“Why are you telling me this?”
“Because I see Jess heading down a path I didn’t have the courage to take. Standing by her convictions, even when it costs her personally. And I see you at a crossroads, deciding whether to be the man who supports her strength or the man who isn’t strong enough to embrace it.”
I glance at the divorce papers again, and my chest tightens. “What if it’s too late?”
“Then you fight for her. Not by asking her to be less, but by being brave enough to love her exactly as she is—brilliant, principled, and occasionally inconvenient to your peace of mind.”
“When did you get so wise about relationships, Mom?”
“Forty years of mistakes are a powerful teacher.” I can hear the smile in her voice. “Your father will survive this story, Lucas. Our family will adapt. But you may not recover if you let pride drive away the woman who clearly holds your heart.”
After we hang up, I sit in the silence of my apartment—our apartment, though Jess hasn’t been back since our fight. The divorce papers mock me from the coffee table, ready and waiting for signatures that would legally end what started as a convenience but became something I can’t imagine living without.
Part of me wants to drive to her office right now and beg her forgiveness, but I know Jess well enough to realize that grand gestures won’t fix what I’ve broken.
I pick up the divorce papers and tear them in half.
The announcement party is in two weeks. We’re both expected to be there, both still maintaining the pretense of our marriage for the cameras and the crowd. I don’t know if Jess will forgive me. I don’t know if we can rebuild what my accusations have damaged. But now, I know what I want. I just hope that when I tell her, she wants the same things, too.
thirty-nine
. . .
Jess
Dawn breaksover Zuma Beach in a spectacular display of pink and gold, the kind of sunrise that would typically fill me with peace. Today, though, the beauty barely registers as I paddle out beyond the break, with my mind churning as restlessly as the ocean beneath me.
“You’re going to wear yourself out before we even catch anything good,” Austin calls from a few yards away, watching as I paddle aggressively through the swells.
Ignoring him, I scan the horizon for the next set. The familiar burn in my shoulders is a welcome distraction from the hollow ache in my chest. It’s been two weeks since my fight with Lucas. Two weeks of sleeping at my apartment, of throwing myself into work, of pretending I’m not falling apart.
I haven’t heard from him. No texts, no calls. Just silence. Thankfully, most of the documentary filming is wrapped. All that’s left now is the announcement party and the final sit-down interview. And thank God for that because the ideaof faking my way through another “happy couple” segment right now might actually break me.
A promising wave approaches, and I turn my board and position myself. The catch is perfect, the ride smooth as I pop up and find my balance, cutting across the face of the wave. For these brief, glorious seconds, nothing exists but water, motion, and the rush of adrenaline.
Then the wave peters out, and reality crashes back. I paddle back toward Austin, who’s watching me with that annoying mix of brotherly concern and curiosity.
“That was nice,” he says, “but you’re surfing angry. Never a good strategy.”
“I’m not angry,” I lie, wiping salt water from my face. “I’m focused.”
“Yeah? You’ve got this little crease right here”—he touches the space between his eyebrows—“that only shows up when you’re pissed about something. Had it since you were like, eight.”
I splash water at him, which he dodges effortlessly. “Maybe I’m just getting old. Wrinkles happen.”
“Bullshit. What’s going on? You and Lucas have a fight?”
The direct hit makes me flinch. Austin knows me too well; he’s always been able to read me.
“It’s not…” I begin, then stop. What’s the point in hiding it? “Yeah.”
“Trouble in paradise?” His tone is light, but his eyes are serious. “I thought you guys were solid.”
I stare out at the horizon, watching the waves form and break in endless cycles. “It’s complicated.”
“Marriage usually is,” he says with the confidence ofsomeone who’s never been married himself. “Want to talk about it?”
Part of me wants to unburden myself completely, but I’m not sure how I would even begin to explain everything up to this point.
