We hustle to the car, the girls buckling themselves in even as I’m pulling out of the driveway. I’m not a morning person, and this is when I miss Kyle the most. If he wasn't traveling for work—or for pleasure, I think bitterly—he was usually around to assist with the morning chaos. Most days, it was the only time the girls saw him, sincehis work hours often stretched late into the night. Without him, I often feel adrift, struggling to wrangle two grumpy kids and get us out the door on time.
Grief is weird like that. It can hit me without warning, like a paralyzing punch to the gut, immediate and fierce. Little things, like brewing a single cup of coffee rather than an entire pot, can upset me more than big things, like anniversaries and birthdays.
There’s no rhyme or reason to my conflicted emotions, and while time doesn’t heal all wounds, it has helped lessen the hurt. Everything that happened after the discovery of Kyle’s infidelity cracked my heart wide open, but over the past year, I’ve been stitching it back together. My life didn’t end when my marriage did.
Luck is on my side this morning, and I pull up to the girls’ private school with four minutes to spare. With a sigh of relief, I wave Grace off and walk Claire into her Pre-K class before starting my daily commute into Nashville.
I stroll into work thirty-five minutes later. Bypassing the crowded lobby and the lines of people waiting for the elevators, I take the stairs instead. After jogging up three flights, I swing by Laura’s office for our daily coffee. The few minutes I spend talking to my best friend each morning over a cup of coffee are crucial to keeping me sane.
As soon as I push open her door, the aroma of a vanilla latte hits my nose. I swipe the still-steaming cup off Laura’s desk and situate myself on the small couch in her large corner office.
Besides being my best friend, Laura’s also my boss now, which is the only reason I’m allowed to waste company time drinking coffee and chitchatting every morning.
When I desperately needed a job last year, Laura swooped in and saved the day by setting me up with a job in radio advertising sales. The position offered flexible hours, good benefits, a decent base salary,and great bonuses. By combining my sheer determination to provide for my family with my knack for reading people, this job—which started as a Hail Mary/BFF sympathy job offer—has turned out to be a win-win for both of us.
I’m able to pay the bills each month and still have a little left over. Once I sell the house and move into something smaller, I’ll be more financially stable, but I've been dragging my feet. It’s the only house that Grace and Claire remember living in. For them, the house is filled with positive memories, and I hate to steal those from them. But for me, that house represents the most painful memories from my very worst days.
I steel myself for the conference call I have scheduled this afternoon with a real estate agent to start the home selling and buying process. It’s time.
“Thanks,” I say, lifting my coffee cup to Laura.
“No problem.” She pushes out of her desk chair and joins me on the couch.
“Tell me everything! How was your date?”
Despite my single foray into sex last year, I haven’t started dating, so I live vicariously through Laura’s prolific dating life. She swipes right on Tinder enough for the both of us.
She shrugs. “He was okay, but pretty boring. Too…” She waves her hands in the air, searching for the right word before settling on, “Professional.”
Laughing, I blow on my latte before taking another sip. “Too professional? Most people consider that a positive quality because it means he holds down a steady job. Not like the deadbeat you dated a couple of months ago, who still lived with his mother and couldn’t pay for dates unless his mommy gave him his allowance.”
She sticks her tongue out. “I told you that in confidence, Anna. Not so you could hold it over my head for eternity!”
”What are best friends for?” I reply with a laugh. “But get back to telling me more about your date who was too professional.”
“All he did was talk about work for the entire dinner. He was a total snoozefest! He seems like the type of guy who’d have sex with his socks on, and instead of whispering sweet nothings in my ear, he’d be telling me how he highlights the columns in his spreadsheets. And the sex would be vanilla. Probably missionary position, where he sticks his pencil dick inside me, gyrates a couple of times, blows his load, and then pulls out, thinking his job is done. No fucking way, buddy. I’m too young to settle for anything less than steamy hot, toe-curling sex.”
“Hey, old people have sex, too. Approximately twenty times per year. It’s not unheard of for there to be outbreaks of sexually transmitted diseases amongst nursing home residents.” Laura blanches as I nod and add, “The more you know.”
“Gah! This isn’t an NBC after-school special, Anna. I don’t know what’s worse—that you know that fact, or that you told me, so now I know that useless tidbit too.” She shakes her head.
I cackle at the downtrodden expression on Laura’s face. “I’m sorry, I am, but I wanted to reassure you that you still have decades left for hot sex.”
“If anyone needs a heaping portion of hot passionate sex, it’s you, Anna Morris.” Rolling her eyes as I begin to protest, she says, “You need to stop being so preoccupied with my dates. What youneedis to go on a date yourself.”
“Not this again,” I groan.
“I know you hate hearing this, but you can’t use what happened with Kyle as an excuse not to let anyone else get close to you.”
Even after a year of therapy, a giant red warning light flashes in my brain: deny, deny, deny!
“It’s not that, Laura. I just don’t have enough free time to date. Between work and being a single mom, all my time is spoken for. Did you know I count showering as my daily dose of me time?”
Crossing her legs, Laura turns serious. She doesn’t buy my excuse. “Anna, at some point, you need to start dating again. You cannot deny yourself a second shot at happiness because you’re busy with the girls. I won’t let you use your role as their mom to avoid romantic relationships. Make time for yourself. Put yourself out there. Meet new people. Expand your horizons. Be open to finding someone new."
Her words hit their target. But dammit, it’s easier to keep hiding from the world. I already tried the wholelove-and-marriage thingonce, and it ended far more painfully than I ever imagined. Kyle’s betrayal left a complicated legacy of grief for me to unravel. My therapist's words, not mine. The thought of opening my heart again terrifies me, because I know exactly how devastating it can be when a relationship falls apart.
“I’ll take your statements under advisement.”
