To Be Good Enough

“You’re such a jackass sometimes, you know that?”  I crossed my arms in front of my chest and shifted to stare out the passenger side window of our cramped little Kia.

“You used to think it was cute,” Brandon replied with gritted teeth, his fingers gripping the steering wheel.

“That was when I only had to deal with it once a week.”  Sometimes when I got angry, I wanted to shout “How did Charlotte ever deal with you?” – only when I was livid, though.  I often had to catch myself.  It would cause him to run away from me, I knew it.  The only reason we were together was because I was there for him to run to.  It was so easy, and I could easily have everything reversed.

I often wondered if he’d always been this way.  I remembered little remnants of this behavior when we were just friends, when we only worked together.  It was amusing and very superficial – I was confident in my thinking because every time Charlotte walked through the front doors, his blue eyes lit up and his lips stretched into the biggest smile.  He was no longer the bitter, pessimistic smartass, but the lovestruck husband. 

I was waiting for him to look at me that way – to melt like the man of ice that he was – cold and hard, easily destructed by the warmth of love.

Instead, I dealt with this.

I’d wanted things to be calm – I warned Brandon to keep things light so that he wouldn’t piss off my father, who already hated him.  Of course, that was too much to ask and they both started, trying to outsmart each other with their educated wit. 

I just stood there in the middle of the yard, head in my hands, stomach twisting.  I couldn’t enjoy a peaceful Fourth of July.

“For the record, your father started it first.”

I rolled my eyes.  “You know what, Bran?  I don’t want to hear it.  I don’t care who started what, the fact that you perpetuated the whole argument is enough for me to be angry with you.  Is it too much to ask for you to try to get along with my family?  After all, you’re part of the family as well.  You do understand that, right?”

“Why the hell are you blaming me for all this?”  His crystal-blue eyes were locked onto the road, not daring to glance at me.  “To get respect, you have to give respect, Anna.  I don’t understand why he hates me so much, anyway.  Just because I’ve been married before?  Newsflash: I’m a widower!”

Brandon didn’t often bring up Charlotte, though he did spend every Saturday night with his former father-in-law, Ed.  Ed was a good man and treated me like a member of the family, too.  It pained my heart that I truly meant nothing in this whole situation, but he took me in so easily. 

Just hearing the word “widower” forced me to calm down.  I didn’t want to say something I would regret.  I took a deep breath.  I didn’t want to admit that this was part of the reason my father couldn’t stand Brandon, also his biting personality and sarcasm. 

I couldn’t help that Brandon was oftentimes negative.  He had every right to be negative, at least the way I saw it.  He’d been happily married to Charlotte, awaiting their first child, and by the fate of one nightmare of an event, a fatal car crash, Brandon’s world shattered.

We’d only been friends – coworkers, nothing more.  Brandon appreciated my humor and level of education, rare to find in the restaurant that we worked in.  He was a delivery driver while I was a waitress for the dining room.  Many of our other workers could have cared less what was on CNN or in the latest issue of Newsweek.  They listened to rap and country music while Brandon and I shared our love for NPR. 

We’d worked together for three years and then, he finished his degree and was moving onto graduate school.  We kept in touch from time to time and I was invited to parties, where I mostly just helped Charlotte entertain.  She knew I wasn’t there to deceive her, to steal her husband and appreciated the company.  I had to admit, I was a bit attracted to Brandon, though wanted nothing more than for he and Charlotte to be happy.  They deserved each other and all the best.

I had moved on to graduate school myself, but moved away from town.  One morning I received a text message about what had happened and canceled a few obligations so I could make a trip home and pay my respects to Charlotte and her unborn child.

Brandon had always had a very unaffected, cold personality though when we spoke I often was indulged glimpses of his true personality, bits of himself he was very cautious about handing out.  He was truly a very guarded person and didn’t want to become close to anyone he felt would disappear so easily or turn their backs.  Brandon only befriended those he was sure he could trust, he once told me.

I hadn’t intended to fall in love with him, a year after we both had parted.  I only meant to pay my respects, offer any assistance, then return to my little life up north.  Apparently, God had other plans for me. 

In an emotional purging, Brandon admitted that I was the only other woman he would trust, the only other woman he could talk to.  I found myself given a purpose – to help Brandon cope with his loss and see the beauty of life again.

I didn’t understand this at first.  I didn’t qualify myself as pretty by any means, but I surely had brains and I could run circles around any idiot when it came to wit.  Perhaps this was why Brandon and I got along so well – we had met our match.  It made me smile to think that the entire first year we had worked together, he didn’t say a word to me.  Brandon treated most people this way, not speaking to them until he felt it was worth it.

God, he sounded like a real jerk sometimes.

I really don’t know how it happened, how I transitioned from supportive friend to object of affection.  Our relationship didn’t blossom out of attraction or dating, like other people.  For Brandon, it was need.  For me, perhaps pity.  I didn’t want to feel pity for him.  The entire time, I was thinking, “Why me?  How me?” In my mind, Brandon was this beautiful man and I was such a plain girl.

The rest of the car ride home, we didn’t say anything else.  I was going to play the cautious card.  When we got to our apartment, Brandon hooked our chocolate lab, Greta, onto a leash and took her out.  When he didn’t return within five minutes, I assumed he’d taken her for a walk.

I walked into our spare bedroom.  We had turned it into a library, of sorts, though it was very small.  Each wall was lined with bookshelves containing hundreds of books – we both loved to read.  In the middle of the room, we shared a desk.  I sat in the big leather chair and leaned back, taking a deep breath as I closed my eyes.  When I opened them, my eyes settled on our wedding picture.  We looked so happy.  It had been a while since I had seen Brandon so happy.

I took a deep breath and quickly wiped the tears from my eyes with the back of my hand, before they could slip down my cheeks. 

Charlotte had been so pure, so perfect.  I found it difficult to live up to her perfection and realized that this had been my first mistake.  I wasn’t Charlotte.  Maybe this had been Brandon’s mistake, too?  Was he trying to find any reminder of Charlotte within me?  Was that why he was so frustrated with me, because we were so different? 

I wasn’t super skinny and blonde and I didn’t listen to country music.  I preferred dogs to cats and didn’t like swimming and had never been horseback riding.  I understood British humor and had subscriptions to the Times and Newsweek, not People and Us Magazine.  I wasn’t very delicate and I didn’t mind getting dirty.  I liked spicy foods and liked to dance to musical soundtracks while I did the dishes.

Charlotte and I had very little in common.  I couldn’t help but wonder if that was why he was so unhappy.

I brought my knees to my chest and buried my face against my arms.  I couldn’t be Charlotte, but I wanted Brandon to be happy.  Was it too much to ask?  Was it possible in a world where Charlotte no longer existed?

Brandon didn’t return until dark.  I could smell the sweat when he walked into the bedroom, tearing off his clothes and heading for the shower.  In bed, I just hugged my pillow tight and stared at the ceiling.  We’d only been married for a few months – we were supposed to still be in our honeymoon stage, weren’t we?  How could our marriage fall apart so soon?

He didn’t say a word as he climbed into bed beside me.  His closely cropped blond hair glistened with water droplets, his sharp nose sporting moisture as well.  I reached out to capture the water with my fingertips.  Brandon didn’t move, but he closed his eyes. 

“I don’t want us to fall apart,” I whispered.  “But I want you to be honest because I need to know.” 

Brandon took a deep breath.  “What do you need to know?”

I propped my head up with my fist, my elbow digging into my pillow.  “Are you so unhappy because I’m not Charlotte?”

The mention of her name made him frown even more.  “Damn it,” he muttered, stretching his arms behind his head.  His blue eyes started to brim with tears.  I regretted asking the question – I hated seeing him this way, but I had to know.

“Anna, I…”  Brandon blinked and a tear slipped from his eye down his temple.  “I love you.”  He rolled over to face me, his blue eyes locking with mine.  “I don’t know how many times I have to tell you I love you for you to believe it.”

Tears poured from my own eyes and I scooted closer to him, reaching up to stroke his cheek. 

“I’m unhappy because I miss Charlotte and I shouldn’t.  Charlotte’s not coming back and I know that, but a part of me hopes that she will, even though that’s impossible.  I’m struggling with that, trying to push thoughts of Charlotte aside so I can focus on you and I’m frustrated because it’s so difficult.”

I sniffled.  “I don’t want you to forget, Brandon.”  I pressed a soft kiss to his lips.  “And I don’t know what I can do to help you be less frustrated, but know that I love you too, and we can work at this together.  I can’t be your past, but I can certainly be your future.”

Brandon hugged me tight against his body.  “If I was looking for someone to replace Charlotte, I wouldn’t have married you, Anna.  No one can replace her.  And no one can replace you, not even Charlotte.”

The next morning, Brandon wasn’t in bed when I woke up.  I slipped on my glasses and with little balance, padded to the kitchen, where I smelled food cooking.  “Good morning,” I said with a yawn, finding him at the stove, pushing bacon around in a pan.

Brandon turned to face me and a smile played on his lips - one that I had only witnessed when Charlotte entered a room.