The Prenup: a love story

by Lauren Layne

  “Thought so,” I say, smiling into my wine. I’m a bit surprised that my last night in San Francisco doesn’t feel sadder. Don’t get me wrong—it’s bittersweet to think that this will no longer be my home. I’ll miss the weather. I’ll miss my job. My colleagues. My girl squad. I’ll miss Kurt and Lewis most of all.

  But as of today, I’m officially retired as the CEO of Coco. The reins have been handed over to Kurt as acting CEO, and the board of directors will have to vote on whether that’s a permanent position. But I’m on the board, and I feel pretty certain that the corner office will be Kurt’s to keep for as long as he wants it. He quit being an assistant a long time ago—he is Coco.

  As for me?

  I’ve got a flight from SFO back to JFK later in the week.

  Toward what?

  No.

  Idea.

  Yep. You’re reading that right. I don’t know what’s next. I no longer have a job. Or a home. In a few days, I’ll no longer have a husband.

  Oh, yeah, and I’m a lot poorer than I was a week ago.

  Why?

  Because that’s what happens when you file for divorce before the conditions of your prenup are met—everything I earned in the duration of our marriage is now half Colin’s.

  Oddly, the strangest part about all of this isn’t that I walked away from a rather large sum of money in order to break my prenup early. It’s that neither Colin nor I seemed to consider that possibility in the first place. We’d been so hung up on the single paragraph indicating that we must live under the same roof for three months in order to get divorced, we hadn’t bothered to explore the consequences if we filed divorce papers before that. Or at least I hadn’t. Not until last week.

  That’s what I called my brother about. And when Justin called me back—quicker this time, thank God—I’d learned that it wasn’t that one of us couldn’t file for divorce before living together for three months. It was just a really irresponsible financial decision, assuming either of us had amassed any amount of assets, which, we both had.

  And honestly, even if I had known about the sort-of-loophole, I think I’d still have moved to New York. At the start of all this, the prospect of giving what was essentially a complete stranger half of everything I worked so hard to earn would have been unthinkable. Three months of living in New York City would seem a small price to pay for keeping what is mine.

  Now though … well, as you know, everything has changed.

  I truly don’t feel I could have survived another day, much less weeks, of living side by side with Colin, knowing he was counting down the days until he could be with Rebecca. And more pressing than that, I’d realized how brutal it must have been to live with one woman while loving another.

  It came down to this: I don’t need that money.

  I do, however, need Colin to be happy. I need it from the very center of my heart.

  And he’s not going to get there living under the same roof as me. Plus, my brilliant plan, if I do say so myself, did exactly what I wanted it to. It convinced Gordon Price that, yes, Colin and I were getting divorced, but there was nothing easy or planned about it.

  Gordon Price correctly assumed that one does not willingly give up a very fat sum of money to one’s husband if love isn’t involved. I’ve told quite a few lies regarding my marriage. That wasn’t one of them. I do love Colin.

  “Oh, Char,” Kurt says sympathetically as he sees my eyes watering. “No, no. Not that again.”

  “I’m not crying,” I say, sniffling into the napkin he gives me.

  “You are too. Is it for the guy or because you’ll miss me?”

  I honk out a laugh. “You. It’s definitely because I’ll miss you.”

  “I know you’re lying, and I’ll take it. Lewy! Bring the cheese puffs!” Kurt calls into the kitchen.

  “I thought you went gluten-free. And vegan,” I say.

  “Lewis said the diet gave me the grumpies, so I gave it up,” he says, getting a fresh tissue and dabbing at my eyes.

  “Here we are,” Kurt murmurs soothingly as Lewis brings a bowl of Cheetos into the room. Kurt picks one up and feeds it to me, and I eat it with a laugh. Salty, processed cheese snacks will solve none of my problems, but Kurt feeding them to me like some sort of mama animal at least distracts me for a while.

  “I, for one, can’t wait to see what’s next for you, but I know you’re going to crush it,” Lewis says, sitting beside Kurt, who’s feeding me another chip.

  “Thanks, Lew,” I say around the Cheetos.

  Kurt tries to navigate my wine to my mouth, and I take the glass before it can spill. “I’ve got this part. Thanks.”

  “You’ll come back to visit, right?” Kurt says.

  “Of course. And seriously, you’ll let me know everything I can do to help get the condo sold? Realtor fees, cleaning fees, all of that … I want to pay it all.”

  “Can you?” Kurt says teasingly.

  “I’m not poor, just half as rich,” I point out.

  “Do you think he’ll actually keep the money?” Kurt said. “That’d be pretty shitty.”

  “For that matter, why didn’t you guys just agree to break the prenup from the beginning, do whatever had to be done to exchange funds, and then … hand them back after?” Lewis asks.

  “Wonderful idea, Lewis,” I say a little tartly. “Would have been a little more wonderful had you come up with it two months ago.”

  “You know what I think,” Kurt says, giving me a little finger waggle indicating that I should listen up. “I think you didn’t think of it because you secretly wanted to go back to New York. And he didn’t think of it because he saw you again and realized his wife is super-hot.”

  “Fantastic theory.” I point my wine glass at Kurt. “One you should totally tell his new wife.”

  Kurt and Lewis both wince. “Do you think you’ll get invited to the wedding?”

  “Probably,” I mutter. “Colin out of guilt, Rebecca to rub it in.”

  “Would you go?”

  “At the moment? It feels unfathomable. But I don’t even know when it is. If I find a Thor-like date before then … sure.”

  And then, because I’m human and heterosexually female, I give myself a little moment of fantasy, imagining Colin’s face if I really did show up with Thor. And because Lewis and Kurt are homosexually male, they let themselves fantasize too. I know, because they both sigh, “Thor,” at the exact same time.

  “And you really haven’t talked to him?” Kurt asks with a wistful smile.

  “Nope.” I toss back the rest of my wine and hold my glass out for more.

  Lewis nods approvingly. “You blocked him?”

  “Nope,” I say again.

  “Wait.” Kurt holds up a protesting hand. “So he hasn’t even tried to get in touch? No email? No text? Nothing?”

  “Well, to be fair, I did leave without saying goodbye,” I point out.

  “If you left divorce papers and your wedding ring on his kitchen counter, that was definitely a goodbye, babe.”

  “Exactly,” I say, waving my hand, trying to ignore how bare it feels without my beloved ring. “I could not have been more clear about where we stand, so why would he get in touch? There’s nothing to talk about.”

  “But you’ll have to talk to him eventually,” Lewis says, as he pours me more wine. “I mean, you said the guy’s practically a surrogate son of your parents. Surely your paths will cross again. Oops! Hold that thought …”

  Lewis sets the wine bottle on the table and goes to answer the front door.

  “You expecting someone?” I ask Kurt around another Cheeto.

  He shakes his head, making a no idea face.

  Lewis returns a moment later, eyes wide, and his voice slightly terrified. “Char? It’s for you.”

  “What?” I ask in confusion, turning to see who’d have shown up at Lewis and Kurt’s house to see me. A moment later, I realize why Lewis is uncharacteristically terrified.

  Eileen Spencer
is standing in his living room.

  My mouth drops open. “Mom? What are you doing here?”

  “What I should have done ten years ago, Charlotte Elizabeth Spencer. Following you to California to tell you that running away from your problems is no way to live your life.”

  CHAPTER 39

  FRIDAY, NOVEMBER 13

  “She is so scary,” Kurt mouths over my mom’s shoulder as Lewis drags him away toward the bedroom.

  He’s not wrong. On a good day, my mom is a little scary. Right now, she looks battle-ready and downright terrifying.

  I wait until I hear Kurt and Lewis’s bedroom door close, making a mental note to thank them for retreating to their bedroom in their own house to give us some privacy. Though, if I know Kurt, and I do, his ear will be pressed to the door, and I love him for it. I’d be doing the same thing.

  “Mom—”

  She holds up a hand. “Me first. There’s something I’m overdue in saying to you.”

  Oh dear.

  “Will you at least sit?” I say, gesturing at the small dining table.

  She does, looking adorably out of place in her pearls and pumps in Kurt and Lewis’s trendy Nob Hill home.

  She crosses her legs and sets her folded hands on one knee, looking directly at me. “I want to apologize. I want to apologize for not respecting that you were your own person, with different dreams for yourself than I had for you. I was so fixated on the type of daughter I’d planned on having, that I didn’t properly appreciate the daughter I had. Have.”

  To say that the apology catches me by surprise is an understatement. I don’t realize how desperately I’ve needed to hear that, to know that I’m worthy of love and respect as I am, rather than if I’d been a little less headstrong, a little less ambitious.

  “Thank you,” I manage, my voice a little clogged. I sure am doing a lot of crying these days.

  “When you told me you were going to California all those years ago to start your own business with your grandmother’s money, I should have hugged you tight, told you to tell me when your plane landed, and that I couldn’t wait to see you at Thanksgiving.”

  I brush impatiently at the tears on my cheek, and her face softens for a second before she seems to remember that she still has to deliver part two. “But,” she says, lifting a finger. “First, I’d have asked if you were moving across the country for the right reasons. If it was truly a place you needed to be, or if you left simply because staying was hard given our acrimonious relationship at the time.”

  The rebellious Charlotte stirs immediately, and the million reasons why I had to be in San Francisco, about how it wasn’t me running scared, it was me being smart.

  But the adult Charlotte, the one who’s learned there’s more to life than proving her point and getting her own way, lets herself consider the possibility that my mom could be right. That my reasons for moving to San Francisco, while valid, were not vital. At the very least, I could have done it better. I could have done a lot of things better.

  “You’re right,” I tell her in a calm voice. “It was easier to leave than to try and fix things. But I should have tried. I don’t regret coming to San Francisco. I’m proud of everything I’ve built here, and being near Silicon Valley did turn out to be essential. But I could have, should have, found a way to do both. To be an East Coast daughter, and a West Coast entrepreneur.” I give a tremulous smile. “I should have come home for that first Thanksgiving. Whether or not I was invited.”

  Mom gives a shaky nod, her own eyes watering a little, before she lifts her chin. “And yet, here you are, doing the same thing. Moving back to California the moment a relationship gets hard.”

  “I’m not moving, Mom. Or rather I am, but not to California. I just came back to pack my things and tie up some loose ends. Ten years ago, my flight to San Francisco was one-way. This time, it’s round-trip.”

  She sucks in a breath. “You’re coming back to New York for good?”

  I nod and smile. “Guess you’ll have to make room for me at Thanksgiving and Christmas.”

  She smiles then promptly frowns. “Well, I’m glad, but you still ran away, young lady.”

  “Young lady?”

  “Tell me, did you even stand still when you set the divorce papers on the kitchen counter for Colin to find, or were you still walking as you simultaneously rolled your suitcase out the door?”

  I flinch, both at the mention of his name, as well as the fact that her accusation rings uncomfortably true. “You’ve talked to him?”

  “Unlike you, he came to dinner last Sunday,” she says stiffly. “Why I have to learn of your divorce from my son-in-law rather than my daughter directly—”

  “You’ve known this was coming, Mom,” I say gently. “I’ve never pretended we weren’t getting a divorce. It’s a little ahead of schedule but not much.”

  “But why? I thought you cared about him?”

  This time I let the old rebellious Charlotte out just a little bit because I can handle deserved accusations, but not that one.

  “It’s because I care about him,” I retort. “I want him to be happy more than anything. That meant letting him be with Rebecca sooner rather than later, so I made that happen.”

  “Yes, but I want you to be happy,” she says stubbornly.

  I laugh at the unexpected sweetness of that statement. “I know you do, Mom. I want that too, and I’ll get there. It just won’t be with Colin and me riding off into the sunset.”

  She doesn’t relent. “I still think it should have been a conversation between you two, not just you leaving those papers for him to find.”

  “You’re right,” I admit. “But I’m not a saint. It was hard enough signing those papers as it was. I think having to hand them to him in person to watch him sign them might have torn me in two. And let’s not forget,” I continue quickly when she opens her mouth to argue. “It was Colin who initiated the divorce in the first place. I simply gave him what he wanted.”

  “Are you sure that’s what he wanted? If you didn’t bother to talk to him …”

  “He gave Rebecca an engagement ring, Mom.”

  “But that was before you moved back, and you two—”

  “No,” I cut in, keeping my voice gentle since I know how much she loves Colin and had hopes of him being her son for real. “He gave it to her just a few days ago. I saw it myself. He chose her.”

  She lets out a long breath and slumps back in her chair. “Well, shit.”

  “Mom!” I don’t think I’ve ever heard her curse.

  She glances at the table and points at the bottle of wine. “Think I can get a glass of that?”

  “Absolutely,” I say with a smile.

  I spend the rest of the evening laughing and drinking with my mom and two of my best friends. It’s almost enough to make me forget about Colin.

  Almost.

  CHAPTER 40

  THURSDAY, NOVEMBER 19

  N ow, look, I’m not going to call it rock bottom.

  But I’m also not going to say that my pride isn’t stinging a little about the fact that I’m thirty-one years old and living with my parents.

  Granted, it’s temporary, just until I find a place of my own and figure out what the heck comes next. I tried to tell my mom I could stay in a hotel, but you can guess how that went over. So, here I am. In my old bedroom.

  Now, as I’ve said, it looks nothing like the room I grew up in, which is actually sort of a good thing. This way I’m able to tell my pride that I’m merely staying in my parents’ guest room, not “moving back home.”

  I’ve been here for a couple of days now, but the unsettling sense of déjà vu hasn’t faded yet. I’m uncomfortably aware that this is the second time in three months that I’ve gotten off a plane from San Francisco to New York armed with only one suitcase and one carry-on, my other belongings to follow. It’s the second time in three months I’m living in someone else’s home, feeling a little in limbo.

  This time is e
ven more complicated since I only have some of my belongings with me; the rest is en route from California, and I left behind a handful of items at Colin’s place. I took the essentials when I ditched that whole messy situation a couple of weeks ago, but I wasn’t able to fit everything in the suitcase.

  I know eventually I’ll have to coordinate with him to get my stuff back. Or, I could just resign myself to never seeing that portion of my wardrobe so I don’t have to face him. Option number two is sounding very appealing.

  It’s seven o’clock on a rainy Thursday night, and the house is eerily quiet. My parents are at a dinner party, something I’d insisted they go to, despite my mother’s offer to stay home. It’s embarrassing enough to be living with them. I draw the line at letting them feel like they have to babysit me.

  Still, I’m regretting their absence a little. I don’t want to be alone. I start to text Meghan then delete it before hitting send. I start to text another friend then delete that too. I even start to text Drew, my high school boyfriend, thinking that might be just the distraction I need.

  I can’t make myself hit send on that message either.

  I realize that I don’t want to be alone, but I don’t want to be with anyone other than …

  Him.

  I knew I’d miss Colin, but I didn’t realize I’d crave him. I didn’t realize how much I’d miss talking with him, even if it was to listen to him grumble about my cooking messes. I didn’t realize how much his rare smiles could make my entire day brighter, or how much just being in the same room as him seemed to center me.

  But, of course, that’s a non-option. He’s probably picking out freaking China patterns with freaking Rebecca.

  Still, even though the pain is still alive and well, I don’t regret signing those divorce papers. I really don’t. Going on like Colin and I did wasn’t good for either of us. It even occurs to me that maybe it was supposed to go down that way. Haven’t I been sensing for weeks now that it’s time for a fresh start? We all know when I want a fresh start, I go big, and well, breaking my prenup in dramatic fashion so that the love of my life can marry the love of his life feels like a suitably dramatic way to start the next phase of my life.