I snorted. “Please. That wouldn’t take long. No. When we were talking, I realized that you must have started your affair with her much longer ago than you’d led me to believe. You’ve been sleeping with her for two years.”
The color drained from his face.
“Calm down,” I said nonchalantly before I took another sip. “We’re already divorced, so it’s not like it makes any legal difference, although it probably would have gotten me more money had the mediator known you were lying about the length of the affair.”
“Is that what this is about?” he snapped.
“What what is about?” I asked. “You’re the one who came to see me. If I had my way, I’d never see you again. So to answer your question, Tiffany confirmed you’d been sleeping together for more than a few months, and she seemed surprised that I’d discovered the affair because of my chlamydia diagnosis, especially since you’d told her that we hadn’t slept together in ages. It became crystal clear that you’d been sleeping with someone else.” I took another sip. “Perhaps she’s beginning to question your trustworthiness, although once a cheater, always a cheater, so yeah, she should be questioning it.”
“If she leaves me because of you…” His voice trailed off, likely because he didn’t have anything left to threaten me with. Toward the end of our marriage—or perhaps from the beginning—he’d coerced me into doing things his way with manipulation and cold behavior. In the interim between our separation and the divorce, he’d used everything he could to get what he wanted in our divorce agreement, leveraging everything from visitation demands to threats about our assets. But now he had nothing. While I was required to let him have Elena during his scheduled visitation times, the judge had said that Jack and Harriet were old enough to choose when and how often they visited him.
“Because she knows the truth, Richard?” I asked, amazed that I was still sounding so calm. “I’m sure you did your best to skew things to make me sound like a witch who neglected and misunderstood you. Good thing you’re not a history professor.”
“Darcie.”
“Don’t Darcie me. That doesn’t work anymore.” But I had to give it to him. It had worked before. I’d gone along with him for so long, trying not to rock the boat, but I wasn’t that woman anymore. Forget rocking the boat—I was ready to capsize it. “Is that all?”
He looked taken aback by my bluntness. “I want to talk to you about Harriet and Jack.”
“Okay.”
“Why are you encouraging them to not visit me?”
How ironic. I let out an involuntary laugh. “Have you asked them why they won’t come?”
Frowning, he said, “They said they don’t like Tiffany.”
“Is that all they said?”
He pressed his lips together and folded his arms over his chest, as if my question could only be answered by a doctoral thesis.
“Jack thinks you’ve only been to one of his basketball games,” I said, giving him a chance to correct our son’s perception.
He shrugged. “I figured he wouldn’t want me there. He’s made himself pretty clear.”
“Are you serious?” I asked in disbelief, my first hint of anger leaching through.
“Of course I’m serious,” he said defensively. “He has to give something to get something. That’s how life works.”
Placing my hand on the cold table, I leaned closer, my anger now mushrooming. Mess with me, fine. Mess with my kids? Game on.
“It’s called unconditional love, Richard.” I shook my head. “Even if none of this had happened, he’d still be a butthead to you half the time because they’re teenagers. It’s part of their job description, but guess what? A parent’s love isn’t supposed to be conditional. We love them no matter what.” I sat back, suddenly exhausted. “Maybe that’s why they don’t want to see you. They’ve realized your love is conditional.”
His face reddened. “Why was Elena researching your great-grandmother online?”
I blinked. “What?”
Elena had done more research at Richard’s?
“I caught her researching your great-grandmother, and when I asked her about it, she said it was for a class project, yet she didn’t have any information about what she was supposed to do. I emailed her teacher, who said there was no project, so I’m asking you, Darcie, why is she looking up information on your great-grandmother?”
My anger exploded. “You emailed her teacher?”
“What else was I supposed to do?”
“How about you ask me?” I shouted, then took a deep breath to try to calm down. Shouting wouldn’t help anything.
“I did text you, Darcie. I told you we needed to talk.”
“If you really wanted to know, then why didn’t you send a text asking for information about her project?”
“There is no project, Darcie. Your daughter lied to me.”
My mouth dropped open and I involuntarily jerked backward. “My daughter?”
“Let’s face it, you’ve been with those kids eighty to ninety percent of their lives, so all the bad traits they’ve learned were under your watch.”
I stared at him in disbelief. “And I suppose all the good ones came from you.”
“I’m sure some came from you.”
“You are unbelievable.”
“And speaking of influences,” he scoffed, “when are you going to get a job that will support your family?”
“Excuse me?”
“For God’s sake, Darcie. You have a degree in communications. Why are you working as an assistant at a shipping company with a part-time job at a coffee shop?”
“You truly are unbelievable,” I said. “I earned my degree twenty years ago, Richard, and I worked in PR for four years until the twins were born. We both agreed I should stay home with them until they went to school, and then Elena was born, and I was home for four more years. By the time she went to school, I couldn’t find a job. You know that.”
“You were looking for part-time work, Darcie. They were looking for full-time.”
“How deluded are you?” I asked. “Do you know how quickly the PR world changed? I didn’t understand the nuances of social media. I was irrelevant.” Tears stung my eyes, ticking me off even more. “I told you all of this, Richard. Back when I was distraught because I couldn’t find anything in the field. You told me not to worry about it, that I had a job taking care of you and the kids. You hated it when I started working for Cyn.”
“Because it’s embarrassing,” he said, scrunching up his nose. “I’m a professor at Callaway and my wife was working as a barista.”
“Yes,” I said dryly. “I can see how embarrassing that would be.”
My sarcasm went straight over his head.
“You should have taken continuing education classes in your field, Darcie. You should have prepared for the future.”
“Excuse me if I didn’t adequately prepare myself and the kids for our divorce. Had I known you were sleeping with Tiffany two years ago, I would have gone back to school to get another degree that would have made me more marketable.”
“Sarcasm won’t help.”
Now he got my mockery.
“Besides, I wouldn’t be surprised if you were having an affair yourself. You were never much interested in sex in the end.”
Surely he was joking. “Me? Having an affair?” When he didn’t respond, I asked, “When, exactly, would I have had time to do that?”
“I don’t know, Darcie,” he said, throwing his hand into the air. “All that free time you had.”
I laughed. “All that free time? Richard, I couldn’t even find time to work out, because it was just presumed that I would always be there for the kids. You came and went as you pleased, never once questioning who was taking care of the kids or getting dinner or washing your clothes.”
“That was your job, Darcie,” he snapped. “I worked at the university; you worked at home with the kids.”
“And after I started working part-time fo
r Cyn?” I asked. “What about then?”
His face twisted in disgust. “This place was a hobby job. Of course my job was more important.”
“This hobby job paid for Harriet’s dance classes and Jack’s sports camps.”
“Those weren’t necessities,” he said. “Those were extras, which you chose to provide.” He sat back as his upper lip curled. “You spoiled them, which is exactly why they’re behaving like this now. They prefer you because you give them what they want instead of letting them learn the word no.”
I stared at him in bewilderment. How had I spent so many years with this man? “You only parented when you felt like it, which turned out not to be much time at all. I guess the twins were better at figuring it out than I was. Now they’re treating you with the same indifference, and you’re throwing a fit like a three-year-old.” I leaned closer. “Parenting doesn’t work like that, Richard. You screwed up by not being more involved in their lives earlier. You can’t expect them to rearrange their lives to accommodate you because you couldn’t keep it in your pants.”
“Maybe I wouldn’t have been looking elsewhere if you hadn’t been so frigid,” he said, his eyes and voice stone-cold.
I gasped but quickly regained control, stating calmly, “Maybe I would have been more interested in sex if I hadn’t been so tired all the time. If I hadn’t felt like I’d given every last part of myself to someone else. Maybe I would have been more amorous if I’d felt like you were a real partner and not just one more person to take care of.”
I stood, dangerously close to tears, and I refused to let him get the wrong impression. I did not want him back. I would never be capable of loving him again, even if he miraculously changed, but it hurt that everything I’d given him had meant absolutely nothing to him. That he’d considered me worthless.
Replaceable.
No more. I deserved better, and I sure as hell didn’t owe him any more of my time.
I started to walk away.
“Sure,” he sneered. “Run away, just like you always do.”
I turned back and pointed my finger in his face, anger burning in my chest. “You’re the one who ran away. You ran away every day when you went off to your precious job, where you were idolized and adored and protected from the realities of raising a family. You only spent about four waking hours at home during the week, and when the weekend rolled around, you couldn’t find enough excuses to stay away. You, Richard, are the one who ran away to recapture his youth while I was taking care of our children’s physical and emotional needs, so don’t you ever tell me that I ran away, because that is the pot calling the kettle black, you asshole.”
I spun around and marched inside, not trusting myself to stay another moment.
I’d finally reached a point where I was starting to lose most of the bitterness, but now it resurfaced, rising like a tsunami and threatening to destroy me with its undertow.
No.
I was done giving Richard any part of me. Even my anger. I’d given him everything in our marriage and had gratefully soaked up the crumbs of attention he tossed my way. I deserved better. The kids deserved better.
Richard didn’t deserve another moment of my attention.
Unfortunately, letting my anger go was easier said than done.
Damn him.
Chapter Eighteen
When I walked back inside, Cyn took one look at me and shook her head. She knew my chat with Richard hadn’t gone well. Thankfully, she didn’t ask any questions, instead giving me time to process the whole mess. By the time we closed at six, I was ready to give her a recap—including my encounter with Tiffany—which caused her to explode in anger.
“That jackass!” she shouted as she cleaned the espresso machine. “The nerve!” She jerked her gaze to mine. “You didn’t fall for any of his BS, did you?”
“No,” I said. “But some of it still hurts.”
“You know he likely had affairs before Tiffany, right? His affair was not your fault.”
“I know,” I said. “I can look back now and see the signs. I think he thought we were too…suburban. Too domestic for him. He started spending more and more time at the university, leading literary discussion groups, helping students in independent study. He put up a fight when I kicked him out, but I think part of him was relieved.” I gave her a tight smile. “No more Richard nonsense.”
“That man is garbage.”
“Truer words were never spoken.” I started to untie my apron. “The pastry case and coffee maker are cleaned out and everything’s restocked. I think I’ll head out, unless you need me for anything else.”
“You go. I’m about to leave myself.”
“Have fun tonight. I want to hear everything.”
“Same!”
I headed home and grabbed a dinner of leftovers. Nana Stella had sent a text saying she was going to the casino with Sally Jo and that I shouldn’t wait up. I only hoped I had half the social life she did when I was her age.
I wasn’t meeting Ella until eight thirty, but I was paranoid about having another hot flash, so to be safe, I decided to take a shower. I considered a bath but didn’t want to end up boiling myself in the tub. While my skin had seemed burn-resistant lately, I didn’t want to take chances. Before I turned on the water, I took the pins out of my hair and studied the blond streaks, then took out the hand mirror and inspected the wings on my back. What happened when my hair went completely blond? What more could be added to the markings on my back?
I had to stop ignoring that this was happening. But what was I supposed to do? I hated that I’d finally freed myself from Richard, only to fall into the chains of some unknown fate.
The first thing I had to do was learn to control my hot flashes.
I nearly laughed at the thought. If it had been that easy, surely at least one woman since the dawn of time would have figured it out. Okay, so I probably couldn’t control the hot flashes or when they happened, but maybe I could control the heat emanating from my hands. I’d done it last night. I’d focused my energy into the wine glass. Maybe I could learn to control it better.
At least that way I wouldn’t be hurting anyone.
About twenty minutes after seven, I stripped and got into the shower. I washed my hair and body, shaved, and even used my pumice stone on my dry, cracked heels—something I rarely had the luxury to do—but a half hour later, I still hadn’t experienced a hot flash. Had the water kept it at bay? Had it just not come yet? Or maybe the timing of the previous episodes had been coincidental.
At eight, the water was lukewarm at best and my skin was turning prune-y, so I got out.
I didn’t spend long on my makeup—I rarely did these days—and I blow-dried my hair until it was a fluffy, natural-looking mess. I was about to put it back up, but something deep inside me told me to leave it down. There was no running from this, so I might as well own it.
My shower made me run behind schedule, so I texted Ella on my way out the door to let her know I’d be about ten minutes late.
Valkyrie had been extremely popular about ten years prior, but the fickle patrons had moved on to the newer places like Figaro’s. While Figaro’s was going for elegance, Valkyrie had opted to decorate in keeping with their name. The walls looked like the hull of a large Norse warship, complete with large oars sticking out of the walls over the windows. Only, time hadn’t been kind to the décor and the owners hadn’t wasted their meager profits on upkeep. So it had the look of an abandoned ship, and the staff dressed like Vikings. The food had always been decent, not great, but they had been known for great happy hour specials back in the day. Of course, a lot can change over the years, and I hadn’t been there since the twins were in fourth grade.
Ella was sitting at a table by a window, and I wasn’t surprised to see the bar was only half full at nearly nine o’clock at night. Maybe that’s why she’d chosen the place.
When I walked in, she spotted me right away. A warm smile spread across her face as she lifted a
hand in greeting, and suddenly a memory popped into my head. When we were kids, before my mother had declared my aunt “dead to her,” their whole family had come over for the afternoon. Ella’s mom had offered me one of the cookies she’d brought. With a look of horror, my mother had informed my aunt that she was watching my sugar intake because I was looking a little on the pudgy side. Ella’s hands had fisted at her side, and she’d told my mom that she didn’t let bullies pick on her family. My mother had been so shocked that she hadn’t protested when Ella shoved a cookie into my hand. The usually silent and shy Ella had shocked us all.
Ella had that same look in her eyes now, and whatever reservations Cyn had planted in my head evaporated. I returned the smile as I walked over.
She stood and embraced me in a tight hug. “Darcie, I’m so glad to see you.”
I hugged her back, then pulled away. “I’m sorry we didn’t do this sooner.”
“Well, it’s never too late.” She gestured to the chair opposite her. “Please, have a seat. What can I get you?”
“Just water,” I said as a waitress approached the table. She was wearing fake deerskin pants and a faux fur vest that gave us a full view of her very ample cleavage. So this was their version of a Valkyrie. Obviously, this restaurant had been designed by a man.
Ella’s eyes lifted in surprise. “What? Come on, I’m paying. You still like those sweet drinks like you did when we were teenagers?”
I laughed. “I graduated from wine coolers ages ago.”
I didn’t feel like arguing or defending my decision to keep a clear head, so I ordered the house merlot in addition to the glass of water. When the waitress left, Ella and I both sat in silence for a moment.
“So,” she finally said in one long breath. “About what happened last night…” She glanced around before leaning in closer. “I picked this place for a reason. Not many people are here, yet it’s public enough not to look suspicious or make either of us feel awkward.”
I’d already decided to tell her everything. So why was I hesitating? I couldn’t ignore Cyn’s warnings, especially since Ella and I weren’t close. Part of me wondered if it would be best if I just got up and left. But I didn’t want to. I was an only child, and Ella was my only first cousin. (My mom’s brother had moved to Canada and remained childless.) As a child, I’d wanted a closer relationship with her, but our mothers’ disagreement had gotten in the way of that.
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