Chapter 4 (3/8/16)

Per a request on the last post, I updated the Blogs I Love page with inactive blogs that I love as well!  Thanks for the feedback!
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          Kelly texted me her realtor brother-in-law’s email address the next morning, as promised.  I wrote it down, but I didn’t email him.  I felt almost hungover from crying myself to sleep the night before.  I had--of course--dreamed about Kevin last night.  A vivid, realistic dream of one of the events leading up to the end.  The dreams always played out just how the real life events had.  It was something that happened once or twice a week since I found the condom wrapper that had ended our marriage.

A February blizzard.  Not unusual here in northern Minnesota.  We’d gotten over 20 inches of snow in a little over 24 hours.  It was warm enough that the snow was wet, heavy.  It was taking down power lines, and we’d been without power for about an hour at this point. 

Kevin was outside snowblowing.  It was his job.  I did the laundry, he did the lawn and the snow.  It worked out well.  I’d offered to help this time because there was so much snow, but he’d said no thanks.  Instead, I was cleaning before it got too dark to see. 

I was moving Kevin’s phone off the kitchen counter to wipe it off when it startled me by vibrating in my hand.  The text preview popped up.  I immediately noticed that he had his settings so that it only showed he had a text, not who it was from or a preview of the text.  That was odd, because I was pretty sure he used to have the preview up.  I couldn’t help the suspicious, sinking feeling I got. 

Kevin had cheated on me once.  Once that I knew of, anyway.  A long time ago.  We had been dating for less than a year, and he’d confessed.  He said it was stupid and he regretted it and he was sorry.  He’d cried.  I’d felt bad.  Me.  I felt bad, because he was upset that he cheated on me.  I forgave him and we rebuilt our trust.  I thought it was over.

I don’t know what pushed me to try to unlock his phone.  I tried the code that I knew he used for everything, and it didn’t work.  The pit in my stomach grew.  I tried a couple other things, until I finally got it with the combination 10910.  Our wedding anniversary.  I went to his texts, and the top conversation was with someone whose name read “Nurse Betty”.   Seriously?

I opened the thread.  The message he’d just received said, “Can’t wait to see you again.  Let me know when you can get away.”  Nurse Betty had ended it with three kissy face emojis.  What was she, 12?

As I scrolled through the text thread, I felt like I was going to throw up.  It was perfectly clear from the content of the conversation that they were seeing each other regularly.  There were allusions to sex.  I hit the back button, exiting the thread before I saw something that sent me over the edge.  I scrolled through his other messages, finding a couple vaguely flirty texts to other women I didn’t know, but nothing as blatant as his conversation with Nurse Betty.  In that moment, I was livid that he used our wedding anniversary as a passcode to protect his adulterous conversation.

I heard the snowblower stop.  I set his phone down and stood on shaky legs, walking to the door to the garage.  I pushed it open and saw him refilling the snowblower’s gas tank.  “Can you come in here for a second?” I asked. 

“I’m not done yet, honey,” he told me.  “Can it wait?”

“No,” I said back.  “It can’t.”  I shut the door, not giving him a chance to argue.

About 90 seconds later, he was inside, pulling off his hat and gloves and leaving his snow covered boots by the door.  He gave me a slightly confused, slightly irritated look.  “What do you need?”

“I need you to tell me who ‘Nurse Betty’ is,” I said bluntly.

He froze.  The guilt was all over his face for a half second before he forced his features to a neutral expression.  I could tell he was desperately trying to figure out how to get himself out of this one.  “Don’t lie to me, I read your texts,” I informed him.  “I have some questions, and I want honest answers.”

He walked over the table and sat down, waiting.  “Are you cheating on me?” I asked.  He only hesitated a second, and then he nodded.  “How many are there?”

“Just the one.  The one you saw.  Her name…well, it’s Elizabeth. I work with her.”

“How long?”

This time he hesitated much longer.  Finally, he said, “Since September.”

I almost choked.  “September,” I repeated.  “So, while we were on our trip to Colorado together, you were what?  Texting her from the bathroom?  Telling her you couldn’t wait to get back to fuck her again?”

He didn’t respond to that.  He didn’t need to.  Instead, he started to cry.  I watched him with disgust.  This time I wasn't going to feel bad.  “Go finish snowblowing,” I said.  “Or something.  I can’t even look at you right now.  We can figure this out later.”

He didn’t say anything.  Didn’t apologize, didn’t beg for forgiveness, didn’t tell me she meant nothing.  He just stood, sniffled, and walked back towards the garage door. 

The apologies came later.  He cried some more as he apologized over and over.  “You want to save this marriage? We’re going to counseling,” I told him.  My words sounded cold, but I was crying too.  “You’re going to therapy.  And you’re going to figure it all out without me harassing you about it.  Because you fucked up this up, so you’re going to fix it.  And if you don’t want to fix it, then tell me now so I can get the hell out of here.”

He’d assured me that he wanted to fix it.  Told me over and over how much he loved me.  That she meant nothing.  All the things I’d wanted to hear before.

I woke up when he was begging for forgiveness.  My cheeks were wet.  Can you cry in your sleep?  I mean, I just did, so I guess that answers that stupid question.  We’d gone to counseling.  He’d gone to therapy twice, then plead out based on his work schedule and paying for couples counseling.  We’d gone to our counselor 6 times before collectively deciding we didn’t like him.  We never found a new one.

I also never quite regained my trust in him.  I snooped regularly.  He kept his passcode the same.  I never found evidence of wrongdoing.  But I couldn’t shake the feeling that he hadn’t actually stopped, he’d just gotten smarter about it.  I had no proof, and any accusations or questions were met with such skillful manipulation that I ended up feeling like I was the bad guy.

I was deep into feeling sorry for myself when my phone lit up with a new text, distracting me.  I was surprised to see it was from my friend Jamie.  I hadn’t talked to Jamie in years.  We’d been good friends (maybe even with a few benefits thrown in) a long time ago, prior to my Kevin days.   He moved to Seattle about a year after I started dating Kevin, and our friendship was limited to the occasional Facebook message or text after that.  We’d seen each other once when he was back for Christmas and it had worked with my schedule (since I was usually heading down to Rochester for Christmas) but that was it.

I opened the text.  “Heard through the grapevine, I’m sorry,” it said.

“What grapevine?” I asked back.  “Hardly anyone even knows.”

He didn’t respond for several minutes, then said, “Well, you may not be telling many people, but it seems that your ex has less propriety than you.”

I sighed.  “Tell me something I don’t know.”

“Same shit, different day?”

In a moment of weakness, I had confessed everything that was happening to Jamie two years ago—when I’d originally caught Kevin cheating.  I generally tried to keep other people out of our business, but I was drunk and he had texted, and the rest was history.  “More like same shit, every day,” I replied. 

“Damn.  That’s not what he’s telling people.”

“Don’t tell me.  I don’t want to know.”  I had assumed he wouldn’t be telling people the truth.  Why would he?  The truth looks pretty bad on him.  I wasn’t ready to hear what lies he’d concocted to save face, though. 

Jamie spared me the details and we texted back and forth for awhile.  It had been ages since we’d caught up, and eventually he revealed that he’d recently broken up with his long-term girlfriend as well.  When I found that out, I texted, “Going to be around for Christmas?  We should get together and catch up if you’re around before I take off.”

Cutting right to the chase, he replied, “By ‘catch up’, do you mean hook up?  Because I’d be down for that.”

I rolled my eyes and laughed as I responded.  “Not what I meant, but I’m not saying no either.”  Was it what I meant?  Maybe.
          We chatted for about 15 more minutes, managing to find a day of his trip that overlapped when I would still be here prior to heading home for the holiday.  I was excited to catch up with him (and probably hook up with him), but also a little anxious.  If we hooked up, he would be the first guy besides my ex-husband to see me naked in 9 years.  I wasn’t sure if I was ready for that, but I guessed I’d find out.  And anyway, I had over two weeks to prepare myself.

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Chapter 3 (3/6/16)

I'm posting early because I have two posts ready to go for this week!  Come back around Wednesday for the next chapter!
          Also, please direct your attention to the left side of the page.  You can click the "New here?" link to take you to the first post at any time.  Right under that, you'll find something I just added: "Blogs I Love."  Unfortunately, the format of this theme doesn't allow for a blogroll like New Beginning, New Adventures had, but if you click that link it will take you to a page where I have links to the blogs I love and read regularly.  Right now it's limited to blogs that I personally read and love and have posted at least once in the last month.  If you guys want links to blogs that are inactive but still had good stories, let me know and I can add those.  Under that, you've got options to follow this blog via email or Bloglovin'.  As I have a tendency to post early or late or give random bonuses, those are going to be the best ways to know right away when I've put up a new post!
          I'm glad you guys are enjoying the story so far.  There's a lot more crazy to come!
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          Luckily, I got an almost immediate response from Erica: “Dinner, then drinks at my house? John is out playing poker tonight.” 

“Yes!” I sent back. 

A few minutes later, my phone buzzed again.  “I’m in.”

We picked a restaurant and settled on a time.  I trekked back into my bathroom to dry my hair now that I was going out.  I did my hair and makeup and picked out an outfit, then settled back in front of my computer to wait until Kelly arrived to pick me up.

When she texted me that she was out front, I shut my laptop and jogged up the stairs.  I almost ran right into Kevin, and he leaned against the wall in the hallway and watched me pull on my knee-high boots.  “Where are you going?” he asked curiously.

I snorted and didn’t respond.  When he repeated the question, I said, “Sorry, you’ve lost your right to that information.  Have fun with your whore!” and disappeared out the door. 

I breathed out a sigh of relief when I climbed into Kelly’s passenger seat.  “Is he really having a girl over to your house?!” she shrieked in disbelief as she pulled away from the curb.

“He really is,” I responded.

“I might kill him,” she warned me.  “We’ve got to get you out of there.  Why don’t you come stay with me until you find something else?”

I frowned.  “Thank you, but I just couldn’t,” I replied.  “It would be weird.”

“Weirder than living with your ex-husband?  Your ex-husband who thinks it’s okay to bring other women home to your shared house to fuck?  Come on, Jen, it doesn’t get much weirder than that.”

 She had a fair point, and as satisfying as it was to take potshots at him like a child, I knew my life would be better when I had my own space and didn’t have to see him (and the evidence of the way he’d torn my life apart) every day.  “I know, and I appreciate your offer, but I need to do this right.  When I move out, it’s going to be into my own place.  Maybe I should find a realtor.”

By this point, we’d arrived at Erica’s house and our conversation paused as we both got out and slammed the car doors shut behind us.  Once we were inside the warmth of Erica’s house, Kelly said, “My brother-in-law is a realtor.  He’s good too.  I’ll give you his email later.”

“Does this mean you’re finally really trying to get out of that house?” Erica asked, looking back and forth between us. 

“Yes,” I replied, nodding. 

“Thank god!” Erica exclaimed.  “I don’t know how much more of his bullshit I can manage.”

“That makes two of us,” I said, rolling my eyes.  “Can we go?  I’m starving.”

We made our way to the restaurant, which of course had a 40-50 minute wait.  There were a couple random open stools at the bar, and with a little eyelash batting and finagling, we managed to get three open stools together to sit and enjoy a drink while we waited for a table.  One drink turned into two, and then three.  I had just gotten a fourth drink when we were alerted that our table was ready.

We stood, and I immediately stumbled over my own feet and bumped into Kelly.  “Maybe you should cool it, Jenna,” she said, steadying me.  “We haven’t even been here an hour yet.” 

I grumbled in response and followed them to our table.  We ordered appetizers right away and I drank a glass of water before I finished my drink.  Once I slowed down and got some food in me, I settled into a nice buzz. 

When we finished our dinner, we went back to Erica’s house.  She opened a bottle of wine for her and I and brought out a beer for Kelly.  We flipped through the channels until we found a terrible Hallmark channel Christmas movie to watch while we chatted and drank.

When Erica’s husband, John, got home at 11 with a sour look on his face, Kelly and I quickly decided it was time for our departure.  I was glad Kelly was driving me home, because I certainly wasn’t in any state to drive myself. 

Kelly dropped me off at home and I didn’t see any unfamiliar cars parked around our cul-de-sac.  I breathed a sigh of relief, assuming that meant that Kevin’s “friend” wasn’t here anymore. 

I was certainly surprised when I walked into the house and discovered Kevin and a tall, thin brunette half-undressed on the living room couch.

“Shit!” Kevin exclaimed, grabbing for the nearby throw blanket to toss over the girl on the couch.

“I’m going downstairs,” I replied quickly, already on my way down the hallway to the stairs to the basement. “I suggest you go upstairs!”  I heard him mutter something, then heard the higher pitched tone of the brunette’s voice answering.  Then I heard footsteps across the living room towards the stairs going up to the second floor.

Once safely downstairs, I started getting ready for bed.  I put on my pajamas, washed my face, brushed my teeth, and got into bed with a book.  I was there for about 20 minutes before I decided it was far too cold in this room for my liking.  I knew there was a space heater stored in the closet in one of the extra bedrooms upstairs, but I wasn’t sure if it was safe to go up and get it. 

I decided not to risk it and stayed in bed until I heard people clomping around.  Then I heard the door to the garage open, and then the garage door.  I waited until the garage door shut, then got out of bed and made my way upstairs.  At the top of the stairs, I ran right into Kevin. 

“Shit!” I yelped, startled.

“Goddamn it, Jenna,” he replied.  “Sorry.”

I shrugged and continued through the hallway and to the second set of stairs.  Kevin trailed me up the stairs and into the spare bedroom.  He leaned against the doorway and watched me dig through the closet.  “What are you looking for?”

“The space heater,” I said.  “It’s freezing downstairs.”

“Oh, it’s in my bathroom.”  I turned and gave him a “what the hell?” look.  He shrugged and said, “Alyssa said it was too cold in there.”

“Oh, poor Alyssa,” I muttered.  “Okay, thanks.”  I started to walk back downstairs.

“Wait, Jenna.  You can have it, just let me grab it.”

“I don’t really want it anymore,” I said back.  “I’m just going to go to bed.”  He reached for my arm as I pushed past him and I snatched it back.  “Don’t touch me,” I snapped.  “You don’t get to touch me anymore.”

He held both hands up in surrender.  “Look, I’m sorry you had to see that.  I don’t really know what to say, but I am sorry.”

“It’s fine,” I snarled.  “Seriously, Kevin, walk away.”  His lips formed a hard line, and he stepped out of my path so I could walk downstairs. 
          I stomped back down the two flights of stairs and fled into my room.  I slammed the door shut behind me and curled up in bed.  As if it wasn’t bad enough that his stupid whores had ended our marriage, I now got to see him mid-hookup on the couch when I came home from a night out.  Despite my best efforts, I started to cry.  I had to get out of here.

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Chapter 2 (3/3/16)

My phone call to my parents was full of more lies.  For starters, I didn’t admit to them that my divorce was already final.  It would have broken my mom’s heart to know how long I delayed telling them.  Frankly, I wasn’t interested in anyone’s pity, and I knew my parents would be full of it.  I’m not entirely sure where my mom’s pity came from.  She had not just one, but two starter husbands before she married my dad.  Divorced twice before age 30.  At least I wouldn’t carry that honor.  I was too close to 30 to manage another relationship, marriage, and divorce before that big day. 

The conversation went about as well as I expected.  My mom cried.  My dad demanded to know what Kevin had done.  I fed them the same bullshit I had told Chelsea.  I don’t think either of them believed me, but they didn’t push.  At the end of the conversation, my mom asked, “So is he going to be coming home with you for Christmas?”

“What?  Of course he isn’t,” I replied, baffled that she’d even ask.

“What are we supposed to tell people, then?”

“People like who, Mom?” I asked.

“Like your grandparents.  And your uncle.”  She said it as though I should have known exactly what she was talking about.

“Tell them we’re getting divorced,” I replied, struggling to keep the frustration out of my voice.

“But what should I tell them the reason is?”

I sighed heavily.  “Mom, I don’t care.  Don’t tell them a reason.  Make something up.  Do whatever makes the most sense.  Figuring out what sort of family gossip I want to be isn’t high on my priority list right now.”

“Jenna!” my dad admonished me.

“Sorry, but this whole thing is stressful enough without having to decide how to word the press release,” I replied. 

“I think you’re being a little bit dramatic,” my mom huffed.

“What else is new?” I knew I was acting like a child, but I was past the point of caring.  I didn’t want their sympathy, but I also didn’t want to talk about how my mom should tell people, either.  Just tell them.  Figure it out.  I don’t care.  I was so completely over talking about this divorce.  “I think maybe I should get going,” I said, forcing a softer tone of voice.

“Okay,” my mom replied.  “Let us know if you need anything.”  I assured her that I would, then hung up the phone.  I flopped backwards on the uncomfortable guest bed that had been my bed for the last 7 weeks. 

7 weeks since the condom wrapper fell out of his pants.  6 weeks since I told him I wanted a divorce.  5 weeks since we’d sat at the kitchen table, grimly dividing our furnishings, electronics, and bank accounts and typing out lists of all our marital property into the “his” and “hers” columns of the “Minnesota Petition for Dissolution Without Children” online form.  You get the bed, I get the sofa.  You get the Xbox, I get the Wii.  You get the house, I get the silverware, the dishes, the Keurig, 12% of your paycheck, and the ability to live rent free until I can find a suitable place.  4 weeks since we’d signed on the dotted line, then ridden the elevator down to the parking lot together, silently.

Have you ever said goodbye to your soon-to-be-ex-husband in the parking lot of the courthouse, minutes after signing your request to be unmarried?  If you think that’s awkward, imagine returning your shared house (soon to be just his house, I guess) after work that same day.  And the next, and the next.  I refused to slink off to a shitty apartment with my tail between my legs.  I’d negotiated delaying his first alimony payment until I moved out if he allowed me to stay until I found a decent place.  He’d agreed, but I don’t think either of us really knew what we were getting ourselves into.

As an emergency room physician, he worked long hours, weird hours.  We didn’t see much of each other, but the evidence of him was everywhere.  A dirty dish left in the sink, a sticky spot on the floor from where he spilled god-knows-what and didn’t clean it up.  It made me imagine how satisfying it would have been to run him over with my car in the parking lot of the courthouse.

At least I had an entire floor of living space to myself: a bedroom, full bathroom, and a living room.  Shortly after I’d informed Kevin I wanted a divorce, I’d hired a couple guys off Craigslist to move my bed, dresser, desk, vanity, and the contents of my closet from the second floor down to the largely unused lower level of the three-story house.  If we didn’t have to share a kitchen, I would have had little motivation to move out. 

I stretched and rolled off the bed, walking over to my dresser and yanking open the third drawer.  I pulled out the new running tights I’d purchased two weeks ago.  I tugged off my sweatpants and wriggled into the tights, then found a sports bra, long sleeved shirt, and fleece to put on. 

Two weeks after demanding a divorce, I realized I needed an outlet and way to release some stress.  I tried yoga, which was an absolute joke.  After failing miserably, I’d picked up a new pair of running shoes, threw some shorts on, and jumped on the treadmill that was collecting dust in the corner of my new living area.  I figured that running was a thing you were supposed to do when you wanted your life to be better. 

I was still working on actually running.  Most of my runs had lasted approximately one block and were followed by 7 blocks of trying to catch my breath and a few more blocks of casual strolling.  But I was too stubborn to quit, so I’d purchased some more cold-weather-appropriate running clothes and forced myself out at least a couple times a week.

I headed up to the kitchen to eat a banana before I headed out.  As I stood inspecting the bunch for the best one, I heard the garage door going up.  I groaned and glanced at my cell phone to see what time it was.  It was a few minutes after 2.  Kevin had never gotten home this early on a Saturday when we were married.  Of course, when we were married, he needed to pretend to be at work when he wasn't in order to sleep with other people.  Now he could do it whenever he wanted.

I abandoned my mission to find the perfect banana and went to find my shoes, hoping to slip out the front door before he made it inside.  Too late, I remembered that they were sitting by the door that went into the garage.  I hurried over, trying to grab them and get out of the way, but he came through the door as I was hightailing it through the kitchen.

“Jenna,” he said, sounding surprised.  I turned and he gave me a weird look.  “Um, what are you doing?”

“Going for a run,” I replied, rolling my eyes as if it was obvious. 

He raised his eyebrows.  “Since when you do run?”

“Since I decided I needed an alternative hobby to plotting your painful, grisly death,” I replied sweetly, turning on my heel and walking towards the front door.

I heard him mutter, “Bitch,” and I could imagine him grinding his teeth as he bent to remove his shoes.  I didn’t care.  You don’t get to cheat on me, lie to me, and manipulate me for two years and escape without a little of my wrath here and there.

I pulled my shoes on and slipped out the front door before he could make that far.  I shook my legs out and started running right away, in case he was watching from the window. I made it all the way around the corner until I slowed to a walk, wheezing slightly in the cold December air.  “Boston Marathon, here I come,” I muttered sarcastically to myself. 

I forced myself to stay out for 40 minutes, wandering in the cold and occasionally jogging a block here or there.  By the time I made my way back into the house, I couldn’t feel my nose.  I went straight downstairs to shower and get warm, ignoring Kevin, who was dozing on the couch in the main floor living room.

When I stepped into the shower, the hot water stung my cold skin and turned it bright red. I adjusted the temperature and stuck my head under the spray. I shut my eyes and let the water soak my hair and run down my face. 

I spent entirely too long in the shower, and when I turned off the water and pulled back the curtain, the air was heavy with steam.  I dried off quickly and wrapped my towel around myself before walking into my room.  I pulled on my weekend uniform of yoga pants, t-shirt, and hooded sweatshirt and then sat at my desk and opened my laptop. 

I hadn’t even made it to Facebook when someone knocked on my door.  I took my time getting up and walking to the door, then pulled it open about two feet.  “Yes?” I asked, staring blankly at Kevin, who was standing there, looking slightly uncomfortable.

“Hey,” he said.  I raised my eyebrows and waited, completely uninterested in fake pleasantries.  “I just wanted to let you know that I’m going to…well, have some female company tonight.  In case you wanted to leave, or just so you were aware.  I don’t want anything to be weird.”

“Because it’s not weird for you to come down here and give me a polite head’s up about your fuck buddy that’s coming over?” I snapped back, rolling my eyes.

He frowned.  “I’m just trying to be nice and let you know.  This whole thing is hard enough with you stomping around acting like a bitch all the time.”

I snorted.  “You?  Trying to be nice?  Yeah, sure.”  He was so calculating, so manipulative.  Few people could couch an attempt to make me feel shitty as a friendly and considerate notification as well as he could.  And he stuck to it so well that sometimes it was enough to make question if maybe, every once in awhile, he really was trying to be nice.  …Naaaahhh.

“You could stand to give being nice a shot,” he muttered, turning and stalking away.

The hurt, petty, immature part of me wanted to stick around and make tonight as awkward as possible.  Luckily, I knew that was a bad choice.  Instead, I texted Erica and Kelly, my two best friends in the area.  “Asshole is having one of his concubines over tonight, save me?” 

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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!
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            “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!”

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