Back to Life Series Box Set

by Danielle Allen

  I smirked because he didn’t even bother to say goodbye.

  Well, I see that’s how we’re going to play it.

  Scrolling down my call log to my parents’ phone number, I walked to the big window in the living room. As I watched my husband back out of the driveway, I hit the button and listened for the ringing.

  “Hello?” Mom answered, her voice light and dainty.

  “Mom, it’s me.”

  “Emily!” She covered the phone before she yelled for my father to pick up the phone. “Honey, it’s Emily! It’s Emily! Emily! Emily! Dammit pick up the phone! The phone! The phone! Jesus Christ… The phone!”

  I giggled as I turned away from the window and ran up the stairs. My father picked up a different phone and still seemed confused about what was happening. “Hello?”

  “Hi Dad!”

  “Emily! What a surprise!” Dad exclaimed happily as my mother groaned into the receiver.

  “Mom, Dad, can I stay with you for a little bit?”

  “Well yes, of course,” my mom answered carefully. “You know you can always stay here if you need to. Is everything okay?”

  “Um… Well… I have some news.”

  “What’s going on? Are you pregnant?” My dad guessed, riding the high of grandfatherhood.

  My brother’s first child was born almost a year ago and my parents were obsessed with her. Talia was beautiful. She looked like a perfect mix of her gorgeous mother and her handsome father. Because the pregnancy came as a surprise, naming her after Grandma Mills was perfect, since Talia meant to wait in anticipation.

  And Lord knows they’ve been waiting in anticipation for a grandchild for a long time.

  Taking a deep breath, I blurted out the truth. “I texted Mr. Mac and he said he would call me after his granddaughter’s basketball game.” I paused. “I’m filing for divorce.”

  There was a distinct pause.

  “What?”

  “Are you okay?”

  “What happened?”

  “When did this happen?”

  My parents were yelling questions at such a rapid rate that I didn’t know who was talking when. It just sounded like noise.

  “Hey!” I yelled, trying to get their attention. They stopped abruptly. “I promise, I will explain everything as soon as possible. I promise. But if you’re not busy, and you’re able to, would you help me pack up some of my stuff? I’m going to get the rest later. I just want to be gone before he gets back.”

  “Did he put his hands on you?” My dad’s voice boomed through the phone.

  “No, no. I’ll explain as soon as I’m at your house. I just… I know it would go faster if I had some help and I don’t feel like calling the girls tonight. Not right now, anyway.”

  “Say no more. We’re on the way,” my dad informed me.

  “I already have my shoes on. We’ll be there in fifteen minutes.”

  We said our goodbyes and I started packing my clothes. My parents had the forethought to bring their luggage, as well, so I was able to get everything from my closet and drawers. I grabbed important paperwork from the office, critical documents and my passport from the safe, and everything that I thought I would need in the immediate future. My car and my parents’ SUV were packed to maximum capacity.

  My parents and I didn’t talk about what happened while they helped me pack my belongings. We had plans to talk as soon as I got to their house. It only took an hour and a half so they headed home and I walked through the house once more just to see if I was forgetting anything. Part of me wanted to take a little bit of everything with me—the abstract painting of me Anthony had commissioned for our one-year anniversary, the crockpot we used to make the best nachos in the world, the heavy vase that decorated our kitchen table. But the other part of me wanted to disassociate myself from all of the memories attached to those items.

  “I loved us,” I whispered as I stared at my favorite photo of us tucked inside of my favorite picture frame.

  And then I broke down.

  Holding the frame in my hand, I clutched it between my fingers and cried. It wasn’t so much that the relationship was over that broke my heart into pieces; It was the fact that after hurting me, he’d rather pretend he didn’t care than to hold himself accountable and apologize for his wrongdoing.

  I wiped my tears and looked at the picture one more time and suddenly it looked different. A moment of clarity hit me all at once. Emily Mills became Emily Diaz for Anthony Diaz. Anthony Diaz remained Anthony Diaz for Anthony Diaz. Whereas I changed for him to become part of a unit with him, he remained the same. I started as Emily Mills and evolved into Emily Diaz. He started as Anthony Diaz and continued to be Anthony Diaz. No matter what way I put it, the end result was the same and the more I thought about it, the clearer everything in my life became.

  Although relationships were designed to be reciprocal, I’d married someone who never had any intention of being anyone other than his single self. I pulled out my phone and googled the definition of narcissistic. Nodding to myself, I continued reading and most of the telltale signs of narcissism were spot on. But the paragraph at the bottom of the screen gutted me:

  Narcissists tend to marry (and have children) quickly in order to lock down a permanent source of financial, emotional, social or domestic needs; however, they rarely take the commitment seriously.

  My heart broke all over again. Anthony dated, proposed and married me within a year’s time.

  Did it not mean anything to him? Was it all a game?

  I copied and pasted the web address in a text message and sent it to Sahara. Slipping the phone in my pocket, I picked up my favorite picture frame with my favorite picture of us in it and closed my eyes. Screaming, I heaved it across the room. The sound of glass cracking, breaking and scattering across the tiles of the floor felt good and I exhaled.

  I’m not the calm before the storm; I’m the calm and the storm. I’m both Emily Mills and Emily Diaz. I’m me and I’m enough. I don’t need Anthony or any man to define me. Anthony may need someone to validate him, but I alone validate me.

  I had no doubt that once I got over the betrayal of what Anthony did, my first marriage would be a mere footnote in the illustrious story of my life. But in order to get to that point, I needed to focus on me.

  “This is it,” I whispered to the house as I closed the door of the house we shared, of the memories it held, of the marriage that I was leaving behind.

  Chapter 9

  Saturday, February 18th – 2:33pm

  “Are you okay?” Sahara asked gently on the other end of the phone.

  Lying in my childhood bed with the blanket pulled over my head, I let my cell phone rest on my face. “I called to see how you were doing. How are you?”

  Sahara sighed loudly. “I’m four months pregnant, but I look at least eight months. My Ob-Gyn had to reschedule my appointment for Tuesday and I can’t travel until after the appointment so I couldn’t go see my best friend like I planned. So… I’m not great. I have the house to myself so it’s not all complaints, but I would be better if I was there with you on this holiday weekend. Now, your turn… Are you okay?”

  “I’ve been better.” I rolled onto my back and pushed the blanket off my body. After my shower, I only pulled on a long t-shirt. After untwisting the cotton material from around my waist, I was able to get comfortable. “It’s been a rough week.”

  “Because of Valentine’s Day?”

  “No.” I stared at the collage of pictures from childhood that still hung on the wall next to my closet. “Well, yeah, Valentine’s Day sucked. You would think with all of these cable channels there would be one movie on that wasn’t romantic. People who are at home watching basic cable movies on Valentine’s Day shouldn’t be forced to pick between movies like A Valentine for Valerie and The Valentine’s Wedding. Or that reality TV show.”

  “That damn reality TV show.” I could hear the smile in her voice.

  I pouted. “Don’t even get me s
tarted. I just can’t. And I wanted to but…” My voice trailed off into a sigh.

  “You’re going to get to a point where you can watch The One again.”

  I groaned. “I miss it. The guy they had this season looked promising.”

  “The commercial definitely seemed promising, I’ll give you that. But if it helps at all, it’s not as good as it was a couple of years ago.”

  “Well obviously! There’s only one Julian Winters. Let’s be honest… The One is not topping the Julian and Zoe love story.”

  “True, true.” Sahara’s throaty laugh floated through the airwaves and I smiled for the first time in a few days. When her laughter tapered off, she got serious again. “So if it wasn’t Valentine’s Day, what was it?”

  “Anthony got served with the divorce papers on Thursday.”

  “Oh wow! That’s quite a delayed Valentine’s Day gift.” Her shocked voice let me know her mouth was probably hanging wide open as she digested the information. “How do you feel? Have you talked to him?”

  “I just feel like everything is moving so fast, but at the same time, not fast enough. Does that make any sense?”

  “Yeah, it makes sense. You’re ready for the process to be done and over with, but at the same time, the rate everything is moving is really fast and there’s a lot of change. It’s a lot to take in.” She paused. “Are you okay?”

  I swallowed around the lump in my throat. “I’m sad,” I whispered. “I’m really fucking sad.”

  “I know, Em. I’m sorry.” It sounded as if she were on the brink of tears. “I wish I could’ve been there this weekend. President’s Day is the last three-day weekend before I reach my ‘travel restriction’ date. I have a few extra vacation days that I can use to co—“

  “No!” I sat up in bed and pulled my knees to my chest. “You need to keep those for yourself. I’m going to come up there and visit you in March before competition madness really gets going. I need to get away anyway. Take my mind off of things.”

  “Have you talked to him since the incident?”

  I had been going back and forth to my house to get my belongings since I’d left that Saturday. But I’d wanted to get a storage unit for my furniture. Coordinating with a moving company and an indoor storage unit facility, I’d arranged to return to the house on February first to get my stuff while Anthony did a shift in the hospital.

  When we arrived, I saw Anthony’s car and I knew he didn’t go into work. I explained to the three movers that he would be home, but it shouldn’t be a problem. I wanted the stuff from my office and my heirlooms. But most importantly, I wanted the overstuffed green and blue speckled chair that Grandma Mills gave me before she died. It was my favorite thing and the piece of furniture that mattered most. So when I arrived to get it and saw the giant ink stain on it, I knew it was purposefully sabotaged.

  Anthony and I had argued in front of the movers. He categorically denied putting the ink in the chair even though it couldn’t have been anyone, but him or one of his guests. We had separate offices so there was no reason for anyone to be in mine and the chair was fine the last time I was there.

  During the argument, a woman came down the stairs in his robe. It was so shocking, even the movers fell silent. The woman, who didn’t look like either of the nurses that I knew him to have been with, asked Anthony if he wanted breakfast. He responded with ‘yes, baby’ and smirked at me. The smug demeanor and almost taunting way he called her baby sliced through me—not because I wanted him back, but because he wanted to hurt me. He was intentional about it.

  Turning away from him, I took pictures of the chair and the stain and had the movers transport the furniture while I went to my car to call different companies to see who may be able to get the stain out. When the movers were done, they looked at me with pity which made the process of putting my stuff in the storage unit that much more embarrassing.

  I hadn’t seen or talked to Anthony since that day.

  “No, I haven’t talked to him. My lawyer told me he was served at the medical center though.”

  “I’m surprised he hasn’t called, but he probably realized that this is for real and that you aren’t playing games with him. I honestly think that he thought he was so much of a catch that you wouldn’t leave him.”

  “Yeah, that’s true,” I agreed. “But I also think he forgot how much of a catch I am.”

  “Oh, as soon as he fucked his nurse it was clear he forgot who he was married to. You’re the real catch. But you can’t convince someone without vision to see what’s right in front of him. But speaking of you being a catch, have you talked to CJ?”

  The knot in my stomach that developed whenever I thought about CJ felt heavy. Visions of his dark brown, almost black eyes boring into me as he listened to me, read me, assessed me, infiltrated my dreams every now and again. Thoughts of his touch as he massaged me never failed to give me butterflies, but the memory of how hard and thick he felt under me as I was grinding in his lap never failed to get me off.

  CJ was the ideal—he was the standard to which any man I met would be held. If a man couldn’t make me feel safe, make me feel beautiful, make me feel heard, make me feel important, make me feel like CJ made me feel, I wouldn’t even bother giving him the time of day. But I wasn’t ready to date and the last time I felt something so intensely for someone so quickly, I married him—and that didn’t turn out so well.

  “No, I haven’t.” My tone was clipped and showcased no emotion.

  My hope was that Sahara wouldn’t push the issue and pry into why. But counseling, marriage, and motherhood made her into a more intuitive soul.

  “I thought you liked him.”

  I let my head fall back. “I do. I did. I… don’t know what you want me to say.” I got quiet as I tried to formulate my thoughts. “I’m not ready for whatever it was I was feeling for him. He’s too great of a man to be a rebound and if that spark between us was more than a rebound, I’m not ready for that at all. I mean… I still get a little tingle when I think about him, but it’s not like it was when I was there. And I haven’t even talked to him since I saw him the night before I left Atlanta. We texted a couple of times, but neither time was about anything serious. He texted me a video of some dancers they used and I gave him my feedback. I texted him to tell him ‘An Inconvenient Truth’ was on the movie channel. Nothing serious.”

  I didn’t mention that he’d called me a few times because I hadn’t called him back.

  I should call him back, I thought, instantly causing the knot in my stomach to tighten.

  “Nothing serious,” Sahara repeated. “Didn’t he send you a text on Valentine’s Day?”

  My entire body warmed as I thought about the message exchange.

  CJ Addo: You look like trouble.

  Emily Diaz: I am trouble.

  CJ Addo: Do you know who I am? I’m not afraid of a little trouble.

  Emily Diaz: You should be.

  There was no other conversation had and he never texted me back, but the way my stomach somersaulted, one would’ve assumed he’d sent me a love letter.

  “Yeah.” I bit my lip. “But it wasn’t even like he said ‘Happy Valentine’s Day’ or anything. He just sent a text message to say that I looked like trouble. I texted him back to confirm that I was indeed trouble.”

  Sahara let out an exasperated sigh. “He sent you a text message on Valentine’s Day for a reason. It’s not like you two talk all the time. So he made a point to wait until the most commercially romantic day of the year to reach out. That means something.”

  “Maybe,” I admitted softly. I put my hand over my belly to keep the butterflies calm. “But even so, it’s just not the time for me to pursue anything with anyone. I’m separated. I’m not ready. I thought I wanted to get under someone to get over someone, but I just feel like that only works with men who are fling material and CJ is not.”

  “Em…” Sahara extended the sound, almost as if she were cooing to her child. “You really
like him, don’t you? Like you could see a future with him?”

  I rolled my eyes. “I really don’t know him that well and I’m trying to process a divorce so…I haven’t given much thought to a future with CJ.”

  That wasn’t a lie. I hadn’t given a future with CJ much thought because I was too busy being angry about Anthony and his bullshit or reliving the thirty-six hours I’d spent with CJ. But a future wasn’t something I allowed myself to think too much about. I was just trying to get through each day.

  “Yeah, right! You told me last week that if you ever met a guy again, he’d need to have all of the qualities that CJ had.”

  “Yeah, and I recall saying that he needed to have CJ qualities not that he needed to be CJ.”

  She laughed. “I can’t argue with you right now. But know that I’m not at all advocating for you to rush into something with CJ or anyone else. I just don’t want you to let Anthony make you bitter about relationships. After you heal, you are going to bounce back in the biggest and best possible way.”

  “Thank you,” I murmured into the phone just as I heard my parents excitedly yelling downstairs. “Hey, I need to slip on some clothes and head downstairs. The guests of honor are here.”

  “Emanuel?” Sahara asked, her voice still hitching a bit when she says his name after all these years.

  I ignored it. “Yes ma’am.”

  We said our goodbyes and I threw on jeans and a plain white t-shirt. Opening up the bedroom door, I heard the small squeal of a one-year-old laughing.

  My heart melted on the spot.

  Running down the hall and then down the staircase, I spotted the prettiest little girl in the world.

  “I see Auntie’s baby!” I sang as I bounded down the last few stairs and rushed into the living room.

  So that I wasn’t rude, I reached up and hugged my big brother. “Hey, Manny!”

  His hello back to me barely registered once my attention focused on the bundle of cuteness in the winter trench coat I’d gotten for Talia for her birthday a week ago.