The Breakup Mix

by Carter, TK

  I buried myself in his chest and cried out the memories of all his wrongdoing. With each swipe of my hand, I felt the resentment and bitterness I’d held as my ally wave the white flag of surrender. My husband was not my enemy; I was.

  I’d love to say we had fabulous make-up sex all night long and woke up like newly-weds the next day, but we all know that’s not how it works in real life. We held each other ‘til the crying was over then went to bed completely exhausted—him on his side, me on mine. But we held hands. It was a start.

  And now, it’s the night of December 31, a day of ending and the dawn of a new beginning. I feel optimistic about the new year, but not because I expect many things to change, but because I know they won’t, and that I have. And I’m okay with that. I’ve got my family, my home, and my new job at the gym. I’ve got the best friends in the world, and while I long to be with them right now eating up the gulf sun and drinking mimosas ‘til noon and fruity drinks ‘til midnight, I know I’d miss my chaotic, hormonal, scream-filled house and all the crazy occupants.

  It was Del-Ray who called the cops that night. That’s why Brandon ended up taking her phone and the boys’ iPods. He never intended for “the incident” to go that far. Turns out she panicked when she heard us fighting and thought we were really fighting. Brandon told me about it; she blames herself for the whole mess. As much as I’ve tried to tell her that was probably the best thing that could have ever happened to me, she still thinks the whole thing is her fault. It still doesn’t explain why he turned off my phone, but I’m letting that little detail die in the embers of the past. Plus, I love my new smart phone. I think.

  I didn’t tell Brandon about the money Alissa gave me. I’m willing to forgive and move forward, but I’m not going to forget that helpless feeling for a while. Brandon’s an insurance salesman, so certainly he of all people can understand the importance of having a private insurance policy . . . just in case. I opened an account in Martin’s name at a bank in Centralia about thirty minutes northeast of Columbia and deposited nine thousand dollars. I kept a thousand for a little “me” money. When I know for sure Brandon’s sincere about our new start and there’s no threat of him cutting me off from my life again, I’ll tell him about it. Just not right now. I opened my journal one more time and began to write.

  It’s nearly midnight. The house is quiet since Del Ray is at a friend’s house and the boys are face-down in their new video games from Santa. Brandon fell asleep on the couch watching television an hour ago, and this is my last entry in this journal. I’ve got a special way I want to ring in the new year, and it’s fitting that I do it by myself.

  I grabbed my wine glass, my journal, and the grill lighter before I slipped out the back door and into the yard. I stood in front of our makeshift fire pit filled with dead branches and old newspapers I’d collected earlier in the day. I lit the fire and took a sip of wine as the flames danced in the cold night air.

  Houses all down the block erupted in cheers as the new year rolled in. I envisioned confetti, kisses, laughter, and awkward drunken hugs. I thought of my friends sitting on the beach watching fireworks explode; each of them wondering exactly how much their life was going to change in the coming year. I thought of Katie curled up in bed still filled with guilt and regret. She’s on my list of things to make right in the coming year, I just can’t do it yet. Being hurt by your husband is something you almost expect from time to time, being betrayed by a best friend is unspeakable.

  The fiery dead wood and old news created a nice bed for my journal. I took another drink of wine and gently nudged my journal into the epicenter of the fire. The flames seemed to pause and look at me, giving me one last chance to reach in and grab my sacrifice. I nodded and watched the flames nibble at the edges of my pain until it decided it was delicious and ravaged every word, every memory, every tear-stained page. The fire moaned in delight, or maybe it was the last anguished cry of my misery being consumed by something much more powerful. Forgiveness. Acceptance. Wisdom. Courage. It was easy to be a victim. Too easy. It was easy to blame Brandon for my unhappiness. It was easy to feel trapped and unappreciated. It was easy to be mad. I was tired of easy.

  I watched the fire until every last sheet of paper was transformed to ashes, and when it was over, I poured the last part of my wine over the fire to confirm the sacrifice. I slipped back into the house, put my glass in the sink, and went to bed after I kissed Brandon’s sleeping face and whispered, “Happy new year, baby.” He looked so comfortable on the couch, I didn’t have the heart to wake him.

  I woke up to the smell of frying bacon and fresh coffee. I reached for Brandon but found cold sheets and an empty pillow. Either he didn’t come to bed last night, or he’s in the kitchen cooking. I looked at the clock and gasped. 9:15! What the hell? I flew out of bed, threw on my yoga pants and practiced my apologies all the way down the hall.

  Martin sat on the couch plunking at the guitar he got for Christmas while Gibson played Xbox. I kissed them on the head and slipped into the kitchen to see the damage. Del Ray and Brandon fluttered through the kitchen, each of them taking their respective breakfast mission very seriously. The look of concentration on their faces, the identical profile and synchronized way they moved while she cooked scrambled eggs and he fried bacon—I had to giggle. They turned to look at me and grinned.

  “What’s all this?” I asked.

  Brandon stabbed at the bacon a few more times then returned the lid to the frying pan and turned toward me. “Good morning! Happy new year!” He greeted me with a cup of coffee and a kiss. Del Ray hugged me. “Hi, Mom.”

  I kissed the top of her head. “You’re cooking breakfast? When did you get home?”

  She grinned. “Around nine. Dad’s teaching me to make scrambled eggs. You know. In case there’s a zombie apocalypse.”

  I chuckled. “Well, I hear scrambled eggs are kryptonite for zombies, so good on ya, Dad.”

  Del Ray tossed me a sarcastic glance then returned to the skillet. She said to Brandon, “I’m almost done. You close?”

  Brandon switched off the burners. “Yep, I’m done. Did you start the toast?”

  She nodded. “I’ve got eight pieces right now. Is that enough?”

  He said, “Oh yeah, that’s plenty. If not, we can make more.” He pointed at me. “More coffee?”

  I glanced at my cup. “Sure, I’ll take a warm-up.” He took my cup and pointed to the table. “Have a seat. We’re serving you this morning,” he said with a wink.

  I looked sideways at him and smiled. “Maybe you should sleep on the couch more often. It does something to you.”

  He grinned. “I came to bed right after you. Not that you noticed since your wine put you out cold.”

  I giggled. “It’s always done that.”

  His gaze met mine, his eyes burning with a life I hadn’t seen in a while. He placed my coffee in front of me and leaned down. “I know, Chelle.”

  I felt parts of my body light up with an intensity I hadn’t felt since I was a teenager. I wanted that man naked in my bed immediately—bacon be damned. I stared at my husband and saw my high-school sweetheart, the boy who took my virginity, my heart, and my hand for life staring back at me. In that moment, he wasn’t the father of my children or the paycheck for bills, he was the boy I’d loved my whole life. And he wasn’t looking at me like the mother of his children, the cook, the roommate; he was looking at me like he did from the stage years ago—like, “If there weren’t fifty people on the dance floor between us, I’d have you naked in thirty seconds flat.” My face flushed as it remembered how to flirt. I flipped my hair and slid my hand through it—our signal to each other over the years to meet me in the bedroom in ten minutes. He winked, looked at the clock. “Make it fifteen.”

  I grinned. “Deal.”

  Breakfast was amazing. Simply amazing. Martin and Brandon talked guitar chords, Gibson chimed in with questions, and Del Ray and I talked about cutting and coloring my hair . . . again. She’s obs
essed with making me over.

  She said, “Well, look at you. You’ve lost all that weight, and your hair still looks like you just stepped out of 1999. You need a new ‘do to go with your new body.”

  I sat back and stared at her. A slow grin slipped across my face as I asked, “New body?”

  She chewed her food and mumbled around it, “Yeah, Mom, look at you. You’re hot! But that hair . . . that hair has to change.”

  I glanced at Brandon and shrugged. “What do you think?”

  “She’s right. You look amazing. Just don’t shave it and dye it purple.”

  I chuckled. “No worries there. If it’s okay with you, I’ll make appointments for Del Ray and me tomorrow.”

  She sighed. “I don’t want to wait, Mom! Let’s do something today. I’ve been studying haircuts. I think I could do it.”

  “No offense, honey, but I’m not going to let you cut my hair.”

  Martin asked Brandon, “Dad, is it G, C, and D for that song we played this morning?”

  Brandon nodded. “Sounds like the guitar bug has bitten you, bud. It’s all you can talk about.”

  “Welcome to my world, Brandon,” I said and winked.

  He smiled. “I’ve been waiting for this moment my whole adult life.” He stood and took his plate to the sink, washed his hands, and went to the living room. He grabbed Martin’s guitar and slung the strap over his neck. He tuned a few strings then strummed a few chords. I smiled and started clearing the breakfast table as the sound of acoustic music hummed through the air. I ran a hundred songs through my mind trying to place the tune he was playing but couldn’t nail it down.

  Then he started singing.

  She’s given me all she ever had.

  Sometimes, she makes me mad.

  Little things, they turn real bad.

  But she loves me, and I’m so glad.

  Spellbound, I slowly walked into the living room where Brandon was perched against the back of the couch.

  Didn’t get what we wanted out of life.

  Expected a sword but got a knife.

  A lot of laughter, a lot of strife.

  But I’m so glad she’s my wife.

  He fingered the strings and built to the chorus.

  I’ve made mistakes, more than a few.

  You’d ask for ten, I’d offer two.

  I’m no fool, and I’m still mad at you.

  He stared at me with pleading, apologetic eyes and repeated, “I’m still so mad at you.” Tears poured down my cheeks as he set down the guitar and mumbled, “It’s still a work in progress.”

  I took a staggered breath and wiped my face. “That was awesome,” I whispered.

  He drew me into his arms. “I really love you, Michelle. I can’t imagine not having you in my life.” He paused then said slowly, “And I’m so sorry.”

  My heart flopped as I heard the words I’d never heard from him—ever. I whispered, “Could you repeat that?”

  He chuckled and hugged me tighter. “Nope. First and only.”

  I laughed and snuggled into his neck. “You smell good.”

  He made a show of throwing his shoulders back and puffing out his chest. “I’ve got a woman to win over. I pulled out all the stops.”

  I grinned. “Guess that means I need to start shaving my legs.”

  He winked. “Let’s go see how bad it is, then we’ll make that call.”

  I glanced over my shoulder and saw Del Ray busy cleaning the kitchen. Martin was already engrossed in his guitar, and Gibson was back to his video games. “Gibson, please take the trash out before you get started playing again. Martin, make sure Del Ray doesn’t need help.” I looked at Brandon and whispered in his ear, “I think we’re late for an appointment.” I took his hand and led him to the bedroom.

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Blaze of Glory

  Alissa

  I sat on the deck watching the sunrise as I’d done every day for the last two weeks. Chance has yet to wake up in time to watch, and that’s okay with me. She prefers sunsets anyway. After watching the sunrise the first time, though, I never wanted to miss another one. Being on an extended vacation, I expected to sleep until I was ready to wake up, but the baby movements came mostly in the morning. Another thing I didn’t want to miss.

  I only had a few more minutes to enjoy the world waking up before I had to jump in the shower and get ready for my eight o’clock appointment with the new OB doctor. I had my script rehearsed and knew the routine questions from my previous appointments in Missouri. Dani had been counting down the days to the appointment and couldn’t wait to hear the heartbeat and see how the baby was progressing. She’d devoured the book I’d given her and even read ahead a little. She should have been a boy scout with how prepared she always was. Ten bucks she wants to leave thirty minutes early to make a twenty-minute drive.

  I’ve heard pregnant women become annoyed with their spouses a lot during pregnancy. Men at the office joked about having their scrotums tied to a whipping post for nine months. I guess my punching bag is Dani. I don’t know if it’s because she’s all up in my shit all the time trying to be loving and supportive or a repressed resentment I won’t acknowledge. It’s not her fault, I know that, but some days playing house with the person who is taking my baby four months from now is more than I know how to handle. And there’s no getting away from it. From her.

  But I didn’t have time to sit around thinking about it. I got up, downed the rest of my orange juice and headed into the house. The aroma of coffee enveloped me as I stepped into the kitchen. Dani leaned against the counter sipping her coffee and grinned when she saw me. “Today’s the big day.”

  I smiled. “Yep. What time do you want to leave?” I already knew the answer to this question, but I wanted to seem like I cared.

  She slid a piece of paper across the counter. “I printed directions to the office. It says it takes twenty-three minutes to get there from here, but with morning traffic, I say we leave no later than seven-thirty.”

  Ding ding ding! Called it. I grinned. “I figured you’d say that. I’ll jump in the shower.”

  Dani set her coffee cup on the counter and softly said, “Lis, I feel your hostility toward me. I’ve tried to pretend it’s all in my head, but I see it in your eyes now. If . . . if you’re changing your mind about giving up the baby, then please just tell me. Don’t make me your enemy over this.”

  Guilt slammed into my chest. I rinsed my juice glass and set it in the sink. “I don’t know what’s going on with me, Dani. I’m chalking it up to hormones and getting fat.” I turned. “I’m going to tell them I’m your surrogate and that you’re the baby’s mother.” I swallowed hard and sighed. “You’re just going to have to give me some room to process this. I never . . . I didn’t . . . I wasn’t expecting . . . I didn’t know.” I leveled my eyes at her. “I didn’t know it would be like this.” I offered her my best smile while gritting my teeth. “I’m going to jump in the shower.” I slipped up the stairs and left her staring at her coffee mug. I hated myself already for the look that settled over her.

  I knew that look.

  I knew that feeling.

  I knew how it felt to be the pregnant woman’s confidante, then enemy. Good god, I am turning into my mother.

  I slid into Chance’s room and closed the door. I tiptoed to her bed and stood over her.

  “Are you going to speak or just stand there like a creepy stalker?” she mumbled.

  “I’m turning into my mother,” I said.

  She rolled over and looked at me. “Not even close, Lis.”

  “No, I am. I just treated Dani like Mom treated me when she was pregnant. I said the same words. I said, ‘I didn’t know it would be like this.’ That’s her catch phrase for everything, Chance.”

  She sat up and rubbed her eyes. “Listen to me, girlfriend. You’re not turning into your mother. You’re a little jacked up, right? Today’s the appointment, and you’re probably just a little hormonal. Maybe a lo
t.”

  I sighed and stared out the window. “You really should get up and watch the sunrise with me sometime.”

  “The only way I’m seeing a sunrise is if I stay up all night waiting for it.”

  I chuckled and looked at her. “Promise me I’m not turning out like her.”

  She grabbed my hand and squeezed. “I’ll kill you myself if I see it.”

  I took a deep breath and let it out. “Good.” I nodded and repeated, “Good.”

  She asked, “Do you want me to go with you guys today?”

  I shook my head. “Nah, go back to sleep. I’m find. I need to make nice with Dani, anyway. I’m not sure how, but I’ll think of something.”

  “Okay, now get out. I was having an awesome dream.” She snuggled into her blankets and buried her face in the pillow.

  At 7:58, Dani and I pulled into the OB parking lot. I slid the keys out of the ignition and grinned. “See? We’re right on time.”

  Dani collected her purse and sighed. “Thank God you were driving. We’d be halfway to Miami now if you’d listened to me.”

  I smirked then refreshed my face to offer a genuine grin. “Let’s go see what they have to say.” We got out of the car and I linked my arm with hers to try to be more like the Alissa I was five months ago before I was knocked up with the child of a man who hates my guts. “I’m thinking after we’re done here, we need to go grab some ridiculously expensive Starbucks drinks and do a little baby shopping. What do you think?”

  Dani grinned. “Music to my ears.”

  We stepped through the sliding doors and sighed as the blast of air conditioning swept over us. I whispered to Dani, “Sheesh, is this a doctor’s office or five-star hotel?” We admired the modern décor and posh furniture. “Wonder how many ladies’ water has broken in those chairs?”

  Dani elbowed me. “Shush, that’s disgusting,” but a smile cracked her mouth.

  I pointed. “Oh, go on, have a seat, my lady.”