Back In the Game (17 page)

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Authors: Holly Chamberlin

BOOK: Back In the Game
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Chapter 38
Laura
Etiquette be damned. There's no need to wait a proper period of time after filing for divorce before you have sex with your soon-to-be ex-husband's gorgeous and powerful boss. Hubby's fragile ego is no longer your concern.
—Divorce in the 21st Century: It Ain't What It Used to Be
“L
ook, I have to tell you something, but it's a secret, okay?
You have to swear not to tell anyone until I say it's okay.” Nell frowned. “I don't like the sound of this.”
We were in Nell's kitchen. She was making a salad for our lunch. I was glad she'd put down the vegetable knife.
“Please, Nell,” I said, “this is really important and I really need to talk to someone about it!”
Nell sighed and crossed her arms over her chest. “All right, all right. I swear. What's your big secret?”
I felt all nervous, like I used to feel just before gym class, just like I feel when I have to go to the doctor, kind of sick to my stomach. And then I just blurted it out. “I'm seeing Matt. Matt Fromer, Jess's ex-husband.”
Nell dropped her hands to her sides. “You're what! Oh, Laura, come on, this is going too far!”
“Why?” I asked defensively. “Jess didn't want him. They're officially divorced. And Matt wants a family. He wants to get married again. He's perfect for me.”
Nell kind of laughed. “Okay, wait a minute; I need to process this.”
I waited. Nell stared into space, her eyes squinty. “Do you even like him?” she said finally, looking back to me. “You know, as an individual, as Matt? Or are you just interested in his stats?”
“Of course I like him,” I said. “Okay, he talks a lot about football, but so what? While he's watching the games, I'll be taking care of the baby.”
“I can't believe what I'm hearing!” Nell cried. “You're already assuming he's going to ask you to marry him?”
I really didn't see why she was so upset. Things between Matt and me were moving fast, but so what?
“I'm not assuming,” I said. “But I do think we have a good chance of making it work.”
Nell turned back to chopping vegetables and tearing lettuce. I hoped she had some bread or chips or something, too. The muffin I'd had for breakfast was long gone. I made a mental note to stop at the grocery store on the way home and buy another box of those donut holes I liked.
“Have you told Jess yet, about you and Matt?” Nell asked, her eyes on the cutting board.
“No,” I said. “I want to wait until I'm sure.”
“Until you're sure of what, exactly?” Nell looked up at me again, a strange smile on her face. “Until you're sure you love him?”
“No. Until I'm sure we're going to get married.”
Nell has gotten so dramatic. She slammed the knife down on the cutting board.
“You've put me in a very awkward position, Laura. Jess is my friend. She's had a really tough time these last few months. I don't like keeping your relationship with her ex-husband a secret.”
“You promised you wouldn't tell anyone!” I cried.
“And I'll keep that promise. But you have to promise me you'll talk to Jess soon. Within the week. Okay?”
“Okay,” I agreed. My stomach rumbled. “But it won't be easy.”
Nell laughed. “This is just occurring to you now? Of course it won't be easy. Jess isn't going to like this one bit.”
“She'll come around,” I said.
At least, I hoped she would.
Nell reached for a large bowl in the cabinet behind her. “I wouldn't count on having Jess over to dinner once a month. You know, once you and Matt are all settled into your life of domestic bliss.”
Domestic bliss. Those are two very nice words.
“Everything will be fine,” I said. “Do you have any chips?”
Chapter 39
Grace
If your divorce is particularly acrimonious, you might be tempted to burn your wedding video and album. Before you take a step that is truly irreversible—unlike your marriage—consider. Wouldn't it be more fun to replace your ex-husband's face with that of a baboon and send the improved photos to his bimbo girlfriend?
—Creative Solutions to Those Messy Post-Divorce Problems
I
t was almost eleven o'clock. I was in bed, reading, sipping a cup of tea. I was very comfortable.
Then, the doorbell rang.
I knew it was Simon.
I ignored it.
The doorbell rang again. And again.
There was no doubt in my mind at all.
I tossed aside my book and stomped to the front door.
“Who is it?” I demanded.
“It's me.”
So, Simon still thought he had the “it's me” privilege.
I unlocked and opened the door. Simon stood there grinning that infamous lazy grin.
“I was just in the neighborhood and . . .”
Right. And you thought you'd make a booty call to your ex-wife.
“And?”
“Hey, can I come in? It's hot in this hallway.”
Why had I opened the door if only to turn him away? I sighed and stepped back to let him pass. “Of course.”
“You have anything to drink?” he asked on his way to the kitchen.
“Sure,” I said, but he was already digging through the cabinet in which I kept what few bottles of liquor I had.
Simon reemerged with a bottle of scotch.
“Want one?”
I shook my head. “I'll have a bit of wine.”
Simon opened the fridge and retrieved an open bottle of white wine.
“How's the prep for the show coming along?” I asked.
“Not bad,” he said. “I've got a painting to finish but it's going okay.”
Simon handed me a glass of wine.
Are you sleeping well? Do you need any money? How do you feel? Are your sinuses bothering you again? Can I get you another pillow?
“Cheers,” he said. Simon downed his drink and poured himself another.
I took a sip of the wine, leaned against the counter, and observed my ex-husband. For all his bad habits and crazy schedule, Simon was aging well. His face was thin but virtually unlined. His hair was still dark brown and though his hairline had receded a bit in the past few years, the hair itself was still thick. No middle-aged belly, either, though that might be the result of his forgetting to eat regular meals. I was pretty certain Simon hadn't started an exercise program.
Simon grinned. “What are you looking at?” he asked.
“You. You look good, Simon. Life must be treating you well.”
“Can't complain.”
But you will, anyway.
Simon put down his half-finished glass and came to lean next to me against the counter. He looked into my eyes. “I miss you all the time, Gracie,” he said. “You know that, don't you?”
I nodded. What was I supposed to say? Did he really miss me? Did it still matter to me if he did?
I inched to the right, away from his scent. Simon had always smelled good. He didn't wear cologne; it was something about his skin.
“Do you miss me?” he asked, his voice almost a whisper.
Do I? Maybe. Sometimes. I don't know.
And then before I could protest or even register what was happening, Simon was leaning down and kissing me, very softly.
And then I was kissing him back.
Simon took my shoulders and drew me against him. Pressed close to the body of the man I had once adored, I kissed him more hungrily. I felt Simon take the tilted wineglass from my hand and then we reached that dangerous moment when it seems foolish, absurd not to go on, that moment when turning back seems impossible and then, in the next moment, is impossible.
And in that moment something started to turn.
My body continued to respond to Simon's, but my mind was engaged in a struggle to justify what I was letting happen. By kissing Simon, my mind said, you're just fulfilling a physical need. There is nothing at all emotional or nostalgic or desperate about what is happening.
My mind recoiled from its own lame excuses.
What was wrong with me? Wasn't I supposed to be the mature one in our relationship?
That word. What relationship? I had no relationship with Simon, not any longer. Our relationship was in the past, the relationship in which I was the caregiver and Simon the greedy, needy little boy.
Or, not a little boy at all, but a crafty, manipulative man.
Maybe, just maybe, I hadn't been as in charge as I thought I'd been.
There was a time, a long time, when I thought I was indispensable.
And now Simon was doing just fine without me.
With every ounce of will, I pushed against Simon's chest and yanked my mouth away from his. “I can't,” I cried raggedly. “I just can't do this. No, Simon, you have to go.”
Simon's eyes were dull with passion. I felt like a high-school tease.
“What?” he mumbled, reaching for me again. He was breathing heavily. “Come on, Gracie, don't be that way.”
I backed away and put the kitchen counter between us.
“You have a girlfriend,” I said. “This is cheating.”
Simon shook his head. He laughed. “Gracie. It's me. Simon. It's not cheating when it's you and me. We're classic, Gracie. We always come back to each other.”
No. No, no, no. It couldn't be that way anymore. It couldn't.
I hugged myself and turned half away. “Simon. Go. I can't. I won't, not anymore.” I said the words; I meant them, but I could no longer look Simon in the face. Not yet. I wasn't strong enough yet.
“I don't believe this,” he said. “This is crap.”
“Fine. It's crap. But that's the way it is.”
It was time. I turned back to him and saw a man I once had loved. But not anymore.
“I get it,” Simon cried suddenly, a smile spreading across his face. “You have a boyfriend and you feel all guilty. Jeez, Gracie, since when did you get all uptight?”
“No boyfriend. It's just me.”
No Simon. Just me. Go.
“Gracie—”
“Go.”
He was angry. He was confused. But he left.
Finally.
Chapter 40
Grace
The first anniversary of your divorce might bring a rash of unexpected feelings and behaviors, such as murderous rage, extreme nostalgia, or manic laughter. Go with the flow. Experience the pain. Pass through the hysteria. Only then will you learn not to care.
—The First Step Is the Hardest: Recovery 101
“O
ur waiter likes you, Grace.”
I watched him walk away with our order. “He does?”
“Can't you tell when a guy flirts with you?” Laura asked.
“I can tell,” I said. “Most times.”
Except that at that moment I was thinking of Evan and there was no room in my thoughts for another man. Surprisingly, not even for Simon. Our last, messy encounter had further severed the bond that had kept me in a chokehold for so long.
“Grace is better off being oblivious,” Jess said. “I think our waiter looks kind of smarmy.”
Nell shrugged. “A little flirting never hurt anyone.”
“I suppose,” I said. “But he doesn't do anything for me.”
“Speaking of men who do—or don't—do anything for us,” Jess said, “I ran into Seth Morgenstein at a work function.”
“How did it go?” Nell asked. “Were you comfortable? Was he pleasant?”
“We both were very comfortable and pleasant to each other. In fact, we skipped out of the party and sat in a Starbucks for almost three hours, just talking.”
“Did he make a pass?” I asked Jess. I could ask this of my friend but I wasn't about to tell her, I wasn't about to tell anyone, about my close call with Simon.
“No. And I'm glad. That would have ruined everything.”
Oh, yes, I thought. Sex certainly can ruin everything.
“Anyway,” Jess went on, “it got me thinking about how really miserable I was in my marriage when I first met Seth. It made me remember how I craved some real contact. I needed a level of intimacy that just wasn't there with Matt.”
Yes. I knew all about real contact, and about not finding it. Maybe all of us did, Jess, Nell, and Laura, too.
“You can feel far lonelier when you're with someone,” I said, “than when you're by yourself.”
“Absolutely,” Jess agreed. “Anyway, since the other night, since talking with Seth, I think I'm beginning to forgive myself for having the affair. It was wrong, I know, but I was acting out of despair, not coldheartedness. Suddenly I found myself married to someone I realized I didn't even love. I think it made me a little crazy, like how a trapped animal circles his cage madly, desperately clawing at the bars even though he knows nothing will be gained by it.”
“A caged animal probably doesn't know his behavior is futile,” Nell pointed out. “But I understand your meaning.”
“Right. I should have gone to a therapist. I should have talked to Matt about how I was feeling. Those would have been reasonable ways to handle the situation.”
“You and Matt still might have gotten divorced,” I said.
“Of course. But there wouldn't have been the betrayal.”
I also knew all about betrayal, and about tolerating it. I wondered what Evan knew about the subject. A person could hardly reach maturity and know nothing about betrayal.
“Jess,” I said, “I'm so glad you're making progress.”
Nell nodded. “We all are. It's about time. You were getting a little boring with all the agonizing.”
“I know! I could hardly stand myself most days.”
Laura had said nothing since Jess started to talk. I looked closely at her now. She was staring at her awful pink drink, too quiet, almost as if she was guarding a secret and afraid if she opened her mouth it would come spilling out.
“You know, Grace,” Nell said, “there's something I've never asked you. I hope you don't think I'm being nosy, but have you ever wanted children?”
Laura choked on her drink and reached for her balled-up napkin.
“You really shouldn't drink those sugary concoctions,” Nell said with what was probably false concern. Sometimes I wondered if Nell liked her sister at all.
“No,” I said, “you're not being nosy. I've dragged you all through every other aspect of my private life, why not this? Frankly, children never seemed a real option when I was with Simon. Simon is enough of a baby for any woman, and he's six foot one, which makes him a very large baby.”
Jess laughed. “A very large baby with a very large appetite for self-indulgence and other people's money.”
“Right. I knew Simon would make a terrible father. Oh, he'd love a child to the best of his ability, which means the child would be like an afterthought. It wouldn't have been fair to any of us.”
“Especially not to you,” Nell said, “since it's likely you'd have wound up a single parent.”
“With no financial help. Ugh. The court can order a deadbeat dad to pay child support, but if the money isn't there, it isn't there.”
“So, after Simon, after the divorce, have you ever considered having a baby?” Nell asked.
Laura spilled her water.
I shook my head. “Oh, no, not now. It's way too late for me, maybe not biologically but emotionally. I'm not who I was at twenty-four or twenty-five when I really did want to get pregnant but at the same time realized it would be a big mistake. No, I'm fine teaching kids. That's enough virtual parenting for me!”
“It's great that you've come to terms with it all,” Nell said. “Unfinished emotional business can be killing. And we all know about unfinished emotional business.”
Laura dropped her fork.
“Yes, we do,” I said. “What about you, Jess? I've known you all these years and I've never heard you talk about having a family.”
“That's because there's really nothing to talk about,” she said. “I never wanted children. I mean, maybe when I was little and playing with dolls, but once I started to grow up, I had no interest. I don't dislike children. I've just always known they're not for me.”
“What about Matt, then?” Nell asked, her head cocked. “He mustn't have wanted kids, either.”
Laura shot her sister a panicked look. Something was going on with Laura, all right.
“Oh, he was okay with not having a family. We talked about it early on, when we'd been dating only a few weeks. I think Matt would have made a fine father, though.”
“Oh, he would have!” Laura blurted.
It was right then that I knew. Laura was dating Matt. Nell knew, too, but Jess didn't. And it wasn't my business to tell Jess what my instincts had just told me.
Jess eyed Laura curiously. “I didn't know you had such strong opinions about my ex-husband.”
Laura turned very red. “I don't. I just—He seemed nice is all.”
“He was nice,” Jess agreed. “And he was boring. At least I found him to be boring. I'm sure lots of women would find him exciting.”
“Oh, yes.” Nell grinned. “Lots of women.”
Laura dropped her fork again. I picked it up and handed it back to her.
“Matt does have that all-grown-up-boy-next-door appeal,” Jess agreed. “I'm sure he's got his pick of beautiful women to date. Like the one I saw him with at Downtown Crossing. She was model pretty, tall and slim, great hair. She looked perfect with him.”
Poor Laura. She looked absolutely miserable being taunted knowingly by her sister and unknowingly by Jess.
“Hey,” I said, “sorry to change the topic, but I was wondering if anyone has seen that new Jim Jarmusch film that opened last week.”
“Netflix has spoiled me for watching movies,” Nell said. “I prefer to stay home and pop my own popcorn.”
“You don't like popcorn,” Laura said.
“It's just an expression.”
“Well, I'd like to see it, if anyone wants to come along. You know, I haven't been to a movie in years. It's pathetic.”
“I'll go,” Jess said. “As long as we don't sit too close to the screen.”
“Of course not. We'll sit right in the middle.”
“Do people still make out in movie theaters?” Nell wondered.
“I don't know,” Jess said. “I avoid looking too closely at what's going on in the back rows.”
I thought back to my own teen years and the awkwardness and fear that had attended them.
“Kids are so open about sex these days,” I said. “Our entire culture is dripping with sex. Do young people still have to sneak around?”
“Sneaking around is part of the fun,” Jess pointed out. “It's arousing; it makes people feel they're involved with something illicit even if they're not.”
Nell shot a look at her sister. “Don't you agree, Laura? That sneaking around is part of the fun?”
Laura glared back at Nell. “I wouldn't know.”
Really, I thought. Nell was out of line torturing Laura like this.
“Some people still like privacy,” I said. “Not everyone wants to be an exhibitionist. A back row, a darkened theater, it's a perfect place for some snuggling.”
“Or more.”
Nell looked to Jess. “Have you ever done more than kiss at a movie?”
Jess laughed. “You'll think I'm wanton, but then again you probably already think it. Yes, I once gave a guy a blow job. Not just some random guy, my boyfriend at the time.”
I'd done an awful lot for Simon, but I'd never engaged in an act of public sex. He'd asked, repeatedly, but on that one point I'd stood firm.
“I'd never have the nerve to do something like that,” I said. “What if I got arrested for lewd behavior or an even worse charge? How would I explain that to the principal of my school? I guarantee I'd never be allowed to teach again. My career would be over.”
“Never say never. Hormones are very powerful.” Again Nell shot a look at Laura. “They all too easily conquer reason.”
“Not at our age,” Laura replied quickly. “At our age we look before we leap. At least, I do.”
Nell sighed dramatically. “Well, then, my dear, you are made of superior stuff. The rest of us are mere mortals, frail and capable of any sort of debauchery.”
“Please, Nell, no more!” Jess put the back of her hand to her forehead, a silent-screen heroine. “I don't need reminding that I'm weak and susceptible.”
Suddenly Laura stood, almost knocking over her chair in the process.
“I've got to go,” she said.
“Feeling bloated again?”
I shot Nell a reproachful look. She caught it and shrugged.
Laura opened her mouth, then closed it again. Poor girl.
“I'll walk with you,” I said. “Let's just pay the check.”
 
“You don't have to walk me all the way to the T.”
I glanced over at Laura. Her shoulders were hunched and her head was down.
“That's okay,” I said. “I need the exercise.”
“I'm really fine.”
I laughed. “I know you are. I'm not saying you need an escort.”
“Sorry.” Laura looked up from the ground and to me. “It's just that Nell makes me so mad sometimes. I mean, why does she—”
Laura pressed her lips together and shook her head.
“Why does she what?” I pressed. “Why does she tease you in front of your friends?”
“Yes!” The word burst from Laura's lips. “But it's worse than teasing; it's like she really wants to embarrass me. Sometimes I think she hates me.”
“She doesn't hate you,” I said, but I wondered. Why did Nell feel she had the right to torture her sister the way she did? She might not hate Laura, but she certainly showed little respect for her. And if I was right, if Laura was indeed dating Jess's ex-husband and Nell was in on the secret, she was being cruel out of all proportion.
We walked on, the T station now in sight.
“Laura,” I said, careful to keep my voice even and my tone not in the least bit accusatory. “Are you seeing Matt Fromer?”
Laura stumbled. I reached out for her arm. She shook away from my touch.
“What?” she cried. “Of course not! What gave you that idea? I mean, God, I mean, of course not!”
Her protestations confirmed my hunch.
“It's okay if you are,” I said, though I wasn't quite sure it was okay or that I was okay with it.
“But I'm not.”
We walked on in silence until we reached the stairs to the T station. Laura didn't quite meet my eye when she said, “Okay, I guess I'll see you soon.”
I don't know why I couldn't let it go. Maybe because I thought that by telling me about her relationship with Matt, Laura might find some relief. The secret was burdensome: that was abundantly clear.
“Laura,” I said, “look at me.”
She did. Her eyes looked scared.
“At dinner tonight, well, I got the feeling that you are dating Matt. And that Nell knows and is giving you a hard time about it. Am I right?”
Laura opened her mouth and I felt sure it was to once again deny the fact of a relationship. But then she surprised me.
“Yes, it's true,” she said, “I am seeing Matt and Nell thinks it's horrible and that Jess is going to be furious and that I should have told her right away and—”
I put my hand on her arm and this time Laura didn't shrug away. “Laura,” I said, “slow down.” Under my hand I could feel some of the tension leave her body.
“What do you think, Grace?” she asked. “Do you hate me?”
I shook my head at the pitiful nature of that question. “No, Laura, of course I don't hate you. But I do think you should tell Jess as soon as possible. Keeping the fact that you're seeing Matt a secret clearly isn't doing you any good.” And, I thought, it's giving Nell the upper hand over you.

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