—The History of Divorce: From Aberration to the Norm
“So, you really don’t know where he is?”
I sighed and looked at the clock. This fruitless conversation had been going on for almost five full minutes, interrupting me just as I was about to attempt a small exercise using the cobalt violet paint I’d bought the day I met Alfonse.
Jake, one of Simon’s longtime buddies and a fellow artist, couldn’t seem to understand that I was no longer Simon’s keeper.
“No, Jake,” I said into the phone. “I told you already, I don’t know where he is. I’m assuming he’s at his apartment. Have you tried him there?”
“Yeah, I practically broke down his door knocking. And he’s not answering his cell.”
Probably because he lost it, I thought. It’s probably lying on the sidewalk somewhere.
“Oh,” I said.
“Aren’t you worried?” Jake demanded.
“No,” I said. “I’m not.” Not anymore.
“But you know how he gets.”
Yes, I know. Better than anyone, I know.
“Jake, Simon’s just not my problem anymore. Why don’t you call his girlfriend, Jane somebody-or-other?”
Jake snorted. “Jane’s history. Last time I talked to Simon, he was with some chick named Bella. He told me she’s into voodoo.”
Of course she was. “Then why don’t you call her?” I said, hoping Jake would hear the impatience in my voice. “Maybe she can, I don’t know, do some magic and find him.”
Unless he’s right there in her apartment, eating her food, and splashing red paint on her walls.
“I don’t know where she lives,” Jake said. “I’m not even sure she has a last name.”
I sighed heavily. “Look, Jake, I don’t know what you want me to do. I haven’t heard from him in weeks. I really can’t help you.”
It was a moment before Jake responded. When he did, his tone was reproachful.
“You know, Grace,” he said, “Kara and I thought you and Simon would be together forever. I mean, I know you guys have been divorced for years now, but still. I’ve got to say it’s hard to deal with your just cutting him off like this.”
“Life is full of surprises, Jake,” I said testily. “I really have to go. Say hi to Kara for me.”
I hung up before Jake could further scold me for taking back my life.
I looked again at the clock. I was meeting Evan for dinner at seven. There was a little over an hour to get ready. I went into my bedroom to choose an outfit.
Simon would surface. Or he wouldn’t. Evan was in possession of the paintings: they were locked away in the gallery’s storage vault. Simon’s presence at the opening wasn’t necessary.
I inspected a new blouse I’d bought just the day before. It was a bit of a splurge, but I felt no guilt about the purchase.
I felt no guilt about anything.
“You look lovely in that blouse.”
I felt myself blush. This is what Evan did to me: a simple compliment and I felt as if it were the first I’d ever received.
“Thank you,” I said.
Simon never noticed what I wore. He never noticed anything specific about me. I’d come out of the shower, hair plastered to my head and dripping water all over the bathmat, and Simon would look right at me and ask: “Did you take a shower yet?”
“Grace?”
I blushed again. “Oh, I’m sorry,” I said. “Was I staring at you?”
“It felt more like gazing. But I don’t mind at all.”
The conversation went like that all through dinner. We both knew that night was the night, though it hadn’t been openly discussed. But that’s the way things were with Evan and me; increasingly we were living our lives in synch.
“You’ve hardly touched your food,” Evan said.
“Oh,” I said. “Right.” I realized I was holding my fork and knife over the plate. I cut into the piece of chicken.
Oh, yes. Romance over thirty-five induced lunacy. I felt thoroughly addled, eager to be alone with Evan and yet almost scared, too.
I took a bite of the chicken and chewed. Since when, I wondered, had sex become so important, so full of meaning?
Since Evan had come into my life.
We finished our dinners and opted to pass on coffee and dessert, which was fine because my stomach was a riot of butterflies, and even the relatively bland chicken dish I’d eaten wasn’t sitting too easily.
Hand in hand we walked back to my apartment. With my free hand I held on to Evan’s arm. I wanted to touch all of him.
We reached my building and I suddenly remembered the first night Alfonse had walked me home. Oh, I thought, Evan is so much more right.
No more boys, Grace. It’s time for a man.
“I want to kiss you,” I whispered up to Evan.
He lowered his lips to mine and we kissed, slow and long. Finally, still holding me close, Evan said, “Grace, may I come inside?”
“No,” I said definitely. My apartment was thick with memories of Simon. I wanted to start fresh with Evan. “I’d rather go to your place. If that’s all right.”
Evan smiled and kissed me again. “It’s perfect,” he said. “Let’s grab a cab.”
I’d never been to Evan’s apartment before. I wasn’t at all surprised by what I found there—lots of art, of course, all beautifully hung; clean Danish modern furniture with the occasional Asian accessory; a well-appointed kitchen with sleek metal fixtures.
And the apartment was spotless! No wads of dirty tissues on the floor, no crumpled clothes thrown over chairs, no overflowing garbage cans. In at least this respect, Evan was entirely different from my ex-husband.
“It’s a beautiful home,” I said when Evan had finished giving me the tour.
Evan smiled. “I like that you said home. I want it to feel lived in and enjoyed.”
“But clean!”
“Ah, yes, thanks to the cleaning service, very, very clean.”
And then there came that awkward moment. We all know the one, the moment when you and the one you love find yourselves—waiting. Waiting for the first touch, wanting it more than anything, waiting and feeling almost shy and—
“Grace,” Evan whispered. And then he took my hands and I raised my face to his and for a long moment we looked at each other with a kind of wonder and then, Evan kissed me, gently at first and then with a passion I’d never known, not even in the early days with Simon, not ever.
Evan made love to me that night. I say that—made love to me—because that’s what he did and that’s what it was, not just sex, but something intense and intimate and loving and so, so thrilling.
Hours later, deep in the night, I lay awake, Evan’s body against mine, content in his sleep. I was simply too happy to close my eyes.
Chapter 60
Grace
Finally, you can watch your favorite TV shows without ridicule. Finally, you don’t have to pick up his dirty underwear. Finally, you are freed from the boring Saturday night routine of a movie you don’t really want to see, followed by dinner at a restaurant you don’t care for, followed by sex you pretend to enjoy. Live it up, girl, and don’t rush into another marriage.
—It’s All About Me: A Woman’s Life After Divorce
“So, what’s Richard wearing at the wedding?” I asked. “Is it a formal occasion?”
Nell nodded. “Oh, yes, it’s formal, not officially black tie, but Richard and Bob are wearing tuxedos with brocade vests. Richard’s will be a sort of mauve and Bob’s will be a muted green.”
“I guess the flowers are also mauve and green?” Jess asked.
“I suppose. Richard’s always had a good eye for color. I’m sure everything will be lovely. Come to think of it, Richard chose the color scheme for our wedding, too.”
The four of us had gathered for dinner at Chez Bernadine. Laura made a face when I ordered rabbit. What, I wondered, would she be like when she was pregnant and experiencing “morning sickness”?
Maybe she’d simply stay at home.
“Sometimes,” Jess was saying, “I wonder if Richard would have stayed in the closet if you hadn’t found evidence of his affair.”
“I don’t know,” Nell said. “I think he might have. All those years and I never found one other clue. Richard was comfortable in some ways, I think.”
“I think he wanted you to find the evidence,” I surmised. “I think he wanted to get caught so he’d be forced to stop lying and live his real life, finally.”
Nell smiled ruefully. “No matter what pain it caused me.”
Yes, well, love is painful. So is the truth.
“Richard’s basically a good guy,” Jess said. “Confused, yes. A coward in some ways, yes, but you almost can’t blame him. What an enormous thing, to come out at his age.”
Laura snorted. She might have agreed to go to Richard’s wedding, but her attitude toward him hadn’t changed.
“Yes, yes,” Nell said, “a coward. It’s odd to think of him as a coward, though. Since the day I met Richard he was so responsible, so adult. I believed he could accomplish anything. He really was my knight in shining armor.”
“But did he ever really love you?” Laura asked. Her mouth was set in a grim line.
“Yes,” Nell said promptly. “He did. If I allow myself to remember the good things about our relationship, I find a million and one ways in which Richard demonstrated his love for me.”
“He was cheating on you for most of your marriage. Doesn’t that make you furious?”
“I thought,” Jess said, “that we’d gone through all this before, Laura.”
“My sister is stubborn.” Nell turned to Laura. “Of course it made me angry that I was duped. But after a while, I just got tired of being angry. How many times could I yell at him or hang up on him? Being angry didn’t get me anywhere; it didn’t change anything. I know you can’t comprehend this, Laura, but I really do forgive Richard. I really do feel compassion for what he suffered.”
“Good for you, Nell!” I cheered.
“That’s very mature and unselfish,” Jess said, “in spite of what your little sister thinks.”
Laura made a face.
“Maybe,” Nell admitted. “But there’s something in it for me, too. All the anger was making me old. I could see it in my skin. My GI tract was a mess. I started to lose my hair. And for what? For something I’ll never be able to change. Anyway, I just want to be happy again. And I can’t he happy unless I move on. And moving on means learning how to forgive.”
Laura made a huffy sound. “Well,” she said, “you’re a better woman than me. I don’t think I could ever forgive someone for cheating on me, not even if he did it only once.”
“Well,” Jess said with a bitter little laugh, “now I feel horrible all over again.”
I frowned at Laura. “Life’s complex,” I said. “Don’t you think you’re being a bit naive?”
Laura frowned back. “This from the woman who forgave her husband every time he banged some idiot model type who fawned over him at a show? I think you were being a bit naive all those years with Simon.”
Nell cleared her throat. “I apologize for my sister. My mother did her best, but I suspect the doctor dropped Laura on her head when she was born.”
“No, it’s okay,” I said. “Really. I can talk about it now.”
“Because she’s grown,” Jess said pointedly.
I turned to Laura. “I wasn’t being naive. Right from the start I knew all about the affairs and it hurt. I never once thought, well, he’s my husband and I made a vow for better or worse, so I have no other option but to take his abuse. I didn’t excuse his behavior, either. It’s just that I wanted the marriage to work. I thought I was doing the smart thing by letting Simon have his flings. They were meaningless. He always came back to me. And I thought—I hoped—that after a time he’d get tired of fooling around and realize what he had in me, a wife who understood his artistic nature, a wife who wasn’t interested in stifling his soul. Well, I was wrong. Wrong but never naive.”
Laura was silent for a moment. Then she said: “Excuse me. I’m going to the ladies’ room.”
When she was gone, Nell laughed. “My sister didn’t understand a word of what you just said.”
“I know. But I felt the need to say it anyway.”
“You know,” Jess said, “and in spite of my past I’m not advocating trickery, sometimes I wonder why Laura didn’t just go ahead and get pregnant. Maybe Duncan would have accepted a baby once the baby was a fact.”
“It wouldn’t have worked. I know my brother-in-law. Duncan would have been furious with Laura. He’d have known he was tricked and he’d have left her. He’d have done the right thing and supported the child, of course, but Laura would have been pregnant with no husband.”
“I thought that’s what she wanted,” I said. “Sorry. That was mean.”
“Anyway,” Jess said, “that kind of subterfuge is despicable in anyone over the age of sixteen. And even then it’s the desperate act of a desperate child.”
“Sssh.” Nell nodded to her left. In another moment Laura took her seat.
“What did I miss?” she asked.
Nell sighed. “Oh, nothing. We were just discussing the half-life of subatomic particles.”
Laura’s mouth dropped.
“Laura,” I said, “she’s kidding!”
“I knew that.” Laura fluffed out her napkin before returning it to her lap. “Nell is always making bad jokes.”
“Speaking of bad jokes,” Nell said, “Trina tells me she’s experiencing perimenopause. She’s very upset. She called me three times yesterday to report on her symptoms. Suddenly, she has them all.”
“What’s perimenopause?” Laura asked.
“It’s a sort of premenopause,” I explained, “a hormonal imbalance.”
“Does everyone get it?”
“You don’t get it, Laura.” Nell shook her head. “It’s not a disease. You experience it or go through it.”
“So, what makes Trina think she’s premenopausal?”
“Let’s see. Yesterday it was hair loss—she’s convinced she’s going bald—and dry skin and anxiety.”
“But those could be symptoms of stress. Isn’t she going through a divorce?”
“Trina doesn’t experience stress,” Nell informed us.
“What about the anxiety?”
“Good point. But she’s probably just feeling anxious because she thinks she’s losing her hair.”
“Has she seen her gynecologist?” I asked.
“I convinced her to make an appointment. It seems she’s been poring over Internet sites about women’s health and self-diagnosing.”
“That could make you nuts,” Jess said. “Most people misdiagnose themselves. It’s the power of suggestion. Read about dry skin and suddenly, you start to scratch.”
“I, for one, would be happy not to have periods,” Laura announced. “They’re such a pain. Cramping, bloating, irritability, staining, ugh. Who needs them?”
I thought Nell was going to scream; her self-control is admirable. “Women who want to have children. Women like you.”
“Duh, of course. I just wish there were an easier way.”
“Not having periods will be great,” Jess said, “but it will also mean vaginal dryness and estrogen loss and a thickening middle. I, for one, am not looking forward to sex becoming a difficulty.”
Nell took a sip of her wine. “As long as I bleed, I feel young,” she said then, “like I’m still useful as a woman. Is that terribly old-fashioned to admit?”
“Of course not,” I said. “It’s not a crime to be proud of your ability to conceive and bear children.”
“It’s not as if I define myself entirely by my being a mother.”
“Even if you did,” Jess said, “it’s your life, Nell. Define yourself however you like.”
“And how do you define yourself, Jess?” I asked.
Jess laughed. “Depe
nds entirely on the time of day!”
“What about right this minute?”
“I’d say that right this minute I am first and foremost a friend. Which is a very nice sort of person to be.”
Nell eyed Jess. “You sound unusually upbeat. What’s going on?”
So Jess told us about the guy she was seeing in southern Maine.
“I’m far from being in love,” she said, “but I am enjoying the time we spend together.”
“So?” Laura asked. “Does he have husband potential?”
“For some women, yes. But not for me.”
“Why not?” Nell asked. “What’s wrong with him?”
“Nothing’s wrong with him,” Jess said. “He’s smart and funny and I find him attractive. But it’s just not ever going to be anything serious. I can’t even say why, exactly, but I think we both know that. I suppose it’s sort of a grown-up version of a summer fling, or an affair without the betrayal, something very fun and a bit decadent.”
“You don’t mind driving all the way to Maine?” Nell asked. “I’m still angry at myself for driving to Waltham to meet a man.”
Jess shrugged. “It’s only about an hour and a half north. Anyway, I feel like I’m on a minivacation when I’m in Maine, especially if I stay overnight.”
“Of course,” I said, “the lure of the overnight trip. Do you ever get to the beach or do you two stay holed up in his bedroom all day?”
Jess laughed. “We see the beach on occasion. Honestly, because he’s in real estate I spend a fair amount of time on the beach alone. He’s always getting calls from panicked buyers and sellers who need him to get them some document or another. It’s a tough life, real estate. Definitely not for me, but Nick seems to like the high-energy aspect.”
“Well,” I said, “speaking of high energy . . .”
“Grace is being dramatic,” Nell said. “It must be about sex.”
“It is,” I said. “Evan and I finally spent the night together.”
“Congratulations,” Jess said. “I’m guessing from the grin on your face that things went well.”
Back In the Game Page 26
