking our bench. I grabbed Xander’s arm for security, and he laughed and slid out
of my grasp to wrap around my shoulders.
“This is fun,” I said, turning to look over the carnival grounds as we rounded the top.
“Yeah,” Xander said. “It’s kind of pretty when you look at it from this high.”
Yellow lights flashed over every stall, and people in brightly colored clothes passed out
ice cream and funnel cakes to little kids with balloons tied around their wrists. Game sirens
echoed into the air, announcing winners and clashing with the pompous music that stayed on a
loop over the loudspeakers.
“Molly loves stuff like this,” Xander said.
I cringed at his comment, and the seat started to feel cramped. “Do you know what I love,
Xander?” I asked, the words spilling out of me like groceries out of a paper bag too heavy to be
contained.
“What do you mean?” he said.
I couldn’t explain it. I was a substitute that day, filling in a space between Fridays and
Sundays where someone else was supposed to be. I was a puzzle piece jammed into the wrong
spot and broken by the force of it. The epiphany ached in my chest that I was half a person to
him.
“Nothing. Never mind,” I said.
And I couldn’t even bring myself to explain that to him because it was suddenly, clearly,
disgusting that he never talked to me about what I was feeling.
When we reached the top of the wheel again, the gears squeaked to a halt. “I think this
turn’s almost finished,” I said.
Whether my theory about Molly and Xander was true or not, the way I let it bother me
and did nothing about it was my fault.
He nodded, “Maybe we can come back another time.”
The sun had set below the trees behind us, and a cold wind picked up. The city beyond
the carnival was pitch dark and silent; it was all I could see once I started looking at it. I glanced
at Xander. The moon’s glare reflected in his eyes, but he was too distracted by the carnival lights
to see that the black of night had overcome the city.
We moved backward towards the bottom, and I unlatched the safety bar.
“Maybe,” I said. I knew then that I would never have every inch, every spread, every
facet of his love. I was sure that I wasn’t enough for him. I left the ride, left the carnival. I left the
boy in the rain to find sunshine for himself.