Essie: All Kinds of Shadows

September 24, 2023

Dear Diary,

They say, "The truth will set you free, but first it will make you miserable." They're right about the miserable part. How I'll be set free remains to be seen.

After that Ethiopian dinner and the church cookout in June, Marcus and I fell into a comfortable rhythm: two date nights a week, occasional Saturday day trips, and chats by text throughout most other days. I've been doing great at balancing my friendships, my work responsibilities, and my personal time with this new relationship, which hasn't been demanding and has continued to surprise me with its ease.

My sense of peace must have been noticeable. "You're different with him," Jess said over mimosas the last time we went to brunch. "More relaxed. Less like you're waiting for something to go wrong."

She was right. Despite my initial caution, I had found myself softening, trusting the process more than I had with anyone in a while. Even Daddy, who responds to just my mentioning a man with narrowed eyes, seemed cautiously impressed when he met Marcus at my birthday dinner in August. "He seems like he's got good goals in life," he conceded afterward. "He might be going somewhere."

But last week, things started shifting. It began with the weekend plans. "I can't do Friday," he said. "Work emergency in Shreveport." On Sunday: "Sorry, bae, raincheck on dinner tomorrow night? I'm gonna be stuck here for another day." That was disappointing, but these things happen– nothing to question. Yet something in his tone felt... off.

Then, there was a discrepancy in a story about his old college roommate— this time, they'd only managed to live together for thirteen days, not thirty, as he'd mentioned before. When I gently pointed this out, he laughed it off, shaking his head, "You must have misheard me the first time. It's always been thirteen. That guy wasn't right."

I hadn't pushed it. Maybe I had misheard; thirteen and thirty sound a lot alike.

Maybe the work emergency in Shreveport was legitimate and did require an extra day of crisis management.

Maybe. Maybe. Maybe.

But yesterday, the maybes crumbled into certainty.

Excited about redeeming the raincheck for our missed dinner, I arrived a bit early to the restaurant and was already seated on the patio at my favorite table in the corner. I love this table because, at the right time of day, the sunlight shines through the flower-laced lattice wall, making all kinds of shadows that I like to watch.

I saw Marcus when he drove into the parking lot. I knew he wouldn't be far behind me– I was surprised to have beaten him there in the first place given that I'm usually running a few minutes late.

Marcus was talking excitedly into his phone as he got out of the car, but the look on his face said he was anything other than excited. I wondered if it was another problem with this project at work. He approached the patio, then stopped short on the sidewalk, his back to the entrance.

"I know, I know," he repeated, rubbing his neck with one hand. I could tell he was trying to calm down. "Listen, we have to figure things out. I won't just walk away and let you screw up my finances like this..."

Walk away from what? Is he getting fired right now? My shoulders stiffened as I tuned into what he was saying.

"I know it's been a year, but—"

My eyes narrowed, brow furrowed. What's been a year?

"—yeah, I know you think I'm making it complicated, but unfortunately divorce isn't like returning a pair of shoes."

Divorce. The word hit me like a physical blow.

"No, I'm not with her tonight. I told you, it's a work thing... Yes, I'm still taking Nylah to the zoo after church on Sunday... Tell her that I love her."

I don't remember leaving the restaurant. I don't remember the drive home. I only know I found myself sitting in my parked car outside my apartment, replaying every conversation we'd ever had about his past.

"My ex-wife and I divorced two years ago," he'd told me on our fourth date. "I'm finally getting back on my feet, thank God! She made it rough."

Divorced. Past tense. A completed action. A lie.

I've spent today in a fog, ignoring his calls, responding to his texts with vague excuses to keep up my lie about feeling sick last night– which actually wasn't a lie because I did feel sick after what I overheard, just not in the way he thinks I meant it. My mind keeps circling back to that phone conversation, "...divorce isn't like returning a pair of shoes... No, I'm not with her tonight. I told you, it's a work thing.

"Her" = me. A "work thing".

Me, who's been trying to "trust the process", who was priding herself on not rushing in. And I've still ended up as some "other woman" that a man is lying to his wife about.

And who the hell is Nylah?! Obviously, she's his kid, but he didn't mention kids when he told me he was divorced. I guess it was silly of me to assume that none existed just because he didn't mention them.

I keep asking myself how I missed this. Did I ignore signs? Was I so caught up in the serendipity of our meetings that I failed to see what was right in front of me? Or was he just that good at deception?

...

Marcus just texted again: "Feeling better? Can I bring you some soup? Miss you." The screen blurs through my tears. Why couldn't you "miss me" with the lies?!

Part of me wants to call him immediately, to confront him and demand that he tell me the truth. I'm not about to go on being some extracurricular activity while he "figures things out" with his WIFE, even if they are separated.

Another part of me thinks I want more information before confronting him so he can't try to explain away what I heard with my own ears– this time, I know I didn't mishear anything. There's probably more to this deception, and a couple more Sidepiece Saturdays might give him enough rope to hang himself... and me enough evidence that he can't twist his way out of this with more lies.

What hurts even more than the deception is that I'd genuinely begun to think God had placed this man in my path, that the coincidences actually meant something. I wonder what Pastor Wilson would say about all of this...

Here I am at another crossroads, heavier and more consequential than the last. Do I confront Marcus directly about what I overheard, demanding immediate answers and honesty? Do I take some time to arm myself with as much truth as possible before facing the man who so easily lied to my face for months?

The cautious part of me says gather evidence. The woman of faith in me hopes there could be reasonable explanations that somehow make sense in the grand scheme of things. But the part of me that's just plain hurt and angry? She wants answers. Now.

Until I decide,
Essie

Now, it's YOUR turn!

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2. Stay tuned to see (and continue shaping) how the story unfolds!

If you missed the first segment, "What Are the Odds?", catch up here!