Page 101 of The Marriage Mistake

I could buy a new car, I supposed. Or maybe go to an art gallery and purchase a big, splashy canvas covered in color. Something I never would’ve dared to bring home before. Maybe I’d find an estate sale and look for the ugliest, creepiest piece of art I could find, and I’d buy that. Something that would’ve made Darby laugh.

But then every time I looked at it, I’d be thinking of Darby. And that would make me think of Jack, and the particular way his gaze would soften when he saw his daughter light up. Then I wouldn’t be able to hang the creepy artwork, because it would be a reminder of everything that I wanted but would never have. The two people who had very briefly felt like the only family I’d ever had.

I would buy a car, I decided. A Honda or a Toyota. Something reliable and mid-range.

The money was what kept me going. I worked long hours, kept myself busy, and told myself that financial stability was worth a little heartbreak. At least now I knew the truth about myself. I wouldn’t be fooled by a charming man again.

One Saturday night, the walls began closing in on me and I couldn’t stop wondering what Jack and Darby were doing. (Was he seeing anyone new? Did he ever think about me? Was Darby still playing piano? Would she go to Vikki’s birthday party next week? What had they done with that Polaroid of the three of us at the estate sale?) Frustrated by my circling thoughts, I threw on my jacket, braved the cold, and went to the nearest bar.

It was a sports bar packed with people drinking beer while they watched the screens. Football was on, but I didn’t recognize the teams. I slid onto a stool in the middle of the long bar, and one of the bartenders nodded at me to indicate they’d be with me soon. I ordered a gin and tonic and watched the game. It was college football. That explained why I didn’t recognize the teams. Lines of huge men crashed into each other while people cheered. I sipped my gin and tonic, feeling nothing.

“Are you a big fan?” a man asked as he leaned on the bar next to me.

It took me a second to realize he was speaking to me. I blinked at him, surprised to learn that I actually existed. I wasn’t a ghost. I shook my head. “No. I don’t watch sports at all.”

He huffed. He had short, dark hair and a crooked smile. He looked like he worked out but also enjoyed pizza. Perfectly average, like me. “Funny choice of bar for someone who doesn’t watch sports.”

“I only wanted the ambiance,” I said, which wasn’t exactly true. I’d wanted the noise and the alcohol to drown out my own thoughts.

“The what?”

“Ambiance,” I said. At his flat look, I added, “The vibe.”

“Oh.” He smiled at me. He had a snaggletooth, and I wondered if I was a horrible person for noticing. Was I only noticing because Jack had had perfect teeth? Would I have cared a month ago, or would I have simply been flattered that a man was speaking to me at all? He got his beer from the bartender, but he didn’t go back to his friends. Instead, he turned fully toward me, and I got a waft of his breath. It smelled like stale beer. I wanted him to leave. “Do you come here often?” he asked, leaning too close. “You’re cute.”

I forced my lips to curl into a smile, but I really just wanted him to go away. “Excuse me,” I said, leaving my drink on the bar as I made a motion toward the washroom. He let me go, and I ducked down the hallway, counted to ten, then I peeked around the corner to make sure he had his back turned and made a beeline for the exit.

When I got back to my apartment, safely locked inside, I burst into tears.

Even if I got the money, my life would never change from what it was. All the contracts and the risk and the happiness and the heartbreak—they’d all been for nothing.

A bitter laugh fell out of me as the reality came crashing down on top of me. I’d ruined my life for no good reason. I’d tasted happiness, and now I knew just how miserable I really was.

My father had won, and maybe I was a ghost, with one foot on the other side, because I swore I could hear the echoes of his cruel laughter in my empty apartment.

JACK

It was Tuesday the 28th of October. The day, eleven years ago, when I’d taken Tanya off life support and watched her slip away. Now Darby stood next to me at the cemetery, bundled in her winter jacket as we stood at her mother’s grave. The wind was bitter cold, cutting through the layers I’d worn and freezing me to the bone.

Then again, I hadn’t felt warm for three weeks. Not since Ember had left. She’d torn a hole in our lives and walked out, just like I knew she would. Just like everyone did. And it was better now that she was gone, because Darby and I didn’t need anyone else. We didn’t need complications. My focus had to be my daughter; anything else was a distraction.

And why was I thinking of Ember when I should’ve been remembering my late wife? Guilt slammed into me, burning the back of my throat. I tasted bile.

I cleared the blockage and said, “Anything you want to say, Darby?”

Her chin was tucked into the collar of her jacket. Between that and the woolly beanie she’d pulled low, I could only see a slice of red cheeks, her nose, and her narrowed eyes.

“No,” she replied.

I sighed and bit back a retort. This was how the past three weeks had been. The two of us circling, not quite falling back into our old, familiar patterns. There was coldness between us. Distance.

I was losing her too.

My stomach knotted, and I turned back to the headstone. We’d set some flowers down in front of it, and they shivered in the freezing wind. I wondered what Tanya would say if she could see us now. Wondered what she’d want me to do.

“All right,” I said. “You want to go out for hot chocolate?”

That was our tradition for this day. We spent the whole day together, whether it was a school day or not. We visited Tanya’s grave, paid our respects, then had hot chocolate and watched movies. We looked at baby pictures, and I told her stories of her mother.