Getting a Grip: A #MyNewLife Romantic Comedy

by M. E. Carter

Only this time, I’m not relying on anyone else to make it feel complete. I’m making my own decisions. And that feels good.

  “You gonna tell me what really happened with James?”

  I crinkle my nose like I’m concentrating on a particularly dirty spot of the dish I’m cleaning. Really what I’m doing is avoiding eye contact with Greg. We ended up having a really nice day and I don’t want to messy it up with talk of my ex.

  After the birthday cake was served, everyone stuck around for the kids to play for a while. The adult guests mingled and finished up most of the hors d’oeuvres, which makes my waist line and my refrigerator happy. Eventually it started getting dark, the kids all started getting cranky, and the house cleared out.

  Only Greg stayed behind.

  Between the two of us, we got all the girls bathed (me helping with the baths), hair and teeth brushed (Greg outfitting everyone in amazing fishtail braids), and tucked into their beds. They fell asleep almost instantly after such a busy day, and as much as I want to fall into my own bed with my boyfriend, clean up comes first.

  I’m hopeful the booty call comes second.

  But not if this conversation goes badly.

  “Why do I get the feeling you’re ignoring my question?” Crap. He’s not going to let this go.

  Taking a deep breath, I place the last of the dirty plates in the dishwasher and wipe my hands with a towel. Leaning back against the counter, I peek up at him through my eyelashes.

  “He kissed me.”

  Greg’s eyes practically bug out of his head. “He did what?” I can’t tell if he’s angry or in disbelief. “Is that why he had a hand print on his face?”

  I cringe. “I didn’t realize it was that noticeable.”

  “It was kind of hard to miss. I figured he’d said something that made you mad, but I thought he was just being a dick.”

  “He was being that, too. I mean, what kind of man kisses his ex with his current right outside the door?” I jump up on the counter and relax as I sit for the first time today. “I kind of feel bad for her. Don’t get me wrong, I’ll never trust her after what she did. But it’s almost like I can see him starting the same patterns again, and she doesn’t even realize what’s coming. Is it weird that I feel this way?”

  He moves forward and settles himself in between my legs, arms wrapped around my waist, my arms automatically moving around his neck. “I don’t think it’s weird.” He kisses me in small pecks as he talks. “Even though she hurt you deeply, you still don’t wish for her to be screwed over. That shows how much integrity you have.”

  “Mmm,” is all I can say through the fog in my brain. His kisses always do this to me. “How much of the actual conversation did you hear, anyway?”

  “Not much. Something about him not knowing what commitment is and you still being the same person you’ve always been.”

  “That was basically the tail end of it. He kept saying how he misses me and he wants me back.” Something like anger briefly flashes through Greg’s eyes. “I told him if he ever pulls that bullshit again, we’d go back to following the custody order as it’s written, and nothing more.”

  Greg pulls back a bit. “You told him that?”

  “Of course, I did. I’m not married to him anymore. I don’t have to accept him, flaws and all. I’m civil for the sake of the girls, that’s it. I don’t have to be disrespected like that.”

  “But what if I wasn’t here. Would you take him back then?”

  “First of all, you are here,” I say, as I run my fingers through his hair. “But even if you weren’t, I’ve worked long and hard to know my worth. He still doesn’t see beyond the physical. But that all fades. I don’t want to be with someone who is always looking for the latest and greatest. That’s not a real relationship. Besides, I’ll never steal another woman’s husband.”

  “Not even if she stole him from you first?”

  “Not even then.” I kiss him softly, melting into his embrace. “Plus, I have someone so much better, and I’m not giving him up.”

  Greg tenses, reminding me of his distance earlier. Something’s been wrong all day. I can tell it’s eating at him a lot.

  “Now, your turn. Are you going to tell me what’s really going on? You’ve been distant all day.” He won’t look me in the eye so I nudge him. “Hey. We’re in this together, right? I want to help you if I can,” I say quietly. “Tell me.”

  Taking a deep breath, he finally looks up at me. All I see is sadness. I’ve never seen Greg sad before. Frustrated. Angry. Irritated. Sure. But sad? Never.

  “I’m just gonna say it, ok?” He swallows hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing. I can’t look away from it because something about this moment feels very serious, and suddenly I’m afraid of what he’s about to say.

  “I’m moving.”

  My body runs cold. I heard the words, but surely I’m misunderstanding the meaning.

  “Did you, um… buy a house or something?” Please say yes. Please say yes.

  “No.” He shakes his head and strokes my hair. “I’m moving… to San Antonio.”

  My entire body freezes, except for my eyes that are blinking rapidly as I try not to let them fill with tears. This has to be a bad dream, right? A nightmare? James slipped something into to my mouth when he was trying to make out with me and I’m having hallucinations? This isn’t happening.

  But it is happening, as Greg continues to explain.

  “Remember that guy Libby met online?” I feel myself nod, but it’s more of a reflex than an actual response. This entire conversation doesn’t seem real. “She’s decided to move in with him. And she’s taking Peyton with her.”

  “But… don’t you have a morality clause or something written into your divorce decree? So she can’t move in with some random guy?”

  He continues to play with my hair like he can’t stop touching me. Like he’s running out of time. Which, I guess he is.

  “No. I didn’t even think to negotiate that during the proceedings. It was a stupid, stupid mistake. I should have known better because she’s so irrational sometimes. But I didn’t, and now I’m stuck. I can’t be here with Pey in San Antonio, Elena. I can’t.” He’s pleading with me to somehow make this ok. The selfish part of me wants to talk him out of it—to talk him into staying here. But I can’t do that. I understand the sacrifice far too well.

  Peyton is barely two. Seeing her once a month would be the kiss of death for their relationship. They’d never be able to have a strong bond if he didn’t see her at least twice a week. And I’d never forgive myself if I put him through that.

  “I know. I know.” Stroking his beard, trying to keep my head on straight, I continue asking questions. “What about your job, though?”

  “Dave has been working on opening a new facility in San Antonio for a couple years now, and they’ve asked me to go run it. The first time they offered I turned them down. I was going through the divorce process, and I couldn’t up and leave them.” He shrugs sadly. “But when Libby said they were moving, it sort of all fell together. They broke ground on the new gym a couple months ago and were looking for someone to get in there and facilitate the opening.”

  “Oh. Well that’s good, I guess.” I’m shell-shocked. This man, who is the best part of my life, besides my kids, is leaving me. Who knows if I’ll ever see him again.

  “Elena,” he says gently, tears forming in his eyes. “I don’t want to leave you behind.”

  I smile and try hard to blink my own tears away. “And I don’t want you to leave me behind. But I can’t uproot our entire lives. My whole support system is here.”

  “I know. And I’d never ask you to. As much as I hate him, I wouldn’t want you to do to James what Libby is doing to me. But I just… I just found you.”

  He pulls me to him and hugs me tight. And that’s when the tears begin to fall for both of us.

  I don’t know exactly why he’s crying, but for me, it’s the unfairness of it all. Here is this amazing man, a m
an who makes me laugh and builds me up, who loves my kids and is respectful to their father. He likes me for me… and we’ll never have the chance to see if it could have been forever.

  I feel like all the good that has happened to me over the last few months has been derailed.

  “When do you leave?” I sniff, my voice sounding muffled against his shoulder.

  “Next week.”

  A sob escapes me again. That’s so soon. It’s too soon.

  “Libby told me yesterday that she’s moving. I slept on it overnight. I was stunned and surprised by it all, I couldn’t figure out what to do, ya know?” He sniffs. “But I realized I was avoiding what I had to do. I talked to Dave this morning before the party. As soon as we hashed out the details, I found some apartment online and rented it.”

  I nod as the information sinks in. My head is spinning. It’s happening fast. Too fast. How am I supposed to say everything there is to say, to do everything there is to do, if there’s only one week left to be together? It’s so unfair.

  “I know the girls are here,” Greg says, still holding me tightly to him, “And I wouldn’t normally ask because of that. But can I please spend the night? I just… I don’t want to leave you yet. I need more time with you.”

  I nod through my tears, clinging to him as tightly as he’s clinging to me. I keep my eyes shut, trying to memorize the feel of him, as he picks me up off the counter and carries me to my room.

  This is, quite possibly, the last night we ever spend together. And I don’t want to forget a moment of it.

  We don’t sleep much. We spend the night tangled up in each other.

  Soft kisses, expressing our feelings.

  Gentle touches, memorizing the feel of each other.

  Passionate kisses, telling each other how angry we are about this forced separation.

  And when he rocks inside me, whispering that he loves me for the very first time, my heart simultaneously swells and breaks.

  He loves me.

  He loves me.

  And I know, I know I love him, too. We haven’t had a chance to move to a deep, all-encompassing kind of love. But this is what love really is.

  Respect. Care. Understanding.

  Sacrifice.

  Sacrificing our own happiness if it’s what’s best for the other.

  Even as the waves of ecstasy overtake my body, I don’t regret supporting his decision. Even as tears roll down my cheeks and he groans his own release, I know it’s the right thing to do.

  I love him.

  I love him.

  And this time, it means letting him go.

  I wake when the sunlight peaks through my blinds. Thankfully, I’m up before the girls are. I’m all cried out and I need time to put my game face on.

  I also need time to enjoy this moment. To feel the rise and fall of Greg’s chest as he breathes. To hear his soft sighs. To smell his skin. To just be together.

  Greg squeezes me tightly to him. It feels so right for us to be like this—intertwined, not really sure where one of us ends and the other begins.

  “You ok?” he whispers, rubbing his hand down my hip.

  I think how to respond before I say anything, but really, there’s no good answer. “No,” I finally admit. “But I will be. I don’t have a choice, right?”

  He rolls us until we’re facing each other, and I sniff back tears for the umpteenth time since last night.

  “I would never make you wait for me, Elena.” I gaze into his tear-filled eyes and see nothing but love. “You’re too dynamic of a person and you deserve to be loved. I would never ask you to do that. But I just…” He sucks in a sharp breath. “I can’t believe that this is over already. And I’m going to pray every single day that somehow the circumstances change and that I can come back to you. But don’t you dare wait for me while I pray, ok?”

  A sob rips from my throat and I grab him to me, wrapping my arms and legs and heart around his. I guess I’m not as cried out as I thought. We cry in each other’s arms for what seems like an eternity, before I can’t take it anymore.

  And I kiss him. I kiss him everywhere I can. His face, his shoulders, his arms and his chest. I kiss him as I cry and he cries as I kiss him. And we make love one final time through our tears, although I don’t think either one of us actually finishes.

  When we’re done and we’re emotionally depleted, we begin making plans.

  “What day do you leave?” I feel emotionally drained, but at least I don’t feel like I’m cracking in two. I’m sure I will again at some point, but for now, I’m at least functional.

  “Friday. I want to get a little bit settled before I get Peyton on Saturday. She’s already too far away, ya know?”

  I nod because I do know. I can’t even imagine how I would feel if my girls were five hours away from me. It must be a nightmare for Greg, knowing Libby isn’t exactly forthcoming with information as it is. And knowing his daughter is living with some man he’s never met, especially with her not even being fully verbal yet.

  “I’m sad we didn’t get to say good bye to her. Max, especially, is really going to miss her. I don’t even wanna think about Christopher.”

  He chuckles. “At least I don’t have to worry about getting that shotgun now. That kid was getting a little too flirty with my baby.”

  I smile, enjoying the deep rumble of his laugh.

  “I have a lot to do this week, but I want to spend as much time with you as possible. Can we do that?” he asks.

  “Of course. Want to come over for dinner tonight?”

  “I’ll be here. And call your mom today. Get her set up to babysit every night this week. I want to do all those things we said we were going to do.”

  “What things? I didn’t realize we had plans.” I love our easy banter. This might be the part I’m going to miss the most.

  “Oh yeah,” he confirms. “I want to take you bowling and dancing and to the food trucks downtown. I hear there is a fantastic hot dog truck that will probably give you an orgasm just by looking at the menu,” he jokes, digging a ticklish finger into my rib making me squeal.

  “I love hot dogs,” I giggle, still squirming until I’m situated on him again.

  “I know.”

  “You think we can cram it all in?” I smirk at his lofty expectations. “All the plans you never told me about?”

  “We can try.”

  We get silent again, as the finality of this week hits us. I know from my divorce that grief will come in waves. But somehow, I feel like these waves may keep coming for the rest of my life. Maybe not huge waves. But there’s no way I won’t feel a pang of sadness whenever I think of Greg in years to come.

  Licking my lips, I know I have to extend the same grace to him, as he gave to me. “Do me a favor, ok?”

  He shifts so he can look at me better, putting one hand behind his head, and running his other fingers through my hair. “You told me not to wait for you. Don’t wait for me either.”

  “Elena…” he whispers.

  “I’m serious.” I nudge him gently. “I hate this so, so much. But I don’t want you to miss out on something good. We’ve both got a lot of years ahead of us, and I would hate to know you spent yours pining away for me.”

  His lips quirk like he wants to smile, but his heart won’t let him. Gently, he licks his lips and pulls me to him, kissing me softly. Over and over and over again. When he finally rests our foreheads together, he gives me a quiet, “ok.”

  And then I hear Max yelling for me and I know our time is up. At least for now.

  The five of us spend the next couple of hours enjoying the pancake breakfast Greg insists on making and putting together Maura’s new toys. I could kill Callie for the Create Your Own Make Up set she gave my child. It’s sticky, it’s glittery, it gets everywhere.

  I am so getting Christopher a puppy for Christmas.

  Once all the toys have a new home and Greg gets the screen back on the window like he promised, he leaves to get a few err
ands done.

  Grabbing my face, he kisses me gently once, twice, three times, and rests his forehead on mine again. “I’ll be back for dinner in a few hours.”

  “Ok.” My hands rub up and down his forearms. This is my favorite way he touches me.

  “I’m serious, babe. We’re going to make the most of this week.”

  “I know.”

  He nods once, my answer good enough for him. “I love you. I’ll see you soon.” And he walks out the door.

  “I love you, too.” Then I close the door behind him.

  Like all of life’s best made plans, the next week didn’t work out like we expected.

  A couple hours after Greg left, it began.

  Me: Fiona’s throwing up. You sure you want to come back over?

  Greg: I’ll grab some Pepto on my way.

  An hour later, it got worse.

  Me: Maura just joined her sister. There’s vomit everywhere.

  Greg: Don’t cook. I’ll pick up food on the way over.

  And by dinner time, all three of them were in the throes of a full-blown stomach bug.

  Me: If there was any question about how much Max chews her food, the answer is she doesn’t.

  Greg: As gross as that information is, I guess full strawberries are easier to clean up than half-digested strawberries, right? Gag reflex notwithstanding.

  Me: I hate to say this, but you need to stay away. You can’t risk getting sick, too.

  Greg: I hate that you’re right. But I’m holding out hope this is a twenty-four-hour bug and we can pick back up tomorrow.

  Me: You and me both.

  We were wrong. So, so wrong. Basically, the plague hit my house and it was all I could do to keep up with disinfecting, doing laundry, and praying I didn’t get sick, too. Dates were out of the question.

  Instead, we texted every day, while Greg packed up his apartment, finished up some minor projects at work, and avoided the sick ward of Casa de Influenza. It sucked, but what could we do?

  Ironically, by Friday, the day Greg was leaving, the girls finally felt better. Not better enough to go to school or even go outside. But better enough that Callie could come by and take over for a bit so I could take a long enough shower to shave my legs.