Page 49 of Marriage and the Midlife Crisis

I shut myself up in the office and worked flat out for the rest of the afternoon, making sure to work on the more mundane things that didn’t require much thought or complete concentration.

My phone buzzed a little before five, and I bristled when I saw Mitch’s name on the screen. I clicked the button to send him to voicemail, and moments later a text popped up on the screen.

Mitch: Are you going to the game tonight?

Me: No

Mitch: Seriously? I know you’re pissed but come on. You can’t stay mad at me forever.

Wanna bet? I was thinking forever might not belong enough.

In what fucking universe did he think I’d be willing to hanging out at a ball game with him, when less than twenty-four hours ago he was bleeding on my living room floor and I was threatening to kill him?

After what he’d done, and the things he’d said about my wife yesterday, our friendship was over. I just hadn’t officially pulled the plug and called time of death on it yet. I’d be doing that tonight in the privacy of my home, though, not here in the office where my conversation could be overheard by my colleagues.

Even if he hadn’t pulled that stunt this weekend, it had been made abundantly clear that neither my wife nor my sons wanted anything to do with him, so he had to go. I only wished like hell I’d listened to them sooner. Maybe then I wouldn’t have fucked up so badly.

I stopped and bought a pizza on my way home from work, even though I didn’t have much of an appetite, then spent an hour going through the house and collecting everything that belonged to Mitch or was part of our shared activities.

I put it all in one corner of the garage – a sweatshirt I’d borrowed, his golf clubs that he stored at my place because he said he didn’t have room in his small condo downtown, the leather jacket he’d given me last Christmas, and the spare workout clothes he kept in a bag in my trunk in case he forgot his when we went to the gym.

I then went online and cancelled my membership at the upscale gym he’d talked me into joining, and purchased a new membership at the smaller, local gym I used to go to before Mitch moved back to Indy. I also sent an email officially withdrawing from our men’s golf league for the coming year. Mark wasn’t a big golfer, but he’d gone with me a few times over the years, as had Joe, Melanie’s dad. I could always go with Dave, or some of the guys from work who liked to play, or maybe even convince my sons to go if they ever stopped hating me.

I steered my thoughts away from the boys, knowing I’d drive myself crazy if I kept rehashing the confrontation with them this morning. As much as it hurt to hear, I was damned proud of those boys for standing up for their mother and calling me out on my shit. It couldn’t have been easy for them, no matter how angry they were with me.

Finally, a little before seven, I sent a picture of all Mitch’s stuff to him, along with a text telling him to come by to pick up his shit.

Me: Pick it up tonight by nine. Otherwise, I’ll set it out in front of the garage in the morning, and you can pick it up tomorrow. I’m selling my season tix, too, so if you want to buy them, bring cash. If not, I’ll post them on the online ticket site.

Mitch: Are you shittin me?

Me: No, I’m just done.

Mitch: What the fuck do you mean, you’re done? Done with me???

Me: Yes. Your busted lip should have been your first clue

His red Corvette roared into the driveway twenty minutes later. I hit the button to open the overhead garage door before he even had a chance to get out of this car and started pulling his shit outside.

He popped his trunk open, the stomped over to me and grabbed his things. He shoved the golf clubs in the trunk and slammed it shut, then tossed the rest of the shit in his passenger seat.

I watched him with narrowed eyes, then asked if he wanted to buy the tickets or not.

“No, I don’t want to buy the fucking tickets. Are you really doing this? Throwing away almost thirty years of friendship over one stupid move on my part?”

“One stupid move?” I scoffed and shook my head. “Try a series of stupid moves, treating my wife like shit, and being a toxic asshole. Yeah, I’m really doing this.”

“Un-fucking-believable, man. Grady’s probably rolling in his grave right about now,” he said bitterly.

I stiffened, stunned that he would bring Grady into this.

“That’s a low blow, motherfucker, and you know it. If Grady were here right now, he’d beat your ass for the way you’ve acted and then beat mine for going along with it.”

I stepped back and pressed the button to lower the door, calling out, “Grow the fuck up, Mitch, and start acting like a decent human being.”

“Fuck you, Ryan!” He shouted loud enough that I was sure my neighbors heard, but I was beyond caring. I made it back inside in time to watch from the living room window as he reversed out of the driveway, then fishtailed his car as he floored his engine and roared off into the night.

I closed my eyes and whispered an apology to Grady. “I’m so fucking sorry, man. I would give anything for you to be able to beat my ass right now, because God knows I deserve it. I fucked up so bad with Mel, but I swear to you, I’ll make it right with her.”