Collecting myself, I flip on the air conditioning and pull out of the lot.
I sniff away the tears. I’m supposed to be angry. My fingers tighten around the steering wheel.
I’m not sad, I’m pissed. I’m not sad, I’m pissed. I’m not sad, I’m?—
Fuck!
A singular tear breaks free, rolling down my cheek.
2
ASH
MARCH PRESENT DAY
When I left my house this morning, it was my home. The hardwood floors in the entryway that I picked out. The eight-person maple farm table in the kitchen that Casey had made after I saw one in a movie. The fireplace he had fixed before we moved in because I’d told him once I love a cozy fire in the fall.
All of it was mine when I headed to work, and now it feels foreign. I don’t belong there anymore either.
Isn’t that something?
I stood at our gas stove last night making popcorn for Maggie and me before we curled up to watch Dancing with the Stars. When Casey still wasn’t home, I washed my face and crawled into her bed. I didn’t worry about where he was. I assumed he’d been working late.
Did he even come home last night?
I thought he’d left for work before I got up. He does that sometimes. But he could have stayed with her last night.
He could have been staying with her many nights.
God, I’m an idiot. How did I not notice?
Now, I can’t stop running over every time he worked late or was out of town, searching my memory for clues of his affair.
When I got to the house, I knew I couldn’t stay. Add it to the list of places I no longer love. So, I grabbed what we’d need and hightailed it out of there. My mom picks Maggie up from preschool on Fridays, so thank God I have the rest of today to get my shit together.
As the doorbell chimes to my stepsister’s townhouse, I can’t help but chuckle at the familiar feeling of running to her for comfort. She’s been that since my mom married her dad, Denny, when we were twelve. We’re older now, but misery is misery no matter how much we grow up.
Will Jess and I lie in bed tonight while she wipes my tears and tells me that he wasn’t worth it? Will she drag me from the house in a few weeks to do something fun to get my mind off him? Will I sneak away to call him in the middle of the night? Maybe he’ll answer.
My stomach churns.
What if he doesn’t?
“Ash?” Her brows pinch as she opens the door.
I didn’t tell her I was coming because what would I say? Actually, I didn’t really decide to come here as much as I just kind of showed up. Like my heart was leading the way because my mind was busy torturing itself with thoughts of my husband’s hands on someone else.
When her deep brown eyes take in the mascara streaks on my face, they soften. “What’s wrong?”
Oh, you know, the sky’s falling, my life’s over, men suck, and by the way, can I live with you?
She takes my suitcase and pulls me inside.
“Uh…” I swallow. The words don’t want to come out. “I, um?—”
“Hey, come here,” she coos, wrapping an arm around me. My chin rests on her shoulder, and her lavender scent fills my nose. She’s several inches taller than me, but I’m still in my work heels and she’s barefoot, making the difference less noticeable.
“Casey’s leaving me.” As the words leave my mouth, they feel like they’re coming from someone else. It’s a strange out of body experience. It has to be, right? Because there’s no way this is really my life. How can one person be unlucky enough to have their perfect house of cards knocked down twice?
