Some Day One Day (Maylor AU)

Chapter 91

"I just didn't think you'd want to go," the headmistress muttered.

"Because of Sting?" the professor guessed, hoping she would pick up on the fact that he had overheard her phone conversation; hoping that she would continue their talk from yesterday and have it lead to a screaming match where the one of them would suggest that they get a divorce and the other would agree.

Realizing that he wanted such a destructive outcome terrified Brian. He had never thought about getting a divorce before. He knew Chrissie did; it was one of the reasons she came back to him after leaving that one night. I just thought that, with everything that happened, we were going to get a divorce, and I started thinking about raising Liz on my own, and I just...I don't think I can do it alone. I don't want to do it alone. I want to do it with you.

Brian couldn't believe that he was in her shoes now, having to deal with the possibility that his spouse was going to leave him for someone else. The tables had turned, and he didn't know what to do: keep her close or let her go. He told Roger he didn't care what other people thought, but that was when it was just the two of them, alone in Fred's living room, safe from the nasty world that awaited them outside. Now, standing in his kitchen with Chrissie, thinking about what it would mean if his wife went to the show tonight without him, he couldn't stand behind his claim. Wondering about what people would say if their colleagues only found Chrissie in that crowd proved that Brian did care what people thought, and before his mind had the chance to spiral out of control and make him doubt everything he'd been doing and saying since Roger showed up, the headmistress responded to his question.

"No, Bri, it's not—" Chrissie ran a hand through her hair. "Look, I just hoped you wouldn't want to go because—" she sighed and dropped her arm back down to her side, confessing, "—well, because you-know-who's going to be there, and I honestly don't trust you to keep away from him."

"Oh, bullshit!" Brian snapped, startling his wife back into the wall and drawing a faint ding from the old telephone. "You and I both know that's not the reason you don't want me going."

"Then what is the reason?" she shouted, throwing her hands in the air before resting them on her hips. "Tell me what the reason is, Brian, because clearly I don't know."

Yes, you do know, he wanted to tell her. You just don't want to admit that the real you-know-who here isn't Roger. It's Stewart, and the real reason you don't want me to go is because you didn't want any trouble seeing him tonight. You wanted to go to the concert, leave your ring at home, and have yourself a grand old time with Mr. Unstable, Mr. I-Can't-Support-You, all without me knowing because I'm naïve, right? I don't know any better. I'm just the gullible professor who believed you when you said you were unhappy in your arranged marriage; who believed you when you said you were having my child; and who believed you when you said you wanted to give this an honest second go. I believed you because I thought you could do no wrong. You were perfect; everything I ever wanted. You would never hurt me the way I hurt you. Never.

Instead of expressing all that, and surely avoiding the harsh smack he'd earn across the face, he laughed in disbelief. "You know, Chrissie, I think it's really unfair of you to tell me that I can't be true about my feelings and then lie straight to my face about why you don't want me going."

"It's just not right!" she cried, all the emotions she bottled up from yesterday's conversation that had festered overnight as she lied alone in bed—picturing Brian and Roger touching one another, kissing one another, fucking one another—finally pouring out. She knew immediately, though, that her answer had only made things worse.

It also didn't help that Liz began to cry.

"Not right?" Brian repeated, taking a step closer to her. "What do you mean 'not right'?"

Chrissie shook her head, refusing to dig herself a deeper hole.

"We're both in the wrong here, Chrissie," the professor muttered, continuing to close the gap separating the two of them, "and just because you and Stewart are a man and woman doesn't make what you're doing any more 'right' than what Roger and I are doing."

She took this opportunity to win some ground back. "So," she stood taller, "you did go see him last night."

Brian's cheeks turned a bright shade of red. It would have been so easy for him to tell her that he tried to convince Roger to skip the show; that he told the blonde he wanted to be good and do the right thing. Yet all the professor could think about was what happened after that: the sharing of the song, the love they made, the fear that Tim was going to kill Roger. He couldn't really remember what happened before all that, and so replied simply, "I did."

The headmistress nodded her head, not saying another word before brushing past him and picking her daughter up out of her highchair. She left the room with the crying infant sitting on her hip, a bitter expression washed across her face.

Feeling there was more to be said, Brian followed after her, trailing behind her as she escaped upstairs into the nursery, where she began searching for a clean pacifier.

The professor stood in the doorway for a moment or two, quietly watching as his wife peered into every nook and cranny for the item Brian knew good and well was downstairs in the living room, right above the mantle next to one of the few pictures of the three of them—this one from the day she was born. It was a conscious choice of his not to tell her, viewing her growing frustration as punishment for her double standards. Instead, he said, "I don't know what you want me to do, Chrissie."

"I told you what I wanted you to do," she grumbled, refusing to look back at him as she continued her endless search.

"Well, I can't do that," he replied sternly, straightening his posture against the threshold he was using for support. "I can't pretend that I don't love him."

She maintained her composure too, replying, "Then why don't you stop pretending and go be with him?"