“We should
go out tonight,” Chelsea said when we were back in our hotel room. I made a face. “Seriously, Jenna? What are you going to do, just mope around
for the next 6 months?”
“I just got
divorced, Chelsea,” I snapped.
“Yeah,
and?” she replied.
“What do
you mean, ‘yeah, and?’” I asked incredulously.
“I just divorced the man I spent almost 10 years of my life with because
he couldn't stop fucking other women. Am I
supposed to just magically get over it?
Literally 8 weeks ago we were still hanging on to our marriage and now
it’s completely over. What the hell do
you expect from me?”
Chelsea
breathed an audible sigh of relief, causing me to narrow my eyes at her. “Finally,” she said. “It’s about time you stopped pretending that
you don’t have any feelings about this.”
“Did you
just intentionally push my buttons?” I asked, gaping at
her.
“Yes,” she
replied. “Now that you’ve acknowledged
how hurt you are, how are we going to get revenge?”
I blinked
at her. “Revenge?” I asked.
“Revenge,”
she confirmed.
“I don’t
think I want revenge,” I said cautiously.
“Of course
you do,” she replied, shaking her head.
“Listen, I’m not talking like let’s go egg his car or something, though
that would be amazingly satisfying. But
in a case like this, the best revenge is moving on. Walking away with your head high and showing
him that you need no part of his bullshit to be happy. That you’re happier without him.”
“I don’t
know if I am,” I admitted.
She threw
her arms around me and pulled me against her.
I slumped half against Chelsea and half against the back of the couch in
our room. “Of course you’re not,” she
said. “Not yet, anyway. But you will be, someday. You absolutely will be. Jenna, you have to get out of that
house. You don’t have to be happy about
it, but you do have to leave. You cannot
get over it and move on and get your sweet revenge if you stay there. Can I be really honest with you for a
second?”
“Are you
not already being really honest?” I grumbled.
Ignoring
me, she prattled on. “You’re so
negative. You are not a bitter, negative
person. Sarcastic and cynical, sure. But bitter and angry? No.
Absolutely not. All you’re doing
by staying in that house is sitting and stewing in the bullshit that is your
terrible ex-husband. It’s making you
miserable. I know you want to buy a
place, and I don’t think it hurts to look, but maybe consider something else
short term while you look?”
“I’m not
ready,” I admitted. “And I really hate
the idea of moving twice. I want to move
once and be done.”
“Moving is
the worst,” she agreed. “But maybe, just
maybe, think about setting a date. If
you haven’t found a place to buy by then, maybe start looking at rentals too.”
It was a
sensible plan. One that made sense and I
couldn’t find a single reason not to do it.
But committing to a date seemed so…final. “I’ll think about it,” I said, finally.
“Good. Think about it. That’s all I’m asking.” She was quiet for a minute, then said,
“Jen? Can I ask you something?”
“Yep,” I
replied, knowing she’d ask either way.
“Do you
still want to be with him?”
The
question hurt. Thinking about the answer
hurt more. “No,” I said honestly. “I still want to be with the person I thought
he was, but he’s not that person. So I
don’t want to be with him. I want my
life to go back to normal, and I want to be happy. I wish I wasn’t divorced. I wish I’d never married him. I hate everything about what’s happened, but
I don’t still want to be with him.”
Chelsea
hugged me tightly, and I sighed. I
hadn’t said any of those things out loud yet, and it was a relief to finally do
so. “Your life will go back to normal,”
she promised me. “You’ll be happy. It will suck for awhile, but it will get
better. I’ve never been divorced, but
I’ve been through some nasty breakups, and you always think it can’t possibly
get any worse or any better. Well, it will
probably get worse. Sorry, but it’s
true. You’ll have good days and bad days
and days where you only get out of bed so you don’t lose your job, even after
you’ve just had 4 good days in a row.
But then, slowly, the bad days will be not as awful, and the good days
will get better, and then there will be fewer bad days and more good days, and
then you’ll be happy again and you won’t even realize that it happened.”
Without any
warning, I started to cry. I’d been with
Kevin for so long that this was my first real breakup. My first real breakup…and it’s a divorce. When I do things, I do them big. Chelsea didn’t say anything, just kept her
arm firmly around me while I added some tears and snot and mascara to the shirt
she was wearing. When I was done, she
cheerfully asked what the plan for dinner was.
I appreciated the subject change and her ignoring the fact that I was
just sobbing all over her.
We decided
to head out to dinner. I washed my face
and reapplied my makeup, then changed into something a little bit nicer than
the jeans and hoodie I’d worn to the showings.
Chelsea chatted about random things the whole time, distracting me.
We’d only
been at the restaurant for about 15 minutes when I saw Chelsea’s eyes get
big. I started to turn but she said,
“Hey, wait, do you need another drink?”
I glared at her and turned, just in time to see Kevin with his arm
around a petite blonde.
“That’s not
even the same girl he brought home last weekend,” I muttered.
“Do you
want to go somewhere else?” Chelsea asked.
“No, fuck
him,” I said, probably a little too loudly given the public place we were
in. “He’s not going to ruin my
night.” I turned myself fully back to
face Chelsea and she smiled at me.
And I
didn’t let him ruin my night. After we
ate, Chelsea talked me into going to a bar for one drink. “Easing you back into the social scene,” she
said. I rolled my eyes, but followed her
a block over to one of the better bars in the area. She stuck to her word and we only stayed for
one drink, but I couldn’t help looking around and feeling out of place. I didn’t feel like I belonged in this scene
anymore. There were too many college
students around being obnoxious.
When we got
back to the hotel, we opened one of the bottles of wine. Halfway through it, Chelsea said, “Did you
notice how many hot guys were at that bar?”
“Not
really,” I said. All I noticed were
college students. They all looked so
young to me.
Chelsea
frowned, and then her face lit up.
“Jenna,” she said, her voice serious.
“Chelsea,”
I replied, scared to know what she was going to suggest next.
“You need
to make an online dating profile.”
I couldn’t
help it. I laughed. I completely lost it, sprawling sideways
across the bed. “Chels, I’ve been
divorced for 5 minutes,” I replied when I finally caught my breath. “I
still live with my ex-husband. I’m not
ready to date.”
“You don’t
have to use it to date,” she said, shaking her head.
“I don’t
think I’m ready to have sex with strangers either,” I informed her. Potentially having sex with Jamie was
daunting enough, and I knew him well.
And we’d done it before.
“That’s not
what I meant,” she told me. “Look, you
have no idea what’s even out there.
Let’s find out!” She had a look
on her face I knew well: there was no talking her out of this.
“Chels,” I
protested weakly, but she was already on her feet and fishing her laptop out of
her bag. Within minutes she had created
a profile for me on some stupid free dating site and was prowling my Facebook
pictures, looking for the perfect one. I
laid back on the bed and listened to her talking happily to herself as she
selected a picture, saved it, and uploaded it to my new online dating
profile. “This is ridiculous, you know
that, right?”
“Don’t
care, can’t hear you,” she replied in a sing-song voice. I groaned and got up to pour myself another
glass of wine. “Okay, we’re done! Come here and look at all your potential
future husbands!”
I groaned
again, loudly this time. I trudged back
over to the bed, filled up her wine glass, and sat down next to her. We spent the next 40 minutes inspecting
profiles. Well, she spent the next 40 minutes inspecting profiles. I, on the other hand, stared blankly at the
computer screen and nodded when she got excited about a profile. “You should send him a message,” she said,
pointing to one.
“No,” I
replied. “This is for ‘seeing what’s out
there’, remember? I don’t want to send
anyone messages.” She pouted, but I
refused to give in. With a grumble, she
moved to the next. By the time she
finally got bored, I was ready for bed.
Once the
lights were off and we were nestled in the king sized bed, I said, “Chels?”
“Yeah?” she
asked sleepily.
“Thanks,” I
said.
“For what?”
“For the
talk earlier. I needed that.” It might not have done much, but I was
thinking about it at least.
“You’re
welcome,” she replied, and in the dark I heard her head move on the
pillow. “Be kind to yourself. That’s all you can do right now.”
“Yeah,” I
agreed. I took a deep breath, then
rolled over and closed my eyes.