Chapter 32

I've got to get out of here. I felt the tears stinging the back of my eyes or maybe that was the smell of garbage. A house that looked like it hadn't been cleaned since he had moved in. That was three years ago, right? I did a quick calculation in my head, primarily as a distraction from the emotions coursing through my body.

Anger. Fear. Disgust. Sadness. Panic.

What am I getting myself into?

I stood, frozen at the back door, not wanting to step inside, accessing the situation.

"I know it looks bad," Gary's voice pulled at me. "It's mostly just toys. It's really not that bad."

He was working hard to convince me, but I had never seen anything like it —not in person anyway. It looked like an episode of Hoarders. I knew my fiance tended to collect things and I had expected a lot of random stuff. What I hadn't expected was a pile of garbage at least two feet deep, covering the entire floor of the den. I glanced towards the kitchen where he stood and the hallway leading into the rest of the house and noticed it was at least walkable. Somehow that didn't make me feel any better.

The kitchen had its own set of problems. Dirty dishes were piled in and around the sink. The counters were cluttered with food items, papers ... there wasn't an open spot to be seen. The refrigerator door was streaked with dirt and handprints. He lets his kids live here?

I was using all my energy to hold it together.

I can't marry this man. I thought as my gaze landed on Gary. Did he have any clue what this felt like to me? We had just driven three hours together and he hadn't once warned me what we were getting into. Or did he? I briefly reviewed the conversations we'd had around this weekend. I knew the place needed cleaned up and packed. He had told me it was "a mess". But this was so much more than a mess. This was a health hazard.

"Can we leave?" I asked still working hard to control the external expression of my internal impending breakdown.

"Okay," he replied. "Why don't we run into town and get some food before we get started?"

I don't think I can do this. I backed out of the doorway into the fresh fall air without saying a word, turned, and quickly made my way back to the truck as the tears began to flow.

We pulled out of the drive in silence. I stared out the window feeling hopeless and scared.

"Are you okay?" Gary finally asked.

I ignored him. What could I say? How do I even answer that question?

I wanted to tell him that I couldn't marry him. That this was not what I signed up for. Anyone that would think that house was a place to live and function — and with kids. The idea of it made me sick to my stomach. There is no way I could ever live in a place like that.

It's not like he's asking me to. We were there to move him out of that place and into mine. What if my place morphed into that? I knew that was irrational ... there was no way in hell I'd let that happen.

"How did that happen?" I finally asked him.

He sighed. "I don't know."

I looked at him then. He stared straight ahead as he drove. "I can't live like that." I declared.

"I don't expect you to." He replied softly.

"But you expect your kids to? Do they have a say in it?"

His two kids, Kayden and Kolton were only 6 and 4. I had noticed they had a tendency to not pay attention to basic things like where to throw trash ... that wasn't ok at my house and they had both quickly adjusted to finding a trash can instead of just dropping things when they were done with them. It had been an easy fix, but obviously, they had learned that from the way they were allowed to be at home.

I sighed and turned back towards the window.

"The last few months, we haven't been there much and things just piled up. It's not normally that bad." I could feel his defensiveness rising. "I told you it was a mess. I don't understand why you're being so dramatic about it."

Dramatic? Did he really just call me that? If I was being dramatic, I would be screaming at him. If I was being dramatic, I would have already told him to take me home. If I was being dramatic, I would tell him that I felt like my world was falling apart.

I didn't do any of those things. I sat quietly. What was the point? He wouldn't understand and I didn't have the energy or the desire to fight. I just needed to get through this. Suck it up. Go back to the house. Get the cleaning done. Get through the weekend. Then I could end things with him. No drama. Just done.

We ate dinner in silence. I felt my resolve settling in and there wasn't anything left to discuss anyway.

Gary was obviously feeling awkward in the quiet. I, however, had been trained by my dad in the art of sitting comfortably in the most uncomfortable silence. My tears had long stopped and I knew what I had to do. Just get through it.

"Are you ever going to speak to me again?" Gary finally asked.

"Of course," I responded as if I hadn't a care in the world. "I was just thinking, we probably won't get the whole place cleaned this weekend. Tonight, let's just tackle the den and work on getting all the trash out of there."

"It's not all trash," he interputed.

I stared at him. Are you kidding me right now?

"There are a lot of Hot Wheels and other toys mixed in. I don't just want to throw all that stuff away."

Just get through it.

"Fine. We'll separate out the toys and we'll try to get the den done tonight and then tomorrow, we'll reassess. I just don't know that I'll have the energy to do this all weekend. Maybe if we can get through that, the rest will feel easier." I did my best to sound normal.

He looked relieved. "Great!" He smiled.

"Let's just get through it." I ducked my head and took a bite of a french fry. This man doesn't know me at all. I smiled at him numbly.

We were up until three the next morning clearing stuff out of the den. Gary insisted that everything be sorted through meticulously and I complied, right up until I stumbled across a dead mouse at the bottom of the garbage pile.

"I can't do this anymore." I declared as he shoveled the mouse up into the trash bag with the torn-off cover of Green Eggs and Ham. I was exhausted — emotionally and physically.

"I'll keep working," he answered. "Why don't you take the truck to the hotel and I'll stay here? ... There's nothing wrong with my bed." He mumbled the last sentence under his breath. It was the same thing he'd said when I had insisted we stop and get a hotel room after dinner.

I was relieved. I wanted nothing more than to be away from that house and away from Gary. Just get through this.

But as I drifted off to sleep, I knew. I wouldn't end it tomorrow. I wouldn't end it at all. I would carry on. Hold on. In less than 60 days I would marry Gary and I would just get through it.