She’d blindsided me with that one, but I recovered with, “It doesn’t matter what I think of him. Doyoulike him?”
“I used to,” she whispered. “Is that how all relationships go? You start off great, getting to know each other. Hanging out, eating. Great sex. Move in together. Then—Bam!—the world and everyday life snatches all the magic away?”
She got me again with the “great sex” part. When I was her age, my friends and I didn’t talk about sex. I never talked about sex with other women. With anybody. I just wove it into my marriage, right along with the extra laundry.
“Since I just left a thirty-year marriage and the ladies in my library group said I’m still in my anti-man phase, I decline to comment.”
“Joyce. You were married thirty years. You’re an expert, in my opinion.”
“But I’m divorced. We failed.”
“Oh my gosh, seriously? I’d put a three-year relationship in my Win column. Even schools aren’t that cruel; they give you an average for the grade. I’d give your marriage no lower than a C for thirty years, on effort and extra credit alone.”
I stared at an oncoming car, considering her words. My words.We failedbecause our marriage ended. I did feel like had a scarlet “D” embroidered onto my blouses since the divorce.
“No one in your family stayed married for more than thirty years?” I double-checked.
“They stayed married as long as they could or until somebody died. My parents were already split up when my dad died. My grandfather died young, too. My half brother and his wife have been married almost ten years, but she’s the meanest person alive. I don’t see it lasting.”
“Hmph.”
“Me and Lorenzo… We were good the first year. And then this other side of him brought out this other side of me, and now I can’t do it.” Her face crumpled and tears leaked from her big brown eyes. Poor Gabriella. She was so smart, beautiful, and kind. She had no business crying over somebody who didn’t or couldn’t appreciate her.
“If you can’t, then don’t. Stay here, get yourself together, and wait until you meet someone who wants to add to your life as much as you’re willing to add to his.”
She cried, “But what if he never comes along?”
“So be it.”
“I want kids!”
“You also want those kids to have a father who teaches them how to love, who won’t let this world make their hearts grow cold,” I told her, thinking of my own daughter. “I endured my husband’s coldness for the sake of my children’s financial well-being without understanding that I was setting a model in place, setting up the next generation to repeat the pattern. I thought my love and self-sacrifice could make up for my husband’s shortcomings, but it didn’t. It couldn’t.”
Gabriella hiccuped. “Dang, Ms. Joyce. You went in on a sistah.”
A drop of wine escaped my lips as I chuckled. “Sorry, sweetheart.”
“No, I needed to hear it. Lorenzo is great at running a business, and he can be sweet when he wants to, but overall, he’s got an attitude problem and I don’t want to pass that on to my imaginary future children. I said it first right here with you.” She raised her glass. “To kind men?”
“To kind men.”
As we toasted, Richard came to mind. He was kind, as a friend. Annoying as a suitor.
“What’s up with Celestia?” Gabriella wasted no time “going in” on me, too.
I took a big gulp.
“That bad?”
“Worse.”
“Get a refund. We can buy a cheaper oven. We could even scrape by with a toaster oven for now,” she said.
I smacked my lips. “A toaster oven, Gabriella?”
“I’m just sayin’. I’ve made it this far without Celestia.” She rolled her neck as she hissed the name. “I can make it to my own business without her.”
“I wish it was that simple. When I called the old contractor to install Celestia, he promptly said he couldn’t do it unless I’d had that whole side of the house rewired. He referred me to the Senior Living Advocacy Program, SLAP.”
