: An Open Marriage

It’s true what they say about marriage: one partner is always happier than the other.

In my case, I’m the unhappy one.

I’m the one who can’t sleep. I’m the one who watches her husband’s sleeping face at night, looking for a sign—anything to prove what I’ve suspected all along, that he’s cheating on me. Just say a word, goddammit, a name, something, dear God. That’s all I want. Say Emily, Ryan. Say Emily.

But Ryan never does. He’s too controlled for that.

I’m the one checking his phone, seeing notifications from the same person, the same tiny image. But I can’t see the name of the sender, can’t recognize the face due to the image size—though it looks like Emily. I can’t even read the messages because Ryan has privatized his pop-up notifications.

I’m in the kitchen right now, already on my fifth cup of coffee. And it’s just 6 AM.

“Morning,” Ryan says, walking in, rubbing his temple. “Feels like someone took a chainsaw to my head. Last night was fun.”

“I’m glad you had fun,” I reply, trying to keep my voice steady, but the bitterness slips through. He notices it, of course. He always does.

“Something wrong?” Ryan asks, eyeing me cautiously.

“Wrong?”

“You seem… I don’t know, off.”

I’m counting down from ten in my head. Calm down, Julie. Calm the hell down. But how can I? Ryan disgraced me last night, and he doesn’t even remember?

“I’m fine,” I say.

Ryan fetches himself a cup of coffee and joins me at the table. He’s watching me with that innocent look of his.

Sometimes I forget how handsome he is. With his lovely, sharp jawline and his bright green eyes. The eyes were the first thing I fell in love with. We were freshmen in college, and Ryan mistook me for some girl he brought to the frat party, a girl he swore was his girlfriend. And well, I played along. I enjoyed playing the part, letting him call me Vivian. And in the morning, when he was sober again and didn’t recognize me, I told him Vivian no longer wanted him and I did.

Funny how things turn out.

“You say you’re fine,” Ryan says, breaking the silence, “but you keep looking at me like you want to murder me.”

I grip the edge of the table, my nails digging into the wood. “You humiliated me last night, Ryan. How is anyone supposed to respect me when my own husband doesn’t?”

“What are you talking about?”

“I’m talking about your stupid karaoke performance yesterday with that bitch, Emily.”

Ryan slaps his forehead dramatically. “Oh, not this again. I’ve told you a hundred times, Julie, there’s nothing to worry about. You always bring her up, like you’re obsessed or something.”

“Obsessed?”

I want to throw my coffee cup at something, and it definitely isn’t the wall.

“You have a life most women would kill for,” he continues. “A great job, a husband who comes home every night. Do you know how many women throw themselves at me? And yet, I come home to you. I pay your family’s bills. I’ve set up trust funds for your nieces and nephews. But it’s never enough, is it? You’re always whining about the same thing—Emily this, Emily that. It’s exhausting.”

I’m shaking now, my heart pounding so hard I can barely breathe. But if I say anything more, he’ll call my mother again, and she’ll tell me I’m being ungrateful. “Stop trying to push Ryan into divorcing you, Julie,” she’ll say. “No one wants hand-me-downs. Do you want to be alone forever? Go on your knees and tell Ryan you’re sorry for being a bitch.”

“How would you like me to show my gratitude, my lord?” I say, glaring at Ryan. “Should I commission a carven image of you and worship it?”

“I’m not in the mood for your sarcasm, Julie. My head is already pounding enough.” Then something crosses his eyes, a strange look. “Actually, there’s something I’ve been meaning to discuss with you. I feel like now’s the right time.”

Oh, God. My stomach tightens. He’s going to ask for a divorce. I can feel it. Mom’s going to kill me. She already planned a vacation in Rio in December.

“What is it?” I ask, bracing myself.

“I want an open marriage.”

For a moment, the words don’t register. “What?” I say.

“That’s when a couple decides to give each other room to see other people, and—”

“I know what an open marriage means, Ryan. Jesus Christ. The answer is no.”

He looks at me with disdain. “I wasn’t asking. From now on, we’re in an open marriage. When you see me with someone else, don’t bother asking questions.”

My heart slams in my chest. “It’s only an open marriage if I agree. And I don’t.”

I’m on my feet now, pacing the kitchen, trying to contain the rage and hurt boiling inside me. Seven years of marriage, and I’m already gearing close to a heart attack.

“I want kids, Julie,” Ryan says. “How am I supposed to have any if I don’t date someone else?”

I can’t help it; I begin to cry. “But it’s not my fault.”

“It’s not my fault either. Maybe it’s just us together.”

I can’t believe he said that. We’ve tried for seven years, spent a lot of money. And it’s always the same reply: you’re both healthy. The embryos are just acting weird. Nine IVFs.

I untie my robe and let it fall to the floor, stripping down until I’m standing naked in front of him. Ryan’s eyes widen in surprise.

I move closer and straddle him. I then grab his hand and place it on my chest. “Does this not move you anymore?”

“Julie—”

“Am I ugly to you now?” I reach into his pants, but he quickly stands, pushing me away.

“Stop it,” he says firmly, putting space between us. “Put your clothes back on.”

Trembling, I watch as he walks away, heading for the stairs.

“Wait,” I call out, my voice shaky.

Ryan turns, impatient. “What?”

“It’s cool,” I say, my voice hollow. “Let’s have an open marriage.”

Ryan nods. “Good.”

And just like that, he walks away, leaving me in a million pieces.

~~~

I like to say I’m a calm person. Sometimes I swear I’m the most level-headed person I know. All my family are maniacs. My sisters, my brothers. My parents. I’ve always been the one bailing people out of prison. I’ve been the designated driver during college wild night parties. I’ve been the cover-up story for my friends in high school. Yeah, everyone claimed they were spending the night at Julie’s house. Because their parents knew I’m a decent person.

But for the first time in my life, I think I want to kill someone.

I’m watching our driveway from the window, and Ryan is stepping out of his car with none other than Emily. Fucking Emily. And she’s carrying suitcases.

“What’s going on?” I ask as soon as Ryan and Emily step into the house.

Ryan smiles. “Julie, meet Emily.”

“I know who she is, Ryan.”

“Good. Then I won’t need to explain. Emily’s moving in.”

I’m honestly too stunned to speak. What does he mean by that? After what feels like ages, I ask, “Is she homeless?”

“No,” Ryan says. “She’s my girlfriend now.”

: The Bar

I look at Ryan, then Emily. “I don’t understand.”

Ryan doesn’t even look at me, just grabs Emily’s hand and starts leading her away. “Stop being such a bad host, Julie. We’ve had a long day.”

“No way, Ryan. She’s not staying in this house,” I say, my voice shaking with disbelief.

He doesn’t respond. They’re already halfway up the stairs.

“Do you hear me? She’s not staying here! Take her back to wherever you picked her up. I don’t want her in my house.”

Ryan stops, turning just enough to glare at me. “Your house? I put a roof over your head. If I say she’s staying, she’s staying. If you don’t like it, go somewhere else. I don’t have the energy for your nonsense, Julie.”

Oh, my god. My chest tightens. “How could you do this?” I say. “Don’t walk away from me, Ryan. Stand here and answer me.”

Emily turns to look at me, smirking. “By the way, you’ll need to move your things into the guest room. I’m not sharing a bed with you and Ryan. It’s bad enough sharing him with you.”

All the energy in me evaporates. I just stand there, speechless. I can’t move. I can’t breathe. I hear them whispering and giggling as they head into our bedroom. My room. They’re kicking me out of my own room.

The living room suddenly feels too small.

I stumble to the front door, fling it open, and run outside, needing to escape. I don’t know where I’m going, but I can’t be here.

“Ma’am, are you alright?” Justin, Ryan’s bodyguard, asks as I approach, breathless. He’s wiping down Ryan’s Rolls-Royce, eyeing me with concern.

I hold out my hand. “The keys.”

“Ma’am?”

“The damn keys, Justin.”

He hesitates for a second, but hands them over. I know he’s wondering why I need Ryan’s car when I have my own. Honestly, I don’t know either. But if I stay here for one more second, I might lose it completely.

“Mrs. O’Brien, let me drive you—”

“No, Justin. I’ll drive myself.”

I pull out of the driveway and speed off into the night.

~~~

It’s been over an hour, and I’m still driving aimlessly. My mind is a blur of everything—Ryan, Emily, their smug faces. Initially, I’d planned a Saturday evening manicure and pedicure, just to get my mind off things. Things that involve Ryan. But I’m no longer in the mood to get my feet and hands pampered. It’s not even been two days since he dropped that bombshell about an open marriage, almost giving me a heart attack, and now he’s bringing his mistress over? Emily? The same Emily?

The craziest thing is I can’t cry. I feel nothing. No tears, no anger—just this hollow emptiness. The last therapist I spoke with said it’s a defense mechanism. That I’m in denial of my actual emotions. Cry it out, Julie, she used to say. Let yourself be free of the burden.

Well, they can all go to hell. Ryan. Emily. The therapist. My entire family.

I know what I need. A drink.

I pull into the nearest bar and head inside.

“A shot of whiskey,” I tell the bartender. “Neat. And keep them coming.”

“Long night?”

“I don’t want to talk about it,” I say.

He pours the first shot, and I throw it back, welcoming the burn in my throat. It’s harsh, but it’s better than the alternative—thinking about what’s happening back home.

As I down my second shot, I hear someone call out, “Maggie! Maggie!”

I turn, confused, and see a tall, handsome man approaching me, his eyes locked on mine. Before I can react, he’s wrapping his arms around me. “Thank God I found you,” he says, pulling me into a tight hug.

I stiffen. “Who the hell are you?”

“Please, just go along with it,” he whispers in my ear. “I’ll explain later. I promise.”

Before I can push him away, a furious-looking woman storms over.

“Luke! I knew it. You can’t hide from me.”

The stranger—Luke, apparently—turns to face her, still keeping his arm around me. “Veronica, what a surprise,” he says, feigning nonchalance.

“My name isn’t Veronica, it’s Evelyn.”

Luke flashes her a sheepish smile. “Right, sorry. I get those mixed up sometimes. Anyway, this is Maggie—my wife.”

He lifts my hand, showing off my wedding ring, and I nearly choke. What is happening?

Evelyn glares at me. “You married this scumbag?”

I don’t know what to say, so I just nod.

“You should divorce him,” she snaps. “He spends one night with you and disappears the next. Who does that?”

“But that's what we agreed on. A one-night st—” Luke begins, but Evelyn cuts him off.

“Fuck you, Luke.”

And with that, she storms off, leaving the two of us standing there, stunned.

Luke breathes a sigh of relief. “Well, that one was a stalker. At least she's off my back now.” He turns to me, smiling. “Can I buy you a drink? You’ve definitely earned it.”

I stare at him and then stare at the spot where the angry lady once stood. It all happened so fast. I can't even process it. I think I need that drink.

“Make it two,” I say.

And Luke smiles.

: The Deal

~~Luke~~

Lord knows I’ve seen my fair share of beauties.

But the lady beside me is something else. Not only is she the prettiest thing I’ve seen, but she’s married. Some men are just lucky.

“So, I’m guessing your name isn’t Maggie?” I ask, trying to ease the tension.

“No,” she replies flatly.

I nod, waiting for her to give me something more. “So, what is it?”

She gives me a slow, deliberate look. I can’t lie, wherever her eyes touch immediately burns.

“Look,” I say, raising my hands in mock surrender. “I’m not hitting on you. Honestly, I’m taking a break from women. They’re problematic.”

She lets out a laugh, a bitter one. “You’re the one who just hugged a stranger to dodge another woman you’ve clearly wronged, and you’re saying we’re the problematic ones? You men are all the same.”

She downs her drink like it’s water and winces at the burn. That’s her second shot in less than five minutes. I’ve got to say, I’m impressed.

“Let’s start over,” I suggest, offering her a fresh start. “I’m Luke.”

She rolls her eyes. “Yeah, I caught that. Your ‘problematic’ ex wouldn’t shut up about it.”

“She's not my ex,” I say.

“Whatever.”

Great, another woman convinced I’m the villain. Not even five minutes in and she’s already pegged me as the problem. I guess I deserve that one.

“So, are you going to tell me your name?” I ask, trying again.

I can tell she’s got money just by looking at her. She’s probably an heiress or the wife of some big-shot businessman. Those Louboutins, the Rolls-Royce keys sitting on the bar, and that dress—all of it screams wealth. Maybe that’s why she’s not keen on giving me her real name.

“You don’t have to tell me your last name,” I say with a grin. “But you look like you could use someone to talk to. Since you just saved my ass back there, I figure it’s the least I can do.”

She watches me for a moment, her expression unreadable, before finally relenting. “Julie. My name’s Julie.”

“Nice to meet you, Julie,” I say, extending my hand.

She takes it.

~~~

Julie’s on her fifth glass of whiskey, and at this point, she’s unstoppable, pouring out her life story like we’ve known each other for years. I’ve already told the bartender to cut her off, but she hasn’t noticed yet.

“...So, I’m standing there, and they’re both going upstairs. To my room. And do you know what the bitch says?” Julie doesn’t wait for me to reply. “She says I need to move out of my room. My room.” She laughs so hard that she starts coughing. And then, just as suddenly, she’s sobbing.

I don’t know what to do. How do you comfort someone else’s wife without crossing a line?

“Julie,” I say. “Are you okay?”

She shakes her head. “I need another drink.”

“No, you don’t.”

She frowns at me. “What? You think I need one more person telling me how to live my life? You can all go to hell. I said I need a drink.” She taps her empty glass against the bar, but the bartender, Mart, knows better than to disobey me.

“Sorry, I own the bar, and I can’t let you drink anymore,” I say.

Her eyes narrow. “Oh, you own the bar? Good for you. I’ll find another one.”

She tries to stand, but I step in her path.

“Listen, Julie, I know you’re hurting, but this isn't the way to go about it. Have you thought about divorce?”

For the first time, her eyes soften, and she slumps back onto the barstool. “I can’t. I don’t want to be a disappointment to my family. They depend on Ryan’s money.”

I let out a snort. “Screw them. It’s your life. No one should make you feel like this.”

She gives a sarcastic smile. “Easy for you to say, Mr. I-own-the-bar.”

I’ve seen people like Julie before, people who won’t leave a toxic relationship because, deep down, they still love the person. She’s saying it’s because of her family, but I can tell it’s more than that. She’s not ready to let go of him. Love does that to you—it makes you hold on even when you shouldn’t. I know that feeling all too well.

What kind of solution could I possibly suggest that wouldn’t involve me physically dragging her out of the marriage?

Suddenly, an idea hits me. “You know what?” I say. “You need to get yourself a boyfriend. Someone to introduce to Ryan.”

“A boyfriend?” She looks at me like I’ve lost my mind.

It sounds like a stupid plan, but one thing I know about guys who cheat is that they can't stand being cheated on. It’ll drive him crazy. I’m hoping it leads to Ryan divorcing her, since she’s too chicken to do it herself.

“It doesn’t have to be a real relationship,” I add. “Just hire someone to play that role until Ryan comes back to his senses.”

Julie’s quiet for a moment, turning the idea over in her head. “That’s actually not bad,” she says, surprising me. “Are all bar owners this good at giving advice?”

I laugh. “We try.”

“Okay, but where am I supposed to find this ‘boyfriend’?”

Without thinking, I blurt out, “I could do it.”

Her eyes flicker over me again, slower this time. “You?”

“It’s easier than hiring someone. No need to go through the hassle of finding the right guy, making sure he knows what he’s doing. I’m single, not looking for a relationship, and I like a little adventure. I’d be perfect for the job.”

She studies me, weighing her options. After a moment, she says, “You are good-looking too.”

I raise an eyebrow, but she cuts me off.

“Don’t ask.” She pulls out her phone. “So, how much is this going to cost me?”

I hadn’t thought about money. I don’t need it, but if I offer to do it for free, it might seem weird.

“How much are you willing to pay?” I ask, playing along.

She glances around the bar, one arm raised as if to appraise the place. Her diamond ring catches the light, sparkling like it’s worth a fortune.

“Your bar’s decent,” she says. “What does it make? Two hundred thousand a year? Maybe five?”

I stay silent.

“I’ll double that,” she says.

I raise an eyebrow. “The two hundred?”

“The five hundred.”

Wow. She’s serious. “Deal. But I’ll only take the money after we pull it off.”

She extends her hand. “Deal.”

I shake her hand, her skin soft against mine. I then pull out a pen and scribble my number on a napkin. “Call me when you’re ready.”

She tucks the napkin into her purse and gives me one last look before heading out of the bar. I'm right behind her, escorting her toward a sleek Rolls-Royce.

“You sure you can drive?” I ask.

“I’m not that high, Luke.”

“Alright,” I say. “Give me a call.”

She drives off into the night.

I feel so guilty for letting her leave in that state. But what else could I do? I head back into the bar, already wondering what I’ve gotten myself into.