The Girl I Used to Be: A gripping and emotional page-turner

by Heidi Hostetter

  “You’re being ridiculous—” Marc began, but Jill cut him off.

  “I’m being ridiculous? Me?” Jill howled at the absurdity. You’re the one who cheated on your wife.”

  “It’s a little too late to claim the moral high ground now, Jillian DiFiore.” Marc’s laughter was edged with venom. “You slept with a married man too.” Marc’s expression changed and Jill braced for whatever was coming. Marc never backed down, even when he was wrong. He misdirected, honing his replies until they drew blood. She’d seen him do it but never thought he’d turn on her. “I wonder what dear Aunt Sarah would think of you now. The perfect girl she had such hope for.”

  Jill fingers tightened against the corner of the granite countertop as the barb hit its mark. It was a vicious thing to say, but what if he was right? What if Aunt Sarah could see her now? Could see what Jill had become? The answer was clear: she would have been disappointed.

  It was Marc’s smug expression that jerked her back to reality. How dare he?

  “So why did you propose?” Jill asked, feeling anger surge forth when the sharp pain of betrayal had dulled. “You asked me to marry you at the Boathouse, three hours into our first date.” It was the one thing that didn’t make sense to her—Marc had pursued her. Jill had refused that proposal and all the ones that had followed, until he’d finally presented her with a diamond ring too big to ignore. “If all you wanted was an affair, why the proposal? Why the ring?”

  Marc shrugged, crossing the room to pour himself a measure of Scotch. “I thought you had potential. I guess I was wrong.”

  Jill watched the man who had been her whole world lift the glass to his lips and sip, as if none of this mattered. As if their marriage, their entire world wasn’t falling away from beneath their feet.

  Then she realized it wasn’t. Their world wasn’t collapsing at all.

  Hers was.

  Marc would move forward, unscathed. Even now, he seemed completely unaffected while Jill struggled for breath.

  “I grant that finding out about this wasn’t ideal,” Marc continued, as if they were discussing a business project instead of facing the end of their marriage. “I intend to speak to Brittney about what she did. Sending those pictures to you was childish, and she should know better.” He finished his drink and set the glass on the counter. “As for us, I’ll tell you again that I’m willing to put this incident behind us but know that my patience isn’t unlimited.”

  “Get out.”

  Marc laughed, a reaction so surprising that Jill gaped. The Marc she’d known, married, and loved was gone, and in his place was someone she didn’t recognize. Unmasked, his expression was evil, and his eyes were soulless.

  “I suggest you reconsider what you’re saying, Jill,” he sneered. “You’re not the same girl you used to be. How are you going to support yourself and your new fancy tastes? What will you do for money?” His lip curled as he leaned against the counter. “Are you going back to temp work? You wouldn’t last a month behind a desk.”

  “Get out of this house. Now.” Jill grabbed the skillet from the stove and hurled it at him. The pan grazed his shoulder and hit the wall, spraying a bloody arc of tomato sauce across the kitchen.

  Marc glared at her with naked hatred. “I guess I was wrong about your potential.” He turned to leave, calling over his shoulder as he made his way out of the house, “No matter how you dress or act, you’ll never be anything more than trash from South Jersey.”

  She met his insult with the same strength she’d used to stand up to playground bullies when she was a kid. She stood, her back straight and her eyes clear, as if nothing he did could touch her. She watched the man she’d loved open his car door and turn on the engine. And it wasn’t until Jill heard his car pull out of the driveway and watched it disappear from view that she allowed herself to fall apart.

  Six

  The punch of regret came on the heels of her fury.

  Would he come back to her if she asked? Could they salvage their marriage if he did? When she realized she could never forgive him for what he’d done, her regret melted into an overwhelming sadness. She’d loved Marc with her whole heart and thought he loved her too. Retreating to the couch, she cocooned herself with a soft blanket and sobbed until there was nothing left.

  Hours later, her anger returned, but this time it landed on Marc for casually discarding a marriage that had meant everything to her. And when the anger was finished with Marc, it turned on Jill. It accused her of abandoning the woman she used to be, rough-edged and loud, in favor of the plastic shell of a woman that Marc preferred. And when her anger was satisfied with the damage it had done, it stilled, leaving her feeling hollow and afraid.

  Panic filled the space that anger had carved out, reminding Jill that everything in this house, from the shoes in her closet to the pepper mill in the pantry, had been purchased by Marc. The income from Jill’s photography business was barely enough to pay for the newspaper delivery. To support herself, she’d have to find a job—and quickly. Not that she was afraid of hard work; she wasn’t. She’d come from nothing, earning her place in college with grades and paying her way with work-study and student loans. The life Marc provided was easier, but it came with a cost, and Jill refused to pay it. Not anymore.

  When she realized she could right herself again, the panic receded, leaving her feeling utterly exhausted and alone. She felt a wave of despair and almost buckled against it.

  And in that moment, a memory of Aunt Sarah presented itself.

  Aunt Sarah had been a gentle presence during a difficult childhood and was a master of untangling painful situations. She was the one who had taught Jill to manage and control her anger, gently explaining that those emotions only served to cloud rational thought.

  The memory gave Jill the strength to push aside the blanket and rise from the sofa. Shards of broken pottery crunched under her feet as she made her way to the sink and filled a glass with water. The liquid cooled her throat and cleared her head as she found her way to Aunt Sarah, her voice as clear and distinct as if the woman herself were standing in the kitchen, and Jill felt tears of longing collect behind her lids. She closed her eyes and let the tears fall.

  “Chin up, sweet pea,” Aunt Sarah said, her voice as gentle as the rustle of fall leaves. “This is not a disaster, though it may seem like one now. This is a correction, and there are valuable lessons in upheaval.”

  Jill felt a bittersweet smile tug at her lips. Aunt Sarah was all about great life lessons.

  “I see you, Jillian DiFiore,” Aunt Sarah continued, her voice as warm as Jill remembered. Jill let it wash over her. “I know what you’ve overcome, and I know what you can do. The fight’s not over and you cannot give up now. You have to remember what’s important.”

  “I thought my marriage was important.” Jill’s croak broke the silence.

  Instead of an answer, Jill felt the softest caress across her brow and she froze, knowing it was Aunt Sarah and wishing the moment would last forever.

  “I miss you, Aunt Sarah,” Jill whispered.

  And the moment was gone.

  Sometime later, Jill watched the headlights of Ellie’s car slice through the darkness as she came up the driveway. Ellie had called to chat on her way home from the Brockhurst compound in East Hampton, and when Jill had told her what Marc had done, she’d insisted on coming over right away.

  Jill met her outside. “You didn’t have to come right away, Ellie. I’m okay.”

  “Is he still here?” Ellie demanded as she glared over Jill’s shoulder toward the house.

  “No. I threw him out.” Jill straightened.

  Ellie turned her attention back to Jill, her gaze steady but gentle. “And tomorrow?”

  Jill winced, though the question was reasonable. Jill’s track record for relationships wasn’t great and Ellie had seen the worst of them. But this time it was different. Marc wasn’t a boyfriend; he was her husband, and he’d betrayed her, more than once. Then he’d laugh
ed it off as if it were nothing. Jill wanted to tell Ellie all of that, but she couldn’t find the words, so she pressed her lips together and shook her head.

  “Okay then.” Ellie slipped her arm around Jill’s shoulders. “We can work with that.”

  Jill leaned into years of friendship as they crossed the driveway to the house. At the first sign of trouble, Ellie was the friend who grabbed a pitchfork and lit the torches on her way to storm the castle. She was encouraging when she needed to be, tough when the situation called for it, and she always took Jill’s side, no matter what. Having her here made Jill feel as if what she faced was not insurmountable. As if it was possible to salvage the life that Marc had so casually tossed away.

  They entered the house through the side door. When they came to the kitchen, Ellie stopped in her tracks and gaped at the mess Jill had left: broken dishes scattered across the floor, red sauce splattered on the wall, and bubbles in the drywall where it had been hit with boiling pasta water.

  “Wow.” Ellie whistled. “I missed some fight. You must have been pissed.”

  “I was. I am.” Jill slid onto a chair, completely drained. She felt Ellie take a seat beside her and they sat in silence.

  “You’ll get through this, Jilly,” Ellie offered. “I’ll help you, whatever you need.”

  “Aunt Sarah was here,” Jill said finally.

  That got Ellie’s attention. “Tell me.”

  “There’s not really anything to tell. She wasn’t here long.”

  “Did she say anything?”

  “It wasn’t so much talking as it was a feeling. That everything’s going to be okay, eventually.” Jill rested her head on her arm. “I miss her, El.”

  “I do too.”

  “She would have known what to do.”

  “We’ll get through it.”

  “I don’t want to be here if Marc decides to come back.”

  “Whatever you want. You can stay with me. I just moved into a two-bedroom and I have lots of space.”

  With a jolt, Jill realized that Ellie had moved into the apartment they’d looked at months ago. This was a big deal for Ellie, to finally get her own space, and Jill had yet to congratulate her. Ellie, who was supposed to be her best friend.

  Misunderstanding Jill’s disappointment, Ellie’s expression changed from concern to surprise. “I don’t have to invite you to come over, do I? You know you’re welcome. I even had a spare key made for you. We can go right now.”

  In response, Jill squeezed Ellie’s arm. “I’ve been thinking. Remember Ricky Tremont?”

  “Ricky from high school? That’s a stretch.” Ellie wrinkled her nose. “Sure I remember, but what made you think of him?”

  “I dated him for—what? Three weeks, a little more, a little less?” Jill glanced at Ellie, and when she nodded, Jill continued. “And do you remember the music I listened to back then?”

  “The Ramones.” Ellie sagged dramatically as she rolled her eyes. “On repeat.”

  “We even tried to dye my hair black, remember?”

  “Yes, I do.” Ellie groaned. “You drove us all nuts.”

  “Remember when I tried to convince you to sneak up to Queens to see their show?” Jill laughed. “We were going to take the commuter rail? But we couldn’t figure out the tickets?”

  Ellie smiled, then asked, “Whatever happened to them? You used to love them, then all of a sudden you didn’t.”

  “Ricky Tremont said their music was stupid.” Jill shrugged. “And because I was desperate for him to like me, I threw away all my posters and never listened to their music again.”

  “You didn’t. Oh, Jilly.”

  “Yep. And the boy after him…” Jill squinted as she tried to recall the boy’s name. When she couldn’t, she swirled her free hand around the top of her head. “The one with the hair? Took me to prom senior year?” Jill straightened, steeling herself against the memory of what she’d done. “Aunt Sarah made a prom dress for me. Picked out a pattern and bought the material. She made it because she wanted me to have something nice and she knew I probably wouldn’t otherwise. And she wrapped it in white tissue and mailed it to me. The card inside said she knew I’d look like a princess and all she asked for in return was a picture.”

  “I remember. It was blue.”

  “Ice blue satin,” Jill corrected. “The boy I went with, the one with the hair, happened to see it before the prom and he called it tacky. Said only hookers wore ice blue satin. So I stuffed the dress into the back of my closet and never looked at it again.” She frowned, feeling a stab of regret at what she’d done. “That boy picked me up wearing a rented tux and a neon-green cummerbund but had the nerve to call blue satin tacky.” She paused to catch her breath. “I don’t even know what happened to that dress. I wish I did. I wish I had it now. I’d wear it every day.”

  “Everyone knows you have to date a lot of toads before you find a prince,” Ellie offered, as consolation.

  But Jill shook her head. She slid from her chair and began to pace the room. “When Aunt Sarah asked about it later, about the prom, about the dress, I lied to her. And when she asked for a picture of me wearing the dress she’d made, know what I told her?”

  Ellie shook her head.

  “I said I couldn’t afford to have them taken.”

  “Oh, Jilly.”

  “Know what she did?” This time Jill didn’t wait for a reply. “She sent me twenty dollars. And she offered to help me find the photographer.”

  “Oh no.” Ellie sighed.

  “Yeah.” Jill drew a ragged breath. “My whole life I’ve changed myself to be whatever the guy I’m with wants me to be, no matter the cost. Ricky with the posters, Neon-green Cummerbund, and the one after that, whose name I will never utter. And now Marc.” Jill felt her breath catch. “I’ve lost myself, Ellie. Somewhere, I’ve lost the girl I used to be.”

  “You’re being entirely too hard on yourself. Marc’s the one who cheated, not you.”

  “You asked me to lunch, week before last, do you remember?”

  Ellie frowned so Jill filled in the details, striding across the floor and chopping her hands through the air as she spoke. Marc hated when she used her hands to talk. She did so now freely.

  “The new Italian bistro in Westfield. You said the eggplant parm reminded you of Aunt Sarah’s and that the garlic bread alone was worth the drive.” She whirled around and threw up her hands. “And what did I tell you?” When Ellie opened her mouth to speak, Jill answered for her. “That I would only go if I could have a plain green salad without dressing, which is ridiculous if you think about it. I never even tasted the eggplant parm.” She closed her eyes, pushing past the lump in her throat. “I miss Aunt Sarah every single day and when you found a place that might bring me a little closer to her, I ordered a green salad. Do you know why?”

  “Tell me.”

  “Because I had a dress fitting later that afternoon—hours after lunch—and I needed to be a perfect size six. That’s the size Marc wanted me to be and that’s the size the saleswoman had ready. But, El, I am not a size six—never have been.” Jill shifted her gaze because she couldn’t meet her friend’s eye. “So I don’t eat and I exercise too much. And I force my body into a six because that’s the size Marc decided I should be. What kind of person does that?”

  “That’s a lot to put on yourself, Jilly, and it’s not fair,” Ellie said, finally finding her voice. “Do not blame yourself for Marc’s affair.”

  “Oh, I don’t. He did that all by himself.” Jill stopped, grounded to the spot. “My point is that somewhere along the way, I’ve lost myself. I’ve changed into someone I don’t recognize. None of this…” She swept her arm in the air for emphasis. “None of this is me.”

  “That’s sounds harsh, Jilly,” Ellie pressed. “People change for their partners all the time.”

  “Maybe so, but my point is that Marc didn’t change for me. The parties we had were for his friends—mine were never invited. The fancy restau
rants we frequented were the ones Marc liked to be seen in. You know I’d rather watch I Love Lucy reruns in my PJs eating from a tube of cookie dough, but I went, without a word of protest.” As her words gained speed, she swiped her hands through the air to emphasize every point. “I used to have a million friends, before Marc. The apartment the five of us shared was heaven to me—loud music, good friends, and cheap beer. I liked that life, but I abandoned it the second Marc told me to. You’re the only friend I have left from that time.”

  “I think we may be getting a little ahead of ourselves here,” Ellie said. “You shouldn’t bring your entire life into question over something Marc did.”

  “You’ve never liked Marc.” The realization stopped Jill in her tracks. “I should have paid attention to that. Why didn’t I?”

  “Jillian—”

  “There’s something wrong with me, El. I just know it.” Jill dropped back to the chair next to her friend, physically exhausted and emotionally spent. “Tell me anyway: why didn’t you like Marc?” she asked finally.

  “I didn’t like the way he treated you.”

  “You never said. How long have you not liked him?”

  “Forever.”

  “Yeah, well.” Jill leaned her head against the chair and closed her eyes. “I don’t like him anymore either.”

  Seven

  A sugar hangover can be a powerful thing, and Jill woke recoiling against the sunlight even before she opened her eyes. At some point the night before, Ellie had suggested ordering food, and Jill had pounced on the opportunity to order everything she’d ever denied herself. Three different deliveries from three different restaurants had resulted in a mountain of food: pasta heavy with cream, double-cheese pizza, and gallons of real ice cream. So, when Ellie had found a forgotten stash of ice cream toppings in the catering kitchen, it seemed serendipitous. As they ate, they’d talked about everything and Jill had started feeling a tiny bit better. And when Ellie had pulled out her phone and put together a playlist, piping the songs through Marc’s whole-house sound system, the mood had shifted and Jill had known she’d be okay. Not right away, but eventually.