Page 36 of Marriage and the Midlife Crisis

She chuckled. “OK, your sons are eighteen, so custody won’t be an issue. Still living at home?”

“They’re in their first semester at IU, but they come home a couple of times a month for a day or two.”

“Are they aware of the issues in your marriage?”

“No, and I don’t want them to know,” I answered adamantly. “I don’t think children, even adult children, need to know the particulars of their parents’ marriage unless there are extraordinary circumstances, such as abuse.”

“I can understand that position, but because they are older, they will likely have questions. How will you answer them?”

My heart ached at the very thought. “I guess I’ll just tell that we’ve grown apart or something. They both adore Ryan, and he’s always taught them right from wrong. Honor, integrity, doing the right thing…those were values that he drilled into them from a very young age, so to find out that he – “

My voice broke then, and it took a moment for me to compose myself enough to finish. Kim waited patiently until I spoke again.

“If they found out that Ryan cheated, it would devastate them. I can’t, I won’t, do that to them.”

“Do you think Ryan would tell them?”

I scoffed. “Ryan wouldn’t even admit it to me, so I can’t imagine any scenario in which he’d tell them.”

Kim glanced at the clock on the wall and then apologized.

“Our time is almost up for today, but I do have one question for you.” When I nodded for her to go on, she asked, “What is your goal for your individual counselling sessions?”

I took a moment to really consider my answer.

“To survive this without adding to the trauma I still carry from my first marriage. To get to a point where I can envision being happy again. Feeling whole. To learn how to live without the other half of my heart.”

Chapter 12

Ryan

Maker’s Mark is smooth going down but drinking as much as I did last night will make you feel rough as hell the next day.

After a hot shower, two Tylenol, and three cups of strong-as-hell coffee, I felt somewhat human again as I roamed the house searching for something to do to keep my mind off the dumpster fire I’d made of my life. I meant that almost literally.

I hadn’t started a fire in a dumpster, but I had started a fire in our backyard firepit last night. It hadn’t been easy, but a splash or three of bourbon on the wood had helped the flames catch, and I’d been able to burn that fucking thong until there was nothing left but guilt and horrible memories.

Deciding to start on the home repairs I’d been putting off, I consulted the list I’d made on my phone, but every single thing I’d added to “Mel’s Never-Ending To-Do List” had already been done. By whom, I wasn’t sure, but I had a sneaking suspicion that most of it had been done by Melanie herself.

The laundry room door didn’t stick anymore. The toilet handle in the boys’ bathroom no longer had to be jiggled. There was a shiny, brand new garbage disposal under the kitchen sink – that I could only hope an actual plumber had installed – and I couldn’t find a single knob or handle loose anywhere in the whole damned house. The bulb in the entryway had been replaced, too, even though the ceiling was a two-story vault in that area which meant that the light fixture was over eighteen feet in the air. The thought of Melanie hauling the extension ladder in from the garage, climbing it, and changing that damned bulb made me want to punch a hole in the wall.

I almost did it, just so I’d have something to fix.

The laundry was already done. The house was already cleaned. The grocery shopping had been completed, judging by the full shelves in the pantry and refrigerator. Even the trash had been taken out. There was nothing to do to keep my mind occupied.

I considered going into the office even though I’d sent an email to Dave just before midnight, telling him I needed a few days off for a family emergency. I knew, though, that I was in no frame of mind to do any kind of detailed work, especially something that involved precise calculations and the meticulous review of blueprints. Trying to do that kind of work as distracted as I was would be a safety hazard as far as I was concerned.

I shoveled the rest of the driveway, only to have Justin come over from next door to talk to me about my Vegas trip and seeing Landon Brown. I made up an excuse that I was supposed to be working from home and had to get inside for a conference call, just to avoid the conversation. I didn’t want to hear the words “Las Vegas” ever again. In fact, the entire state of Nevada could disappear from the map, and I wouldn’t object.

I stomped back inside, cursing myself and my absolute stupidity as I stowed my winter gear in the closet, then flopped down on the couch. I stared at the flowers the boys had sent, wishing for the hundredth time that I’d had even an ounce of the sense that they had.

My heart sank at the thought of them finding out that their mom had left. They would hate me, probably as much as she did.

I was crawling out of my skin with the need to do something to fix things with Melanie, but how the fuck was I supposed to do that if she wouldn’t even talk to me?

When the doorbell rang a little before two, I jumped up and almost ran for the door, eager for the distraction. When I opened it to find Mark standing there, looking every inch the pissed off big brother ready to avenge his little sister, I wasn’t nearly so eager.

He took a step forward and grabbed me by the shirt collar, getting right up in my face. It wasn’t an easy feat considering I was at least three inches taller than him, but fury will do that to a man.