by Elsa Kurt
The blood drained from Keira’s face, her heart stuttered against her chest so hard she thought it must’ve been visible. That voice was as familiar as her own.
“Marco. I— hi.”
He smiled at her, flashing his perfect white teeth, looking genuinely pleased to see her. His hair was shorter. An immediate flurry of panic consumed her. Darren saw the exchange, and that it would be the source of days if not weeks of harassment if she didn’t handle the situation perfectly.
Darren had known all about Marco— it had been the talk of the school when she’d not-so-secretly dated the teacher’s assistant— and had an aggressive dislike for the man. But Darren was a bully. Bullies confront no one their equal. No, he’d instead attack Keira in his passive-aggressive, sarcastic, needling way for weeks on end.
If she didn’t manage this moment right in Darren’s eyes, he would be relentless. So, she jumped into a hasty, overly bright introduction between the man she’d once loved profoundly to the man she’d married.
“Darren,” she said, “Darren, this is, um, Marco. Marco, my husband, Darren.”
The two men, in a most surreal moment for Keira, shook hands and exchanged cool hello’s as an older looking woman approached, pushing a shopping cart with one little girl in the seat and another on her hip.
“Marco? I found the light bulbs— oh, hello. I’m Karen. Marco’s wife.”
Keira could have imagined it, but she swore the woman’s expression shifted from mildly curious to coldly appraising. Did she know who Keira was? She must have. Why else make a point of adding ‘Marco’s wife’ like that? Still, Keira gave herself barely enough time to react or think but stayed in overdrive as they all made their farewells. She didn’t dare look back at him and had no idea if he’d looked either. Her thoughts split into two sides, one thinking, ‘she’s plain looking, his wife,’ and the other, ‘distract Darren, now.’ Before Darren spoke, Keira moved on to divert him.
“Oh, the paint is ready. I think this will look really good in the playroom, don’t you?”
“Mhmm. So that was—”
“Little girl don’t stand on the end of the cart, please. You could get hurt.”
A store employee had walked by right then, pausing to speak to Violet, who had been quietly entertaining herself during the whole exchange. Darren was about to start in on the Marco meeting, but instead launched into a twenty-minute seethe-fest of anger over the man who’d dared reprimand his daughter. Conveniently causing him to forget about meeting the man he believed his wife still carried a flame for. Fortunately for her, this blown out of proportion event overshadowed the Marco moment, and Darren made only a handful of cruel but easily deflected comments over the following weeks.
Such fun. Not.
“Hello? Earth to Keira? Less daydreaming, more man shopping, please.”
“Sorry, sorry. Still remembering the old days. Okay, you open the inbox, I can’t look.”
“You’re such a weenie. Here,” Molly dramatically clicked the icon and said, “Yup. Jackpot. As I said it would be. Happy shopping, dear.”
“Oh, my. This is— this is overwhelming. Where do I even start?”
“Um, the beginning? And calm your ego, these guys are piranhas, and you’re another bit of prey. Weed out the no’s and set aside the maybe’s, and we’ll look at the yesses. I’ll do the same, and after we’ll compare. Ready?”
“As I’ll ever be.”
An hour later, the women compared and judging. Keira had narrowed it down to a whopping two, Molly picked three.
“Okay, so there’s Sam. Thirty-six years old, five-eleven, rides a Harley. Next, Tom— oh wait, he spells it with the ‘h’— Thom. I can’t get used to that. Anyhow, he’s forty-three and has a Harley. Last, we have Joe. Six-foot-one, Harley, but three times divorced. That can’t be good, but, damn he’s hot. And he messaged me today.”
“Well, at least we know you have a type, and it’s Harley. I say go with Joe. It’s a date, you’re not shooting to be wife number four, so who cares?”
“Yeah, yeah. Fine, I’ll answer his message. And they’re meet-ups, not dates. Get with the times, woman. What’s your short list look like?”
“Well, there’s this guy,” Keira turned her laptop so that Molly could see. “Jason, forty-six, six-one, one kid—a boy, divorced, works as a yacht salesman. That’s different, right?”
Jason had a pleasant, rugged but open face, great tan, sandy brown, wavy hair and friendly smile. Molly shrugged and nodded agreeably. They had very different tastes in men, yet both had one similarity. They both wanted men who were nothing like their exes.
“And then there’s this one. Troy. Six-foot-three — whoa — independently employed, whatever that means, no wives, no kids. Oh, and he’s forty-seven. Which one you think I should pick?”
“Hmm, I’m thinking yacht-boy to start. He looks fun, plus, he’s by the shore. Great restaurants, guaranteed. Mister Independently Employed is interesting. Bet he’s rich. He’s got that look— like he’s got a wine cellar in his house. Or a dungeon. Tough call.”
They’re both going to be duds. Just my humble opinion. Not that you’ll listen to me, of course.
“Molly, you’re not helping. Should I flip a coin?”
Keira’s chat alert chimed. It was Yacht Boy, AKA Jason.
“Hi KAT1024.
Saw your profile and
Just had to say hello.
I know this is forward,
But any chance you’re free for
Dinner tomorrow night?
“Wow, Yacht Boy wastes no time, does he?”
“No, I guess not. I kind of like that. Assertive, straight to the point.”
“All right then, tell him you’re free.”
“Wait, what? I— but, it’s short notice.”
“Um, yeah, and we both know you have no plans. Suck it up buttercup and say yes to the yacht.”
“Well, what about you? You have to pick someone, too.”
Molly’s fingernails tapped at the keys on her laptop and hit send.
“Fine. Done.”
“What. Just like that? Which one?”
“Sam, Harley number one. He asked about ten minutes ago, but I wanted to make sure you didn’t chicken out on your end first.”
“Holy crap, Mol. We have dates—I mean, we’re ‘meeting up’ with complete strangers tomorrow night.”
“Crap, I guess we are. Well, I’ve got to roll. Anna forgot her algebra homework, so Eric is swinging by to pick it up. Janice thinks I should be there to greet him. She thinks we’ll get back together. God only knows why. Shit, she should date him, get them both out of my hair.”
“Stop. He’s been trying very hard to not make you angry. And be nice to Janice, too.”
“Ugh. Whatever. Call me tomorrow, we’ll discuss outfits for our dates. Crap, now you’ve got me saying it. Bye, damn it.”
With that, Molly left again. Keira loved having her best friend one street over but also knew it would not be very conducive to her working from home. Like Keira, she’d been a stay-at-home mom for all her married life, but she had lived on the other side of town, so they didn’t see each other as often. Now she was back at her mom’s and classes for nursing school were at night, her days were free, and Keira’s house was the perfect escape from the ever watchful, often disapproving presence of her mother.
Hmm. Your livers will be so grateful, I’m sure.
The kid's summer vacation had also officially begun, adding even more of a challenge for Keira to meet deadlines. Still, she wouldn’t trade it for the world— being home for her daughters, working her dream job, Darren being mostly tolerable, and having her best friend around for shenanigan— it was everything she could’ve hoped for after the divorce. Hard to believe they were approaching the two-year ‘divorce-ary’ as Molly called it.
A year ago, she wouldn’t have believed it if someone had told her she and Darren would be co-parenting as smoothly as they were. He’d directed so much ang
er and resentment towards Keira for initiating the divorce. He pulled so many stunts and struck as many low blows in those first months that it was unfathomable to be where they were at. Not that it had come easily. It was as hard for him to play nice as it was for her to trust his niceness to be genuine. However, his so-called epiphany was still in practice six months after its dawning. It had even survived her four-month fiasco with No Name, a situation he found most amusing as it so happened.
Before Keira has us drifting off towards the next flashback, I’ll quickly give you another vignette on He Whose Name Shall Not Be Spoken. Honestly? You’re missing nothing whatsoever. Tall, bland, nondescript, the kind of character all narrators dread. Did he have brown eyes or blue? I can’t recall. Eh, no matter. I believe I spoke to his narrator once, and once alone. Boring sod, he was. No more to say than his male protagonist. Keira has justified her intrigue as thus. He was the utter opposite of Darren the Dick in personality. Inoffensive, mild, and predictable in almost every way. He was The Rebound. Now he’s The Rebound That Won’t Take the Hint and Go Away. All right, then, back to Keira’s never entirely accurate recollection…
She remembered the conversation as if it were yesterday…
“So, Keir, listen. I— I’ve been thinking. It’s time we, uh, bury the hatchet. For the kids, right?”
“Darren, all I’ve wanted is for us to at least try to get along or pretend to get along, for the girls’ sake. So, um, what made you change— I mean, what brought you to this conclusion, may I ask?”
“If you must know, I’ve been seeing a—a, like, a counselor.”
“A therapist, you mean?”
“Yeah, that. Whatever. Anyhow, she says it's time I ‘take ownership,’ or some shit, and like, ask forgiveness and give it and stuff. So, yeah.”
Darren stood before Keira, crossing and uncrossing his arms over his chest, then thrusting his hands into his pockets only to yank them out again. She studied him a few moments before answering. This was a Darren she hadn’t ever seen before. Contrite, would be the word she’d use. Keira put him out of his misery.
“Well, Darren, consider it buried. From now on, we’re on the same team.”
“Right. Okay, so um, in the spirit of this new… understanding, you gotta promise to not get mad.”
Keira instantly regretted the truce-calling. What was he about to do? The sound of barking from the backseat of his new, mid-life crisis, bright yellow Mustang convertible answered her.
“Darren—”
“It’s for the girls.” Over her shoulder, he shouted, “Hey girls, come outside, will ya.”
The moment they came out of the house, Darren opened the car door to let not one, but two, chocolate colored bundles of yip-yapping fur tumble and bounce out onto the freshly cut grass. The girls screamed and squealed with predictable delight, falling to the ground to catch the spastic fur-balls in an exchange of hugs, wags, and kisses.
“Oh, my God, Daddy, are they ours? Do we get to keep them?”
They all turned eager eyes to Keira, even the dogs.
“Wow, Darren. Two? Like one wasn’t already too much?” She sighed. She couldn’t possibly say no. “Yes, girls. We now have two dogs. Great.”
Keira loved dogs and had always wanted one, but Darren had never wanted dogs in the house. This wasn’t some sudden change of heart, it was a divorce guilt gift he wouldn’t have to deal with the consequences or responsibility of because they’d be at her place.
“And I thought you came over to bury the hatchet. I should’ve known better. Darren, you don’t have to buy them something, especially something extravagant, every week. They love you, they only want to spend time with you, that’s all they need.”
“Yeah, I know, I know. I can’t help it, though. I hate that they gotta be kids of divorce now. We’re a statistic, you know? It sucks.”
Keira turned away and twirled her hair as she watched the kids and the puppies play. Of course, she hated that the kids had to go through so much change and wished it could’ve all gone differently. She, to the utter shock of everyone including her, had initiated the divorce. Darren was more than deserving but blindsided, nonetheless. So he liked to say when he was playing the martyr. But one thing was sure in her mind— it was the right choice for her, and for all of them. They would never be the example of a marriage she wanted her girls to emulate, and they deserved so much more than what they were being shown.
Keira had been utterly delusional about Darren from day one. She only saw tall, dark and handsome— a fairytale prince, a possible Mr. Darcy— when they began dating. Sure, his reputation for being a man-slut, with a long line of heartbroken girls behind him preceded him, but when he turned his attention to her, they stuck. They looked like Ken and Barbie (at least in Keira’s mind, and if Ken had dark hair). Reality? He was a bully and a chauvinist, womanizer, and a shyster. After years of making excuses for his behavior and turning a blind eye to preserve the illusion of the perfect family, Keira finally reached her breaking point...
Pardon, but we’re saving that part of the story for another flashback. Carry on…
Though it was late in coming by many years, she was right to put an end to it. She wanted more for herself and for her daughters. And though she still experienced waves of resentment towards Darren, she wanted him to find someone that could balance him out. It was something she could never do.
“Well, it’s not ideal, but it’s life.” She mildly scolded him, testing out the boundaries of their new truce. “The sooner they learn that the better off they’ll be. I suppose you remembered dog food, leashes, and the like?”
“Yup, I even got them their first round of shots and stuff, but you’ll have to bring them back in a couple months for more.”
“Of course, I will. Perfect.”
So, their cautious respite came at a price of two puppies, who she loved madly, if not grudgingly. In fact, she somewhat regretted sending them off to Darren’s with the kids for the weekend. The house was always so strangely quiet without them home.
Keira looked around the cozy, eclectic house. Barely a trace of Darren’s show-room-perfect décor remained, replaced instead with antique store finds and up-cycled furniture pieces she’d lovingly restored and refinished herself. It was yet another talent she hadn’t known she had (or loved) until she’d been free to try it without the judgmental scoffs from Darren, who detested anything that wasn’t brand new.
“All right, Keira, old girl. The night is yours, don’t waste it dwelling on that nonsense.”
Amen to that. Oh still not talking to me, hmm? Fine, be that way.
She spoke aloud, not caring if she sounded crazy, talking to herself. She was free to do whatever she pleased. At that moment, it pleased her to pour a glass of red, grab her book off the nightstand, and settle into her most comfortable spot in the living room, a worn and weathered, buttery soft leather chair, for a perfectly quiet night in. Tomorrow would be a whole other thing.
4 SEX ON THE BEACH
Chapter Three in The Smart Woman’s Guide to Dating. Dressing for your date. Ladies, one word— Classy. Work with whatever you’ve got, and remember. demure is always sexy, and ‘less is more’ doesn’t always apply. Just be graceful and elegant, and all with be well.
“Hey, it’s me. What are you wearing?”
“Hey, Mols. Caller ID, I know it’s you. Oh, and I have no idea, trying on everything in my closet. Hang on, tell me what you think of this.”
Keira turned the phone around and took a mirror selfie and sent it to Molly.
“Eh, not bad. A little conservative, no? Try something with cleavage, will ya? All right, my turn.”
A moment later there was a mirror selfie from Molly. She was definitely going with cleavage.
“Hubba, hubba. That’s a lot of boob happening there, Miss. Naughty.”
“I’m working my assets, princess. So, what else you got?”
Keira had one last dress to try on, a sexy-but-in-an-understated way black,
Grecian style dress with a high waist and flowy, silky material. It was indeed low-cut, lower than what she normally wore— an impulse buy she’d yet had the nerve to wear in public. She pulled it on quickly or at least tried to. However, she got herself caught up in a confusion of armholes and neck hole. Once she straightened it all out again, she sent the picture to Molly.
“You got stuck in the dress, didn’t you? Don’t answer.” She chuckled, then after a moment of appraisal said, “Damn, girl. That’s the one. Honey, when in doubt, always go with black. All right, now that that’s settled, let’s go over rules again. We check in via text when we arrive. One ring and hang up if we need an ‘out.’ Do not, and I repeat DO NOT let him walk you to your car. That’s how you get kidnapped and chopped into little pieces and dumped in the river.”
“Wow, Molly. Graphic, much? You’re really not helping my nerves.”
“Well, I’m nervous, too, damn it.”
Keira laughed. Somehow, knowing Molly was scared, too, made her feel better.
“Okay, we both need to take a breather and relax. We’ll be fine.”
“Fuck. No deep breaths for me, my tits pop out on the inhale.”
“Oh, Molly. Keep those things under wraps, will ya. I gotta go. GPS says it’ll take me thirty minutes to get there, and I want to arrive first. You know why.”
“Yes, princess, because you’re afraid if he watches you walk in, you’ll trip. Go on, and text me when you get there.”
“It happens, what can I say. Anyhow, I will, and you do the same.”
“Okay, it’s a plan. Oh, hey, I just remembered— what are you going to do if you can hear him chew?”
“Not funny. Goodbye.”
Keira hung up, cutting off the sound of Molly’s laughter. It was a well-established fact she lost her mind when people chewed near her. No matter how many times she explained, ‘there’s a name for it, it’s called misophobia, and it’s real,’ her friends still found it hysterical. Especially when they learned that it was her final straw in ending her marriage.
