Page 33 of A Merciless Husband
When she realizes Marjorie isn’t going to answer for her, Amy clears her throat. “Yes. I think so.” Her voice is soft, breathy, like the softest gust of wind could steal it away from her lips.
I sit on the loveseat across from both women, Marjorie sitting on an armchair and Amy on the floor by my aunt’s feet. Bunny is still dancing around her playfully. I take in the sight before me for a moment, struck by how it almost looks like it’s a scene straight out of a painting. The matriarch, hands folded neatly in her lap, looking fondly upon the younger woman at her feet. The dog, excited and playful. The young woman, shackled by her own thoughts, cannot give in to the dog’s waggish ways,nor can she see the affection in the older woman’s eyes. She doesn’t know the viewer looks upon her as an art piece, as she’s too caught up in what she deems her own inadequacies. The viewer in this situation, of course, being me.
Maybe if I can just get Amy out of her own head, she’ll be able to see the actual world around her for what it is. I don’t want her to be blinded by the insecurities that were drilled into her. But she has to let me. She has towantthat. I know what it’s like to be addicted to the feeling of pain, of grief, of sorrow. The need for control, even by indulging in our own sicknesses, is a wicked cycle.
“Could I see what you’ve been working on?” I tilt my head, asking in a softness that I hope might coax Amy out of her head again.
She looks up at me, searching my face. For what, I’m not sure. But it reminds me of a prey animal looking for any sign of predators nearby, and I don’t like it. I thought we’d worked past this sort of fear of me, but I’m fairly sure it’s more nuanced than that. It’s not fear that I’ll hurt her physically, we’ve built enough trust for that. No, it’s fear that she’ll say something wrong and I won’tlikeher anymore.
It’s not trauma from her family’s ties to the mafia world, or fear of a man who does crime. It’s fear ofpeopleand their reaction to her mind.
Amy finally nods and pushes a small booklet towards me on the coffee table. There’s cut-outs of wedding magazines glued to the booklet’s pages. Wedding dresses, cakes, decorations, color swatches. I round the table and sit on the floor next to Amy, having to deal with the yappy little dog climbing all over me and trying to lick my face. Thankfully, it doesn’t last long as Bunny seems much more interested in Amy than me.
“I was a bit overwhelmed by all of the choices we were seeing online for things. So Marjorie suggested that we start smallwith some magazines. The limited options and it being tactile would hopefully help me to start somewhere, get some things narrowed down. It’s been very helpful.” Amy flips through the pages, showing me all of the things she likes. Things we’ve been discussing over the past few weeks over dinner. “I didn’t want to make any real choices until I’ve talked it through with you, of course. Which is another reason why Marjorie suggested doing this book, so I’d have something more…concrete to present to you.”
Marjorie sighs like she does when she’s upset with me and is about to start giving out. “Yes, and you’ve been sobusywith yourdealingsthat you haven’t been able to join us while we were doing all of this.”
I glance over at my aunt. Even though she’s scolding me, there’s a sparkle of fondness and joy in her eyes that’s been rare to see in the past decade or so. There’s life back in her eyes, a hope that had been drained out of her. Amy brought it back.
I wonder if she feared I’d die alone, unhappy and emotionally unattached to the world, just like my father before me. It’s a valid fear, as I was on that path before Amy came into my life.
But Amy’s joy and brightness is life-changing. It’s changed me for the better, and now it’s helping Marjorie, too.
Now if Amy could only see that her unrestrained joy isn’t too much. It’s a gift. And it’s changing the world for the better.
It’s just a matter of helping her see that.
18
Amy
Iclose my eyes and let birdsong fill my ears. I’m relaxing in a cute little concrete pad with flowers and bushes arranged about it in Kerry’s garden, and I’m thoroughly enjoying the privacy it brings. I think Kerry’s guards usually use it as a hang-out spot, but they stopped once the wedding preparations started, as we decided this is where we’ll host the wedding reception.
I haven’t gotten a moment alone this past month. Not just because of Kerry, but because there’s so many contractors coming in and out of this house. It’s been impossible to have any quiet, which is especially important for an autistic person. Soaking in this rare instance of peace and sunshine feels like a miracle, especially since the sun seldom shows itself here in Ireland.
It’s all been a bit…much.A lot to think about. My family took amonthto settle on an “exchange date” to get me back. God, if Kerry had treated me as badly as they believed, then who knows what could’ve happened to me in that time. But nothing about their behavior seemed hurried. Instead, Kerry informed me my grandfather’s been ‘causing trouble’. He didn’t seem to want to elaborate, and I didn’t ask.
That’swhat they care about. Making more money, improving their mafia business. Not me.
Obviously, the ‘exchange’ for me fell through. Kerry went on a whole rant about them actually falling for it, and, as he put it,there’s no fecking way I’m giving you back, I’d rather peel off my own skin.I thought that was a tad gruesome, but hey, thisisKerry we’re talking about. When the exchange failed, they went silent. Kerry said his men felt “birds pecking at their wires”—which I learned isnotIrish slang for once but mafia talk that meant my grandfather tried seeking information on where we were.
Kerry let enough information slip for them to know I was alive, safe, and that we’re still getting married. Something about him feeling “bad for your mam”, which I can’t really argue with. I know my mother must be really stressed out about the whole ordeal.
I should be more upset that my family isn’t going to be at my wedding. But I’m…not. There’s a part of me that’s relieved, which makes me feel guilty. The only one I feel remotely bad forismy mother, but the thought of her trying to influence my choices and control the whole event sounds like a nightmare. She’d be the opposite of Aunt Marjorie, who only seems to supply actually helpful advice, and lets me ultimately make each decision for myself. Everything she says feels like it's in an effort to get to the bottom of what Iwant,not to influence me to choose whatshewants.
I never knew there was so much to think about in a wedding. I’m sure I would’ve had way more meltdowns if it wasn’t for Marjorie.
The texts started pouring in once my family found out that we were getting married and I was safely within Kerry’s domain, mostly from my mother at first. Then my father. Then mygrandmother. I even got a couple of texts from my grandfather, and I didn’t even have his phone number saved.
They started out sweet. Subtle. My mother expressing her concern for me, asking about the wedding, things like that. I hesitated on answering, but Kerry let me decide what to do. He said that he’d protect me and stand by me no matter what, so I ended up answering after a few days. Told her I was okay, I was happy.
She didn’t believe me.Shocker.
Then they raised the pressure. They talked about me coming home, of everyone reuniting and us all being a family again. They tempted me with everything I ever craved back before I met Kerry. Family vacations. Eating dinner together. My parents were considering getting remarried. Each text started to make me feel sick. It’s like they’ve known all along what I wanted, but only made me think that it wasn’t an option just because they didn’t want to bother.
When that didn’t work, the shaming came. My grandmother talked about how a proper lady acts, and my behavior wasn’t it. Abandoning her family, spreading her legs for some unknown foreign man, as iftheyweren’t the ones who arranged my marriage with him in the first place. My grandfather threatened to come find me and drag me backwhere I belong.Which was a bit ironic, because I never felt like I fit in with them. But with Kerry? He acts like I’m just an extension of him, another one of his limbs that’s always meant to be there.
It’s strange, considering how out of place I felt with the whole arrangement originally. I was terrified of interacting with him. But now? It couldn’t feel more…natural. At ease. And I knowthisis where I’m meant to be.
