Chapter 1 (2/29/16)

Here we go!  If you came here from New Beginning, New Adventures, you'll have already read the first part of this post.  Keep reading, there's more that I didn't share as part of the sneak peek.  For now, I'll be posting on or around Tuesdays, and you can expect me to keep you posted if that changes.  I hope you guys like the first chapter of my new story!
__________________________________

            “I’m getting a divorce,” I said matter-of-factly into the phone.

            “Jenna, what are you talking about?”  Chelsea sounded confused.  And she should be.  She had no idea that I was unhappy in my marriage, much less that I had been considering getting divorced from my husband of just less than five years. 

            “Actually,” I corrected myself, “I am divorced.”  The divorce was finalized yesterday, four weeks exactly after the day we stood in line to sign our do-it-yourself divorce agreement in front of the court administrator.

            “I don’t understand,” Chelsea muttered, sounding dumbfounded.  “You guys were just here two months ago.  You were fine then.”

            “No, we weren’t fine then,” I admitted.  “We haven’t been fine for almost two years.”

            “Why didn’t you tell me?” she demanded.  She had progressed from confused to angry, and I can’t say I blamed her.

            “Because I didn’t tell anyone,” I lied.  That wasn’t true.  I had told two people.  But Chelsea, my best friend since Kindergarten, didn’t need to know that.  All it would do was hurt her feelings.  The truth was that Chelsea hadn’t picked up on my subtle hints that things weren’t perfectly pleasant in my world.  She was too busy being head over heels in love with her shiny new husband, and it never seemed like the right time to tell her. And really, is there any such thing as the "right time" to tell someone you think you might want to divorce your husband?

            “But what happened?”  She was back to confused, and I debated what to tell her. 

            “I’m not sure.”  Another lie.  “We just…I guess we just don’t love each other anymore.”  Not a lie.  Not the whole truth either.

            “But did he cheat on you?  Did he hit you?  There has to be a reason!”  The pendulum swung back towards anger, this time tinged with incredulousness.  

            “No.” Blatant lie.  “And no.”  Truth. 

            “So you just don’t love each other anymore?  And that’s it?  That’s not a very good reason to get a divorce,” Chelsea admonished. 

I rolled my eyes, even though she couldn’t see me.  “Who gave you the authority to decide what good reasons to get a divorce are?” I snapped.  I was quickly losing my patience. 

“Jenna, I’m sorry,” she said contritely.  “I’m just trying to understand.  From my perspective, this is all very sudden and doesn’t make a lot of sense.”

“I know,” I replied.  I didn’t say anything else, and we were both silent for long enough that it started to get uncomfortable.

“Are you okay?” she asked finally—the first bit of sympathy she’d shown since I’d dropped the bomb on her.

“I am,” I said.  “I really am.  I’m…well, it’s better this way.”  And, on some level, I was okay.  I didn’t want to be pitied.  I didn’t want to be coddled.  I wanted to put this part of my life behind me and move on to something (hopefully) better. 

“What can I do?”

“Nothing!” I chirped brightly.  The brightness, just like half of my statements in this conversation, was a bald-faced lie.  “Maybe we can get together sometime soon, though?”

“Definitely,” she agreed.  “Maybe after the holidays?”  She reminded me that Christmas was in three weeks.  Merry Christmas to me!  How do you wrap a divorce?  

“Sure,” I replied.  “We’ll plan something soon.”  With that, we finished up our bizarre conversation and hung up.  The conversation would have gone much differently if I had told her the truth about my divorce.  About how I’d caught him cheating—again—two Februaries ago.  About how we’d gone to counseling, where he’d acted ashamed and contrite and apologetic.  About how the writing was on the wall, but I couldn’t seem to read it.  About how I had spent the last two years married to a man I didn’t trust who continued to cheat on me up until the day I had finally reached my bullshit limit.

“Hello?” I called, coming through the door.  I was home early, and I had good news.  I hoped that we could go out to dinner before Kevin’s shift in the ER tonight.  His SUV was in the garage, but I didn’t see or hear him.  I walked up the stairs.  “Hello?  Kev?”  No answer.  I walked into our bedroom, and I could see the bathroom light was on and hear the shower running. 

We hadn’t had sex in awhile.  Not since we’d come back from Hawaii, actually, over a month ago.  My good news had me feeling up to it, so I pulled off my shirt, shimmied out of my pants, and dropped my bra and underwear on the floor before going into the bathroom.

I pulled the shower curtain back and Kevin looked at me in surprise.  He quickly fixed his face into a smile when he saw me.  “Hi,” I said, grinning and stepping into the shower. 

“Hi, yourself,” he replied, reaching for me and sliding his arms around me as I pressed my body against his, his taut muscles hard against my skin.  I kissed him and felt him harden against my hip.  I wished briefly that it was as easy for me to get turned on, because after the last two years we’d had, I often had to force myself into the mood.

I shivered and Kevin turned us around so I was in the warm spray of the shower.  “To what do I owe the pleasure of you joining me?” he asked, pulling his mouth from mine.  He didn’t wait for me to answer, just moved his lips to my neck.  When his teeth scraped my collarbone, I shivered again, this time with pleasure. “I have good news,” I managed, sighing as his tongue traced my earlobe. 

“Oh?” he asked.  He tugged lightly at my earlobe with his teeth as his thumb found my breast and brushed across my nipple. 

“Mmm, yes,” I groaned, not sure if I was responding to his question or the heat that was starting to course through my body from his fingers toying with my breast. 

We were in the shower until the water turned cold, then we moved to the bed, where I promptly soaked the pillow with my dripping hair.   By the time we were finished, I had forgotten about telling him my good news.  This was easily the best sex we’d had in a long time, and it made me hopeful that things were finally getting back to normal.

“Hungry?” I asked a little while later, rolling over and stretching.

“Sure, where do you want to go?”  I considered this while I stood up.  I pulled on a pair of jeans that were lying in a heap on the floor nearby, and then put my sweater back on.  I grabbed my dress pants from work, and on my way to the hamper, I grabbed Kevin’s pants that were on the floor.  When I tossed them to him, a crumpled condom wrapper fell out, landing on the foot of the bed. 

We both just stared at it for a second.  When I raised my eyes to his, I saw the fear flash across his face.  I remained silent and motionless, waiting for him to find an explanation.  “Jenna,” he started, sitting up and pulling the sheet across his lap.  “Listen to me.  That is not mine.”

“Well, it certainly isn’t mine, if that’s what you’re implying,” I replied.  I felt oddly calm. 

“Of course not,” he said quickly.  He stood and grabbed for his jeans, pulling them on clumsily.  I tried not to stare at his chest, my favorite part of him.  “Honey, I don’t know where it came from.  Probably from Steve, because that motherfucker thinks doing things like planting condom wrappers in people’s pants pockets and getting them in trouble is funny.”

I snorted and shook my head.  “If you tell me the truth, we’ll figure something out,” I said.  I tried to keep the pleading note out of my voice.  The calm I’d been surprised to feel just seconds ago was disappearing and panic was flooding my senses.

“That is the truth, Jenna,” he insisted.

“No,” I said.  “It’s not.”

“You know,” he snarled angrily, “You’re going to have start trusting me sometime if you want to make this work.”

Now I laughed.  In that moment, the calm returned, pushing away the panic before it could take up residence in my body.  “You don’t get to decide when I have to start trusting you.  You’ve done nothing to earn my trust.  But here’s your chance.  Be honest and we can move forward.  Or keep lying, and I’m done.”

“I’m not lying,” he said.  “I don’t know where it came from.”

“Okay, then I’m done.”  I sighed and walked out of the room. 

On my way out, he called to me desperately, “Wait, you didn’t even tell me your good news!”

I snorted and responded, “I got a raise, and it looks like I’m going to need it!”