The Perfect Life by Erin Noelle

Author:Erin Noelle [Noelle, Erin]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: The Perfect Life
Published: 2016-02-18T05:00:00+00:00

“what do you

want me to say?

love is safe?

i will not spit out

those plastic words.

sometimes

love is taking

the train

because you

are terrified

of planes

but the train

derails

and blood is

spilled

anyways.”

–Christopher Poindexter

Monroe

AS I PULLED up in front of Oliver’s apartment building Sunday morning, I still wasn’t sure taking him to one of Colin’s games was a very good idea . . . for numerous reasons.

Sure, Colin and I had made up after he’d shown up at the children’s home and apologized, and once we’d gotten back home, we’d stayed up late talking about the enlivening yet terrifying feelings that were all so new to me. With a much more understanding attitude—and an even gentler tone—than the first time we’d discussed it, my husband expressed his valid concerns about the risks I’d be taking individually, and the ones we would face as a couple, if I pursued something with Oliver. And even though I promised him I wasn’t interested in heading down that road once I’d had a chance to think about it, Colin urged me to become friends with Oliver, to get to know him better, without allowing the kiss to cause any awkwardness between us, and to see if the attraction continued to grow.

But I already knew Oliver regretted what happened, and though I was pretty sure he felt a similar connection to me, he wasn’t interested in carrying around the burden of guilt in being ‘the other man’ any more than I wanted him to think of me as a cheating wife. And it wasn’t like we could tell him the truth about our marriage . . . as much as I secretly wished we could. Colin and I had made vows to each other, and even though they weren’t the traditional pledges that man and wife usually made, they were binding all the same. We’d keep each other’s secrets safe and be there for each other . . . to the very end.

That led to the next problem—my ‘secret’ that Oliver had asked about Friday afternoon. Everything was going great, excellent really, especially during the comedic showcase he put on with my juice-hunting in the refrigerator, and then his niece’s phone call. I’d felt like we were fully comfortable around each other again, when he had to go and not only share with me his family’s heart-wrenching story of devastation and perseverance, triggering an explosion of emotions inside my chest that left me feeling vulnerable and exposed, but then ask me about the one thing I can’t fathom talking about.

What was even worse was when I managed to gather my wits about me and give him my standard, not-completely-untrue answer, I knew that he knew. His amber eyes bore straight through my earthly body to the depths of my soul, where the repugnant stains of shame still remained, no matter how many years’ worth of good deeds I’d tried to hide them behind. And although Oliver may have pretended to be satisfied with my response then, I knew without question that the conversation between us wasn’t over.

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