I abruptly end the hug. “Mike, you should go.”
He sinks down onto the ottoman and places his head in his hands again.
“I am trying to legitimately move on with my life and work through this and you think you can just put your hands on me and what? What, Mike? You think I’m just going to sleep with you so you feel better?”
“Elizabeth, I’m sorry. You were just standing there in front of me and I didn’t think it through. I’m just trying to process all of this.”
“I’m getting really tired of hearing that. You think that just because I’m here that you’re entitled to me. Well, guess what? I have feelings too and I’m struggling with this just as much as you are,” I bite back a sob, “but you need to leave.” I point to the front door and to my relief; he gets up and walks out, apologizing four more times. I slam the front door shut in frustration before leaning against it and breaking down—so much for progress.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Jess comes in a few minutes before midnight and calls out, “Well, that was a waste of four hours. Things were actually going pretty well—we had a lot in common, but then the check comes and he asked me to pay for everything because he goes on a lot of dates and it puts a real strain on his bank account!”
I laugh and turn down my Florence + the Machine radio station as she comes into the kitchen where I have the oven going and various pots bubbling away on the stovetop. She takes it all in and then walks into the living room as if looking for evidence. “He was here wasn’t he?” Seeing my confusion, she elaborates. “Landon—he must’ve been here. The house is beyond spotless, you’ve got to be cooking for no less than fifty people over there, and you’re listening to Florence—you’re stressed or upset.”
“Actually, Mike was here. Katie left him tonight,” Jess rolls her eyes and fakes a gasp before climbing up on a bar stool at the island as I begin chopping vegetables.
“Yeah, I know—shocker. The kicker though? She just told him she met someone. That’s it—no details. He came here looking for Landon. He had no idea, so I got the privilege of breaking the news to him.”
“Do they think that he’s too stupid to realize that Landon’s new girlfriend looks a hell of a lot like his ex-wife? How were they planning on keeping that under wraps? So, you told him. How’d he take it?”
I begin layering the squash, zucchini, and onions in a baking dish with a little more force than is necessary, “He was angry, which I expected, but then he tried to put the moves on me when I went to comfort him.”
“Wait, what? He tried something? So, did you, you know?—because I totally would have.” She grins wickedly at me while doing what she thinks is a seductive wink, but gives me the impression that she’s just had a stroke.
I swat her arm then sprinkle parmesan and pepper over the veggies before placing the dish in the oven and answering her, “No. I’m sorry to disappoint you. I kicked him out. If I’m going to be with someone else, I want it to be on my terms and not just because they’re standing in my living room and they think it might help them feel better about themselves. You saw what happened with Landon. I don’t want to feel like that again.”
“Of course you don’t, but you’re not going to meet someone new staying cooped up in this house every evening. We need a girl’s night—you and me versus every single man in this town.”
As I wipe down the granite counters, I surprise her with my answer, “Yeah, I’ve thought about it and I think that’s exactly what I need,” Jess leans forward interested, “but I’m going to need a makeover first. If only I knew a hairdresser to help with part of that.”
She jumps off of her barstool and comes over to me; she’s in full hairdresser mode at this point and it’s best to just sit back and let her sell me on her ideas, “What are you thinking you want—extensions? Yes, I am going to make you look so fabulous,” seeing the wide-eyed worried look on my face she clarifies. “You’ll look classy, I promise. We’ll just lighten you up a bit and then give you a little length. You know I don’t normally work Saturdays—being in such high demand during the week—but for you, I’m willing to make an exception,” She grabs a wine glass and fills it, “Now that we’ve got that settled, I’m ready for my cooking lesson.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
By lunchtime the next day, I’m unrecognizable. Gone is the sensible shoulder-length bob-and minus the lack of makeup and a sexy outfit, the girl staring back at me looks like she could take on the world. I stand up and hug Jess, my lip trembling as tears spring into my eyes. It’s amazing what some highlights and hair extensions can do for one’s image.
“Stop with the waterworks—you look amazing!” She has worked wonders once again—my own little hair savior.
I fan my eyes and smile at her, “How can I even begin to thank you? I know my face is now splotchy from crying, but I feel pretty for the first time in over a month.”
Jess gives me a sly smile, “You can hand over Landon’s credit card—because we’re spending his money today,” She cuts me off before I can voice an objection—“no arguing, Landon wants you to go buy a sexy little dress for our night out!”
We end up in a boutique dressing room, trying on dresses that are beyond expensive, and drinking the complimentary champagne like it’s water. When I say complimentary, I mean that we went to the liquor store and purchased several mini bottles and smuggled them in to the boutique in our purses. The only thing missing from my “rock star experience” is a straw.
The dress I’m wearing at the moment is a slim black number with a plunging neckline. My curves could definitely work with this—not only do I feel sexy, but I look it. I turn the Italian designer tag over and nearly faint- $1560! I’ve never spent that much at one time on clothes; I mean my wedding gown was on a clearance rack at David’s Bridal for crying out loud.
As I consider what I just spent on my hair and what I’m about to spend on a dress I intend to wear only one night-suddenly the champagne isn’t settling so well. I manage to make it to the bathroom where I ever so gracefully puke in the sink. The bright side-I somehow manage to avoid ruining my dress in the process. Note to self, champagne on an empty stomach is a terrible idea— as is drinking as much as I have in the past twenty-four hours. I think about the repercussions of what I’m about to do as I wash my face with a damp paper towel.
There’s no hope for reconciliation if I go through with this—like there had been much of one to begin with, what with all his talk of love and now a baby on the way. I’ve always played it safe and look where it’s gotten me. No, I need this. Just one evening of recklessness to grieve the end of my marriage and then first thing tomorrow I’ll go downtown and file. No sense in waiting for Landon to do it—no more helplessness. I must remember to Google “How to file for divorce in Texas” when I get home later. I’ve felt powerless in this situation. Maybe if I strike first with divorce papers I’ll regain some sense of control. My inner romantic still holds out hope that if Landon can just see me all dolled up like this with another man paying attention to me; he might just change his mind—never mind the fact that he’d slept with me in the last month and had no qualms about leaving me all over again. What can I say? She’s never been a realist.
There’s a soft tap at the bathroom door. “Lizzie, is everything okay?”
I give my reflection a small nod as if finalizing everything. “Yes. I’m going to get the dress, but I’m going to need a pair of heels to go with it.” I mean I did just throw up in their super-posh sink; I was kind of committed to buy something at this point.
CHAPTER NINE
It’s a quarter to eight and I’m ready and waiting anxiously on the couch as Jess finishes getting ready in the other bathroom. Perhaps a little too anxiously, by the way my legs are shaking.
Yeah, men would certainly be falling all over themselves… to call me an ambulance…for the seizure I appeared to be having. Not exactly what I’d pictured in my head. You see, I have a bit of a confession to make. Landon is the only man I’ve ev
er been with romantically and (cough) intimately. When I say I gave him everything, I literally mean everything.
If I want to be reckless, I’m going to need to be relaxed and that’s going to require a little extra pharmaceutical help.
Please understand I’m not looking for another relationship. Hell, I just want to be noticed tonight. I want some gorgeous man (or all of them) to look and me and see that Landon made a huge mistake. I go into my bathroom and take another Clonazepam.
I’m not a big fan of being under the influence of anything, as evidenced by the champagne event earlier in the day (and basically any of the other times I’ve had alcohol), but I also want to be able to let my hair down and enjoy myself in a crowded bar.
In the living room, I begin straightening the furniture and pillows, willing the medicine to kick in. Once that’s done to my liking, I sit back down and wait for Jess.
“Oh my God, you look AMAZING! I knew you would!” Jess is practically jumping up and down with excitement. She looks absolutely stunning in a strapless turquoise dress and I tell her as much. She looks amazing in almost anything she puts on though—she could rock sweat-pants on a runway. We climb into her bright red Camaro and head out.
“Jess, where are we going—to like a club?” She throws back her head and laughs, a little too much if you ask me.
“Lizzie, you are absolutely adorable! It’s been a while since we’ve had girl’s night though. Do you really want to spend the evening with a ton of college kids?” I shake my head, “Of course you don’t. Seeing all those college girls will just make you feel worse. I mean, you’re thirty! We’re fighting gravity off more and more every day,” seeing my horrified expression she amends, “No, we’re going to a nice bar where you can meet people your own age. And unlike our clubbing days, where you volunteered to be the designated driver every single time, you’re going to drink tonight.”
While I’d expected us to be heading downtown, she takes us to the south side of town. In between prestigious neighborhoods and shops, there are several upscale bars nestled in. There are no flashy signs; these bars pride themselves on being classy and fitting in with the neighborhood. We end up in front of one simply called “Nick’s.” I have never been here, but Jess seems to think it will do quite nicely.
We make our way through the crowded parking lot and into the cool air conditioning. There’s a popular country song playing throughout the bar by George or Kenny, or—who am I kidding? I prefer Broadway to Nashville, so I have no idea. Jess confidently pushes through the crowd and makes it up to the bar with me meekly following behind her, the Clonazepam numbing me quite nicely. “What are you drinking?” She turns to look at me.
“Hmm, I’ll have champagne?”
“Are you serious? And was your response a question?”
“Why, what’s wrong with champagne?” I look down and begin fidgeting with my dress, embarrassed by my inability to even order a drink correctly.
“It’s not a bad choice for a wedding or when you’re home mourning the loss of your marriage, but it’s not something you typically order at a bar. I forget you’re not a big drinker though,” she places a hand on my arm. “You’re fine. I’ll get us something; you go find us a table.”
I find a booth tucked back into the corner. So much for standing out. Jess soon arrives with our drinks. “I got you a Malibu and pineapple. You’ll like it. I promise”.
I take a tentative sip and find the syrupy sweet liquid delicious. When she sees that I approve she raises her glass in a toast, “To Landon- may he get the karma that is most certainly coming to him. And to you, Lizzie, may you find that you are able to get over him by getting under someone else.” I laugh as we clink glasses and she begins to scope out the possibilities.
An hour and several drinks later, I’ve still yet to find any prospects. Jess has managed to hand out her number to no less than six men. At the moment, there is a very interesting gentleman at our table proudly going over each tattoo he has and why he got them. I try to smile and nod at the appropriate times, but find my mind wandering.
I stand up a bit unsteadily, “I’m just going to run to the ladies room and then get some fresh air out on the patio.”
“I’ll just come with you,” Jess attempts to get up.
“No, please stay. I won’t be gone long.” I make my way to the bathroom and pull out my cell phone while waiting in line. No text messages, but I have missed a phone call and there’s a voicemail…from my mother. I’ve been avoiding seeing her since everything happened—faking illnesses, pretending I’m not home, lying and saying that I’d made other plans—you name it and she’s probably heard it. I wince and press play.
“Sweetie, it’s your mom. Listen, I heard the oddest rumor today. Your dad and I were getting groceries when we ran into Shirley. You remember Shirley; we play cards together once a month,”
Why do mothers do this? It’s like if they don’t explain how they know these people, we’ll have no idea that they’re referring to the friend they’ve had for forty years and assume it’s someone new.
“Well, she said that she heard from her neighbor, Jean, that Landon has been seen without his wedding ring and with a woman who looks an awful lot like that Katie girl you two are friends with. I told her she was mistaken; that our Landon would never do that to you. I do hope you’re being good to him. Anyway, call me back and let’s get together for brunch on Sunday-the four of us. It’s really been too long.” I press delete and stare blankly at my phone until I’m nudged by the woman behind me, “It’s your turn.”
As I’m washing my hands a few minutes later, I wonder how in the hell I’m going to break the news to my parents. They adore Landon, a lot more than they ever have me. They’ve always doted on him for being so strong and not requiring medication and a therapist to get through everyday mishaps.
My mother actually called him up after he proposed and told him that no one would think unkindly of him if he decided not to go through with the wedding. As she put it, I had always been difficult to love and prone to dramatics with the temper tantrums (anxiety attacks) I threw. In my family, wanting to talk to a therapist about your feelings is equivalent to being a drama queen. If only I would choose to be happy, my life would be so much better; as if anyone would ever choose to live like this. I grab several paper towels to dry my hands and push the thoughts about what to say to my parents away. I’ll deal with that tomorrow. Tonight is supposed to be about fun and forgetting.
I stop at the bar and order another drink—seriously, it’s like liquid candy—before heading outside. The patio is not as crowded as it was inside and I immediately feel that I can breathe easier. I’ll find a table and text Jess to meet me out here. This is much better. I see a table on the opposite side of the patio and I’m making my way across the deck to it when my heel slips in between the deck slats. My body is still moving forward, unaware that my right leg is not budging. I don’t even have time to brace myself and I’m falling forward, drink and all. I hear someone yell, “Oh, heads up!” and a pair of strong arms grab me around the waist before I face plant onto the deck.
Unfortunately, my drink ends up all over him in the process. Realizing my foot is still caught in the deck; my rescuer leans down and manages to free it. “Are you okay?” His voice is deep with a strong southern twang and up until this moment; I’ve kept my head down, avoiding looking at him out of sheer embarrassment. “I-I-I’m fine. Thank you.” I make eye contact as I thank him and- Oh my God, I’ve just been rescued by the hottest man ever. He reminds me of someone famous, but I can’t quite place him in my semi-drunk state.
He smiles at me, “I think the only casualty was your drink-which I’m now wearing.” His denim button up shirt is drenched in pineapple and rum, and is now clinging to what appears to be rock solid muscle. Stop staring. Look somewhere else. My eyes immediately move down to his tight-fitting jeans. Great, I am now staring at his dick- which also looks amazing, but is not helping my situation. I need to s
ay something or else I’m going to look like a loon, “I’m so sorry about your shirt and falling on you. I’ll let you get back to your evening. Again, I’m really sorry.” I turn to walk away, mortified, and he grabs my hand.
“Wait, at least let me buy you another,” at this he pulls his shirt up to smell it, “Malibu and pineapple?”
I grin at him, “Shouldn’t I be buying you a drink?”
“Beautiful women should never have to buy drinks.” At that, he leads me back into the bar with his hand on the small of my back. While shorter than Landon, he’s still taller than me; I would guess he was close to six foot. His light brown hair is sun bleached and a little shaggier than I was used to seeing, but he pulled it off well. His skin is deeply tanned, so I’m assuming he must work outside for a living. He has some cross between a five o’clock shadow and a short beard. And his eyes, oh his eyes, are a deep shade of blue that mimicked my own. Once we reach the bar he leans into me so I can hear him over the crowd, “I’m David, by the way.” He extends his hand for me to shake. I grin up at him (that’s all I seemed capable of doing since I met him- grinning like a fool) and lean back into him, “David, I’m Elizabeth. It’s a pleasure to meet you.” And suddenly, I know exactly who he reminds me of. Landon was really into The Walking Dead—you know—the show about the zombie apocalypse. While it wasn’t my top choice when it came to TV shows—I avoid the sci-fi genre if at all possible, I started watching it to humor Landon. I quickly found myself drawn in to the story and one character in particular. While he may not be wielding a cross-bow, I had most definitely just been rescued by Daryl Dixon. Be still my beating heart.
CHAPTER TEN
While he orders us drinks, I look around for Jess. Knowing her, she’s probably off with tattoo boy letting him show her some of his more intimate ones. I shoot her a quick text, “Met someone. We’re on the patio if you need me.” David refuses to let me carry my drink, probably because he doesn’t want to be wearing another one should I decide on a repeat of my earlier performance, and we make our way back onto the patio.
From This Day Forward Page 4