Better Off Without Him (Romantic Comedy)

by Dee Ernst

Phyllis blinked. “Oh.”

  Patricia turned to MarshaTheBitch with a brilliant smile. “Another martini? I know I could use one.”

  I followed Patricia into the kitchen. She put her hands on my shoulders and gave me a shake. “That woman means nothing to you anymore, Mona,” she said slowly. “Leave her to me and Lily. Really.”

  I nodded. I checked the turkey. He, or she, was done, so I pulled out the pan and set it on the counter. I checked all the other pots and baking dishes. Everything seemed to be moving ahead. Patricia had mixed another pitcher of martinis.

  “I’ll take one now,” I told her.

  She tilted her head at me. “I know you deserve one, but are you sure?”

  I nodded. “The bird is cooked and everything else looks good. Even if I pass out, dinner will be a success.”

  She nodded, found a glass, and poured. The first sip hit me like it always did. When I got to the third, I was in heaven.

  There was a knock on the door. Patricia went to answer it.

  “Ben, thank God,” she said. “I need to explain something for just a sec.” She closed the door behind her.

  The fourth sip was not so much a sip as a long gulp. I closed my eyes to savor the moment.

  “Mona?”

  It was Rebecca. I opened my eyes and she was looking concerned. “Are you okay? Marsha is impossible. I’m sorry.”

  I smiled. “I’m fine. Honestly.”

  She was looking at the pitcher of martinis. “I’ve always wanted to try one of these,” she said.

  “Well, you can’t get much better than Patricia’s. You’re not driving, are you?”

  Rebecca shook her head. I poured her a glass, adding olives. She took a taste, and her eyes opened wide.

  “Oh, my goodness,” she said.

  “I know.”

  Patricia came back in, carrying a pumpkin pie in front of her like Donna Reed. “Ben made this himself, isn’t he marvelous? He’s bringing in the wine. We’re all set. Rebecca, I don’t know what you’ve heard about Ben, but for today he’s my date, so keep your hands to yourself.” She set the pie down and turned towards the den. “I’ll let the girls know what’s going on.”

  Then Ben came in, two bottles of wine in each arm. The cold had brought high color to his cheeks, and his eyes sparkled. He was wearing a black vee-neck sweater and black corduroy pants. I felt a momentary rush of blood to my head.

  She was caught up in the heat of his hands and the sweetness of his lips. She reached blindly, tugging at the linen of his shirt, hungry for the feel of his skin against hers, and his lips moved down her throat, searing her silken skin like a brand.

  “Rebecca, this is Ben Cutler. Ben, this is my sister-in-law, Rebecca Berman.”

  Ben put down the bottles and shook her hand. “Are you Glinda?” he asked.

  Rebecca giggled. “You’ve been listening to Anthony, haven’t you?” she gushed.

  He chuckled and turned to me. “Hello, Mona. Thanks again so much for asking me here today. Do you really want me to pretend to be Patricia’s date? Isn’t that a little extreme?”

  “Wait until you meet my sister,” Rebecca said. “Then you’ll understand.”

  Ben smiled. “Mona, for you, anything.” Then he leaned over and kissed me on the cheek.

  Now, my imaginary kisses with Ben usually involved lots of skin and plenty of tongue, but it was still pretty special. Patricia came in, slipped her hand through his arm, and made a silly face.

  “I can’t believe you, Ben. I turn my back for one minute and you’re flirting with the hostess. Come on through, I’ll introduce you.” She snagged the pitcher with the other hand and was gone.

  Rebecca and I drank thoughtfully for a few moments.

  “Well, he certainly is spectacular,” she said at last.

  “Yes, he is.”

  “I don’t suppose he’s a conceited prick?”

  I shook my head. “No, he’s very nice. Thoughtful. I can really talk to him, but not for too long.”

  “Oh? Why not?”

  “My imagination starts to get the best of me and I start having concentration issues.”

  “Yes. Well I can see that happening. Patricia is a very good friend to put herself out like that. She’ll probably have to be hanging on to him all day.”

  “She’s a real gem. I’m lucky to have her.” I reached over and patted Rebecca’s hand. “And I’m glad we’re still friends. I’ve missed you.”

  “Yes. I’ve missed you too. In fact, I don’t know why I’ve stayed away so long. I’ve always liked you much better than I liked Brian.”

  Rebecca picked up her glass and wandered towards the living room. I yelled for Lauren. She came out of the den, her eyes glazed over from too many parades.

  “I know you’re still not speaking to me, but it’s turkey watch time. You get the first shift.”

  She groaned. “Mom, come on. Why do we have to guard the stupid turkey?”

  “Every year we watch A Christmas Story. Last year you saw it six times.”

  “So?”

  “So, you know what happened to the turkey. When the mother set it on the table to cool?”

  “Mom, do you really think a pack of animals is going to break into the house and eat the turkey?”

  “We don’t need a break-in. We have a pack of animals that live here.”

  She shrugged. “Okay. Mom?”

  “Yes?”

  “Why did Patricia say we should pretend Ben’s her boyfriend?”

  “Would you want Ben to be your boyfriend?”

  She thought for a moment. “Well, he’s kinda old, but yes.”

  “All right, then. Let the woman dream. We’ll be eating in half an hour. Get your sisters in here to help.”

  I picked up the phone and dialed Mitch again.

  “Ben and Patricia are pretending to be a couple so that MarshaTheBitch won’t think he’s my, well, you know.”

  “Does she know I’m your ‘you know’?”

  “No. Your very existence is a carefully guarded secret from all of Brian’s family. Except Rebecca. Who thinks it’s a good idea.”

  “Vicky is planning to deep-fry the turkey.”

  “That’s supposed to be delicious.”

  “She bought fifty gallons of olive oil.”

  “That will taste awful.”

  “Probably.”

  “And doesn’t olive oil have a lower flash point? Couldn’t it catch fire?”

  “I’ve already alerted the fire department.”

  “I still think I’m ahead.”

  “Yes, but the day is still young.”

  “I miss you.”

  “Me too. Got to go.”

  I hung up. The turkey looked perfect. Lauren was chasing Jane and Olivia out of the kitchen with a broom. Good girl. I could hear Anthony’s voice, telling a joke. Good boy. I straightened my shoulders and headed back to the living room.

  It was a happy Thanksgiving after all.

  The Monday after Thanksgiving, Mitch went out to California for a whole week. When he returned we had a very cozy reunion, complete with Brie, crackers and champagne, all consumed naked. I was getting dressed, thinking about how cold it was getting and how I was going to hate driving home in the dark, when he told me that he was planning to return to California in a few weeks.

  “But you just came back,” I pointed out, pulling on a sock.

  “Yeah. Well.”

  Something in his tone made me look at him hard. “What?”

  “I was looking at an art gallery.”

  I frowned. “Really? I didn’t know you were interested in art.”

  His eyes lit up. “It’s not just art. It’s animation art. Seri-cells, sketches, everything I’ve been selling on my website. I went out to check things over, and the place is fantastic. In La Jolla. It would be a terrific opportunity. I mean, it’s the next step for me if I want to continue doing this.”

  I was getting a hollow feeling in the pit of my stomach. I knew
how much he loved animation art, and I knew he was starting to loose patience with his retail stores.

  “So, if you buy the gallery, would you run it?”

  He nodded. “Yes. I’d really want to be hands-on.”

  “Ah. So I suppose that would mean your actually moving there? To California? Unless you can afford your own commuter jet?”

  He put his arms around me. “I’d be moving there, yes,” he said softly.

  “What about the stores?” I asked, pulling back to look at him.

  “There’s a buyer. The same guy has been after me for a couple of years now. It would be easy.” He was looking very serious. “Do you love me, Mona?”

  “No.” The word came out before I could even think about it.

  “I know. I’m not in love with you either. I like you a hell of a lot, and I’d miss you like crazy, but I don’t think you and I are in a position where I’d ask you to move out there with me.”

  I shook my head. “No. And I wouldn’t ask you to pass this by just because of me.”

  We sat there for a few seconds, sitting at the edge of his crumpled bed.

  “We’ll see how things go when I go back,” he said at last. “Nothing has been decided. I have to see about financing, for one thing. It could all be a bust, and I stay right where I am.”

  I nodded. “True. And we could just keep on going just as we are,” I said, but I knew that wouldn’t be exactly the case. The summer romance was finally winding down. If he didn’t go to California, there would eventually come a time when we would have to move forward, and it seemed that either of us was in a place to do that.

  The girls spent Christmas Eve with Brian. I spent it with Mitch. I bought him a real live Mickey Mouse watch. He bought me the complete Cary Grant film collection on DVD and an antique pendant, a single pearl with three tiny rubies. It was beautiful.

  Christmas Day was quiet. We all woke up early, opened presents, ate Lily’s blueberry pancakes and spent the day toasting marshmallows and watching Christmas movies. The day after Christmas, Mitch went back out to California. He stayed three days. He stopped by the house on the way in from the airport to tell me how it went, but he didn’t need to say a word. I could tell by the way his face was lit up.

  “You bought the gallery.”

  He nodded. We were standing in the foyer. He hadn’t even taken off his coat.

  I felt a huge lump in my throat. “When are you leaving?”

  “I’m going back next week to look for an apartment, then again the beginning of February.” He looked so happy. “Vicki is moving into the Chatham house with her boys, instead of going to Florida, so I don’t have to worry about trying to sell in this market. The buyer for the stores should be ready March 1st, and then I’m out of here.” He put his arms around me. “Mona, I’m so sorry to end this. We had such a great time.”

  Now the lump was in my stomach. “I know. I’m going to miss you. Who’s going to make me laugh when you’re gone?”

  “Are you kidding? You’ll probably meet Mr. Perfect walking out of the courtroom the day your divorce is final.”

  “I doubt it, but thanks for the thought. I hope you find somebody great in California.”

  He kissed me. “I hope I find somebody with real boobs in California.”

  I stepped back from him and took a deep breath. “Good luck, Mitch. And thank you for being exactly what I needed.”

  And then he was gone.

  The day before Divorce Day, I went to David West’s office, where I signed some papers and he walked me through everything that would happen in court the following day. I was feeling depressed and just a little frail. Mitch had left for California that morning. He’d be back by tomorrow night, but too late for me to see him. I had promised to call him as soon as I was out of court.

  When I got back home I decided it would not be good to sit around and mope all afternoon, so I pulled on sweats and walked into town for a yoga class. I walked back a little slower, muscles aching. I was sitting at my kitchen counter, trying to decide between herbal tea and Absolut, when Brian came through the kitchen door.

  I had not seen him since the summer, and he looked like hell. The lines around his mouth were harsher, more deeply drawn, and he was thin and tired-looking.

  “You can’t do that anymore, Brian,” I said.

  “What are you talking about?” he growled.

  “I know that officially we’re still a team until tomorrow, but this is pretty much my house now. You can’t just walk in. Next time, knock. If it’s a problem, just let me know. I’ll have the locks changed.”

  He was frowning. “I’m sorry. I just – “ He ran his hand through his hair. “Can I talk to you, please?”

  I shrugged. “Sure. Tea?”

  He shook his head. “No. Thank you. I think we made a mistake.”

  “We? Who we?”

  “You and I we.”

  “What mistake?”

  “Well, I think it’s a mistake to get a divorce.”

  I stared at him. “What?”

  He cleared his throat. “I think it will be a mistake going through with this divorce.”

  I shook my head to clear it. “Brian, wait a minute. There was no ‘we’ getting a divorce. It was you. All you. In fact, you sat in this very kitchen and said, ‘I want a divorce’.”

  “Well, that may be. But you certainly didn’t fight it.”

  I took a deep breath. “You moved out. Into a condo you had bought months previously with another woman. You sent me a settlement proposal the next day. You refused to see me, or even talk to me, except about the girls. How was I supposed to be fighting? And for what?”

  He looked into my eyes. “Okay, Mona, then I made the mistake. Is that what you want to hear? Huh? I made a mistake.”

  My mouth dropped open. I had never heard those words come out of his mouth before.

  He looked uncomfortable. “So, I’m admitting to you that I was wrong. Now, I know things are almost final, but I’m asking to come home. We can still call the whole thing off. It was crazy, but it’s over now, and I’m ready to come back.”

  I sat down. Hard. “What did you say?” I whispered.

  “I’m ready to come back, Mona, in spite of everything.”

  I couldn’t breathe. “You’re ready to come back? Here?”

  “Yes. And although I realize that while you were apart, you may have, well, been involved with other men, that’s water under the bridge now. I’m ready to go forward again with our marriage.”

  I stood back up and leaned into him. “And whatever makes you think I’d ever want you back?”

  It was his turn to look stunned. “What?”

  “You were a crappy husband the first time around, Brian. Why would I want to put myself through all that again?”

  “But, but – “ He threw his hands up in the air. “We were happy.”

  “You were happy. I thought I was happy because I was clueless. I didn’t know any better. I thought every marriage was about one person doing all the work and the other person getting all the benefits. Do you know, Brian, the whole time you’ve been gone, I’ve never thought, gee, I wish Brian were here, so he could do this for me. Or that for me. Or anything for me. You know why? Because you never did anything for me when you were here. I never felt overwhelmed or unable to cope after you’d gone because I did everything myself anyway. What the hell did I ever need you for? What did you ever do for me? What did you ever give me? Sex? Sure, but guess what, buddy, there’s plenty of that around. Why would I ever need you back in my life?”

  “We had a good marriage,” he sputtered.

  “You had a good marriage. I was in servitude.”

  “Mona, don’t you love me anymore?”

  “No, Brian, I don’t think I do.” Once I said it, I was a little surprised at myself. But only for a moment, because I knew it was true.

  But Brian was fighting back hard. “Did you ever love me?”

  “How can you ask me that
?” I whispered. “I loved you with all my heart.” I felt the blood begin to boil in my ears. “I loved you so much that I did everything you asked, and never questioned a thing. I took care of you and your children and your house and your life and I never complained or asked you to help me because I loved you. I never so much as kissed another man our entire marriage because I loved you. The real question here is did you ever love me?”

  He came toward me, his arms open. “Mona, of course.”

  I took a step away. “Then how could you buy a house with another woman and leave me and your family?”

  That seemed to stop him. “I can’t explain it,” he said at last. “Dominique was like a drug. She just got to me and I couldn’t say no to her. It was an aberration. I swear it will never happen again.”

  I looked at him hard. “I’d have an easier time believing that if Dominique was the first, rather than the latest.”

  An ugly look crossed his face. “That skunk Doug,” he growled. “He told you, didn’t he?”

  “Yes, Brian, he did. And you know why? Because he said that you would want to come back to me, and he wanted me to know exactly the kind of man you were so that when you did try to come back, I’d say no.” I took a deep breath. “So that’s what I’m saying. No. Please leave now.”

  “Mona, – “

  “I mean it. Leave. Right now. It’s over. Completely.”

  He stared. Then he turned and walked out the door.

  I sat there in the empty kitchen. We’d been married twenty years. We had three beautiful daughters. Last year, we had spent New Years Day with our old picture atlas, picking out exotic places we would retire to. By tomorrow, it would all be over. Suddenly, finally, all the anger was gone. All that was left was the sadness.

  Chapter Thirteen

  January, in general, is a good month for me. Here in Northern New Jersey, winter settles in for good in January. It’s not the teasing, damp winter of Thanksgiving, or the maybe-you’ll-get-a-white-Christmas winter of December, but the real thing – cold, crisp, with lots of potential for snow. The girls and I spend lots of time watching the Weather Channel in January, praying for snow days.