Defining Moments

by Andee Michelle

  Speaking of Cord . . .

  . . . and that’s my cue for a bathroom break and maybe a refill on the glass of wine I didn’t realize I had been devouring quickly.

  I’m almost afraid to read what she has to say. Is he dating the woman who answered his phone? Is he just sleeping with random women to forget? Or does he miss me as much as I miss him?

  . . . he’s miserable, Ellie. He has become a recluse basically, and now that his house is finished and he has moved in completely, the only time we see him is when he is at work, which he has cut back to twice a week. I know you two ended things on a bad note, but please, Ellie, if you ever cared about him at all, please at least email him. I’m not telling you all this to make you feel bad. I just think he could use a friend right now. He won’t really talk to us about what is going on with him. He’s shutting us out again. Please just consider emailing him and checking on him. Angelica basically threatened to strangle me if I didn’t tell you these exact words: You promised.

  I would love to hear from you and get the details on how things are going there. Fill me in, girl!

  Love Sami (aka Mrs. Pukesalot)

  My throat constricts, but I refuse the tears. Why is he withdrawing from his family and his passion for his restaurant? Surely, it’s not because of me. A few months of friendship and less than a week of attempting to make it more isn’t enough to make him act this way . . . is it? I figured he’d just move on if he couldn’t get a hold of me. Why is he shutting down?

  I reread the paragraph about Cord about ten times before I decide, in my wine guzzling state, to email him. Probably not my brightest moment, but I need to know he’s okay. Knowing he’s suffering alone is breaking my heart.

  To: Saint Cordero

  From: Ellie Harper

  Re: Hi

  I don’t really know what to say after six weeks. I just need to know you are okay.

  E

  After I hit send, it dawns on me I have a buzz for the first time since my accident, and I’m now officially exhausted. I set my laptop on the coffee table, pull the blanket from the back of the couch, and curl up in a ball. I still miss him and it’s destroying me knowing he is not doing well.

  I’m almost asleep when I hear the ping of an incoming I.M.

  Cord: Why do you care, Ellie? You made it clear you were done with me when you blocked my number.

  His response pisses me off and breaks my heart at the same time. It was like I forgot for a moment that a woman answered his phone in the middle of the night and the pain is still as hurtful as the day it happened. I’d let him go because of that pain. I’d let him go so he could figure out his own shit.

  Me: Oh, I’m sorry, in case you forgot, I called you in the middle of the night and a woman answered your phone with you lying next to her, after you basically kicked me out of Saint and then refused to talk to me the entire last week before I left. I was pissed and hurt, and felt like it was best for both of us if I just let you go.

  Cord: Let me go? Like you ever had me in the first place. In case you forgot, YOU ran the first chance you got, so forgive me if I thought finding someone else to warm my bed would be no big deal to you. I needed more than you were willing to give, apparently.

  I suck in a deep breath and clench my teeth together so hard they feel like they’ll shatter. That bastard. I need more. That’s all I can see. I need more. It’s happening again. What the hell is wrong with me that just isn’t enough? My chest starts to heave and a sob tears from my throat. I need more. I sit staring at his words for what seems like hours. I need more.

  Cord: Wait, Ellie. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean that.

  I stare at his words, them becoming blurry as I reread them over and over. He frantically continues.

  Cord: Ellie, please, I’m sorry.

  Cord: Please talk to me.

  Cord: ELLIE! I didn’t mean that. Please talk to me.

  I can’t even think of a way to respond. My heart and soul are numb. I click off the I.M., slowly close my laptop without responding, and set it back down on the coffee table. I get up from the couch, pour out the rest of the wine in my glass, and strip my clothes as I make my way back to my bedroom. Crawling under the covers, I lay numb and broken throughout the rest of the day and night, sleeping only sporadically.

  I need more. I need more. I need more.

  By day light, I’ve come to the realization I’m just better off alone. I have three wonderful children and a best friend who all love me, and think I’m enough just how I am. That’s all that matters. But I need the closure of telling him goodbye, so before I can change my mind, I bring up my email and see there are a string of emails from him, the last one coming just ten minutes earlier. I don’t read any of them, and just hit reply.

  To: Saint Cordero

  From: Ellie Harper

  Re: From Italy

  I haven’t read your emails and I’m not going to. I got the message loud and clear last night, and it was what I needed to hear for my own closure. Thank you for being honest with me. Now I can move on with my life and you can move with yours.

  Goodbye, Cord.

  Ellie

  I delete all emails to and from him and then delete his contact from my address book.

  THE NEXT FEW DAYS drag by even though I keep myself as busy as possible. I emailed Sami back this morning just letting her know I’m doing fine, sent her a few pictures of the sights I’d been to so far, and then closed the email letting her know I had contacted Cord like she’d requested and it had not gone well, but I had gotten the closure I needed. I congratulated her and wished her luck with the new baby. Telling her I’ll give her a shout when I come back to Colorado was more being polite than truthful. I wasn’t sure if I’d be able to keep a friendship with Cord’s family since I was cutting all ties to him. We’d see how the next few months went.

  Italy is going to be my home for as long as I can string it out. I am going to learn to cook amazing food, take in every sight, and travel as much as I can before I go home. I can only hope that during that time, I can firmly make my heart believe I am enough just the way I am.

  BEING IN A FOREIGN country, one very different than your own, all alone with your thoughts and fears, is indescribable. Although not always consciously, I’ve been pondering every aspect of the life I’ve lived. I’ve questioned every good moment with Justin, every promise, every “I love you,” every little thing. When I realize that I am finding no answers and only succeeding in making myself upset all over again for the things he’s done, I gradually start to understand that maybe Cord was right. Maybe I’m not over what happened between me and Justin, and slowly but surely, I begin to see that the life Justin and I had built together was not based on love like I’d always thought.

  Justin and I had married because I’d been pregnant. I accept that now. As much as I hate to admit it, even to myself, we were just a couple of kids, getting ready to have kids of our own, and the only thing we knew to do was make it right by getting married. I’d made myself believe for a very long time that we had been in love, but the truth was, we were both just surviving the best way we knew how. I threw myself into being a mother to our beautiful babies, and Justin, well, he survived our marriage by jumping into the beds of other women.

  Being left to explore the depths of your soul is not only terrifying, it is life altering and it is exactly what I needed. Every single morning I’ve woken up in this beautiful country, I’ve had to promise myself that for just that day, I will get up, live my life just for me, and enjoy every single moment of it. I do what I want. I go where I want. For so long, I’ve been completely focused on the happiness of my husband and kids, and for the first time in my adult life, I’m taking the time to search what my true interests are, what I enjoy spending my time doing, and then doing them.

  It really doesn’t take me long to recognize how very unhappy I’ve been for the past decade. When your entire being surrounds taking care of a family, one who barely sees you past being “mom
” or “wife,” you let little pieces of yourself die without even noticing. Yes, as you age, obviously your likes and dislikes change, but I hadn’t had a chance to actually grow into those things. I’d been a mom and a wife at nineteen years old. I’d been a child myself. I was so focused on making sure that I was the perfect wife and mom, I had made myself believe that I was okay with letting go of things that seemed trivial at the time. For example, reading. I’d always loved to read. For a good decade or more, I hadn’t picked up a book. After Justin and I split, I’d returned to my love of reading and found great happiness in it again. It was an escape from my every day craziness. It let me step away from the monotony and focus on something in the realm of fairy tale. It made me want to believe again.

  Italy was a healing process in and of itself. Being away from everything and everyone gave me the opportunity to look not only at my relationship with Justin and with my kids, but it also gave me the chance to look at myself. It helped me see who I’d become, to accept the things that I didn’t want to admit, and let them go.

  Was I a perfect wife? Not even close. I’d made no effort to be affectionate to Justin during our marriage. I was too busy. I had too many things to take care of. I was tired. I had more than enough excuses. But the truth was, I used my busyness as an excuse for a really long time. It made me feel important to our family to be responsible for so many things, but in the end, it was me who was miserable and trying to pretend that everything was just perfect.

  Was I a perfect mother? Absolutely not. Hell, I was a child myself when the twins were born. I did the very best that I could, and I truly made it my mission in life to be the best. In my teenage mind, there was such a thing as a perfect mother. A mother who baked cookies, had a perfectly clean home, and never complained about having no time for herself. I was a mess most days while the boys were growing up. Praying I didn’t lose my temper. Hoping not to break down when one of them was sick and I couldn’t fix it. Being a mom was tough work, but I never wanted to admit that, because admitting it meant that I was failing. That I wasn’t strong enough. That I wasn’t cut out to be a mother.

  Did I have a perfect body? No way. After all, I’d been pregnant with twins, followed quickly by another single pregnancy. I would never have a “perfect” body, and I’d come to be okay with that. I am exercising to be healthy. I am changing things about my lifestyle because I want to be comfortable in my own skin. I want to feel sexy again, and being strong makes me feel that way. The more I run, and the more I work out, the better my reflection of myself becomes. I want to be happy with who I am, from the stretch marks on my stomach and thighs, to the smile that could light up a room. I am ready to accept that I will never be the perfect mother or wife. That I can only strive to be the best me I can be.

  Being an almost forty year old, divorced mother of three, living in a beautiful country away from all the craziness, is definitely opening my eyes. It helps me realize that there is no such thing as a perfect mother, or a perfect wife. We are who we are.

  The day that I accepted I wasn’t perfect was definitely a defining moment in my life and in my healing. During my time in Italy, I have had many defining moments. This one was the biggest.

  During my self-exploration, I learned to not hate Justin, to let go of the pain he’d caused, to accept my part in the deterioration of our marriage, and to accept it was time for me to move on with my life, without all the bullshit dragging me down. Don’t get me wrong. I have no desire to have a friendship with Justin, at all, but being able to forgive him and let it go was vital to me moving forward with my life without his betrayal weighing me down.

  The day I accepted that I am enough, was a day that will be burned into my mind until the day I die. I don’t need anyone else to tell me I’m enough. I just know I am.

  Life is about accepting who you are and making every single second of it count.

  It’s been three months since my last email to Cord. He emailed me several times over the weeks that followed my goodbye email, but he finally stopped when I didn’t respond. I was grateful when the emails stopped because it took every ounce of my strength to delete them without reading them. I miss him every single day. I spend a lot of time walking around, taking pictures, and just enjoying the fact I’m alive and in this beautiful country. I feel like I’m learning something new about myself every day, and it feels amazing to be able to focus on nothing but my own happiness for once in my life.

  I’ve become addicted to touring the vineyards wherever I go. They are breathtaking and I’ve developed a love for deep-bodied wines, something I wasn’t a fan of before coming here. I’ve picked up a ton of Italian kitchen décor and gadgets, which I’m completely giddy to get into my own home kitchen. Because Justin gave me half the money from the sale of our house, I haven’t had to work while I’m here, which I’m thankful for. I even sent him a text message thanking him for putting the money in my account. He replied with a brief “you’re welcome” and nothing more. I haven’t asked, but the boys mentioned that Justin and Julia seem to be doing good, and even mentioned they are both in counseling. For my own selfish reasons, I hope they can make it work. I need for him to continue to leave me alone and I have a feeling, if they don’t work things out, he’ll return to hounding me to forgive him when I get back.

  Today, I’m going to the old farmhouse vineyard again, which is a couple of hours from Rome. When I first arrived in Rome, all the locals I met told me it has amazing food and wine and that the family who owns it is absolutely amazing. “A perfect tribute to what raising a family on a vineyard in Italy is like,” a bartender at my favorite little bar had told me. They hadn’t been wrong. I’ve been here many times and I love it the best of all the places I’ve visited.

  So here I am, again, at the Giordano Farmhouse Vineyard, sitting out on their back deck, soaking up the summer sun, snacking on antipasti, and enjoying amazing wine. Life really can’t get better than this. For the first time in as long as I can remember, I’m comfortable in my own skin, loving who I am, and enjoying every second I can spend on myself. Does that make me selfish? Maybe. Do I care? Not one damn ounce. I know being here will end at some point, and I’ll return to my life before I was able to step away from it. The only difference will be the person I am now. I’ve made great strides in becoming who I am supposed to be, and I have Italy to thank for it.

  I do yoga daily.

  I meditate daily.

  I go for runs when I need to clear my head.

  I eat what I want, but I watch my portion sizes, so I can continue to eat what I want.

  I smile all the time. Why? Because although my life hasn’t been traumatic, the past eighteen months have been extremely stressful, and being away from it all to focus on myself is a gift not everyone gets. I am very blessed.

  I sit for hours, writing in my journal about my time here, taking pictures of the vineyard, and reading. The smells and sounds of this country lighten my heart a little more every day. It’s almost like I can feel the pieces coming back together, trying like hell to become one whole again.

  Mrs. Giordano brings me another glass of wine and sits down beside me, patting my leg gently like we’re old friends. She comes out and chats with me each time I’ve come here. Her husband has come out a few times as well. They’ve never really asked me anything overly personal, but we’ve talked about my boys and they know I’m a divorcee.

  “So, are you finally going to tell me what you are running from, tesoro?” she asks me gently.

  I watch as mischief crosses her face and her old eyes crinkle when she smirks at me.

  “I’m not running from anything. I’m doing the home cooking internship through Italia Culinary Art School, and enjoying being single.” I smile at her, before changing the subject. “What does tesoro mean?”

  She laughs quietly before replying, “Treasure or darling. But you did not tell me the whole truth, my darling girl,” she continues. “I’ve watched you these last few months. I’ve seen the pa
in through the smiles. Something has you fleeing those you love. Why?”

  She is no longer looking at me, but out across the vineyard toward the sun, which is starting to set. I don’t really know how to answer that. Was I running when I initially got here? Probably. I’d wanted to come before the blowup, but the fight had definitely helped me make the decision. Now, I’m staying because I love it here and I truly am making big strides in figuring my life out.

  “In the beginning, I may have been running a little,” I tell her honestly after a few minutes.

  “Tell me about him,” she chuckles, continuing to stare off in the distance.

  I take a slow sip of my wine to decide whether or not I really want to rehash the whole story to a virtual stranger, but truthfully, it may help me to let it all out and let someone outside the box tell me their thoughts on both Cord and my actions.

  “It’s a long, painful story,” I begin.

  “I’ve got all night,” she clucks.

  “Well, I don’t think you need the nasty details of my divorce, but the problem started there. My ex-husband basically told me he needed more than what I could give him, that I wasn’t enough and he didn’t love me. We’d been married twenty-one years and have three sons. His betrayal didn’t stop there, but everything else about him isn’t part of Cord and my story. I did let Justin’s history cloud my judgment when it came to the trust I had in Cord though.” I stop long enough to take a sip of my wine and grab a few grapes and a slice of cheese that Mr. Giordano brought out to us a few minutes ago.