I never ask himwhyhe wants a divorce.Honestly, I don’t really want to know the details, because I think I understand the larger picture pretty well.
It’s close to eleven when I say goodbye.He hugs me tight, for a long time, so long I almost start to worry that he won’t be okay.
“Thanks for helping your old man out,” he says.“I know this hasn’t been easy on you.”
I don’t say anything.
When I getto Jane’s apartment, she opens the door, and without speaking, points to her couch.
“Sit,” she says, and goes into her kitchen.“Wine or whiskey?”she hollers.
“Whiskey,” I holler back, practically flopping onto her couch.
“Straight or sour?”
I think about it for a moment, but it’s not hard.Jane bartended her way through college — a better choice than working in the library, which is what I did — and makesgreatwhiskey sours.
“Sour,” I call.
A few minutes later, she kicks my legs unceremoniously off the couch, hands me a drink, and sits down.
“Here’s to growing old with cats and spiders and definitely not men,” she says, clinking her glass against mine.“And for the record, if I were a man or a lesbian I’d say definitely not women, because the enemy here is marriage and not one sex or the other.”
I laugh and take a drink.It’s delicious, because Jane knows how to make a fuckingdrink.
“How was he today?”she asks.
I look into my glass and shrug.
“He seemed...more good than bad,” I say.“He managed to only say a couple of bad things about Mom, so I guess that’s progress.”
Jane just shakes her head.She’s two years younger than me, but we’ve had an inverted relationship since we were teenagers: she’s louder, more outspoken, a little pushier.I’ve always been shier than her, and because of that, sometimes I think she feels the need to protect me.
I keep telling her I don’t need protecting, I’m just quiet.I’m not sure she believes me.
“I’m glad he’s finally getting his stuff out of there and into his own place,” she says.“Uncle Brandon’s guest room isnota long-term plan.”
“I don’t get why he even asked for a divorce if he didn’t have a better plan,” I say, leaning my forehead against my hand and my elbow against the back of the couch.“Why not wait a week, until you’ve found an apartment or something?”
Weirdly, dissecting the logistics of my parents’ divorce makes it easier to deal with.Emotions are tricky and slippery.Apartment leases are not.
Jane just looks at me, and instantly, I know there’s something she’s not saying.
“What?”I ask.
She looks away.
“Jane,” I say.
Jane squeezes her eyes shut, her whole face scrunching up.I wait.
“She cheated on him with a guy she works with at the hospital,” she says, the words coming out in a rush.
My mouth falls open, and I stare at her.She cracks one eye open.
“I’m sorry,” she says.
All those phone calls, accusing my dad of cheating?All those crazy guesses about the neighbors?It was her, theentire fucking time?
