Pause

by Kylie Scott

  Truth be known, the plunging neckline on my ankle-length black silk gown is rather beguiling. I bought it for a New Year’s Eve party a few years back and it still fits okay. Tonight just struck me as being a smoky eyes, neutral lips, and hair blown out kind of occasion. A time for thinking and drinking and dancing. So as soon as I got back from my divorce attorney’s office, that’s what I did. My feet are bare because comfort matters, but my toenails are painted black to match. Harry Styles is on the stereo, I have a buzz happening, and all is well.

  “You know,” I say, holding my champagne high. Not my first glass, either. God help my liver. “People put all this effort into celebrating weddings, yet they don’t put even half the energy into observing a divorce.”

  He raises a brow. “It’s official?”

  “Signed the papers this afternoon.”

  “Huh.” He clinks his glass against mine. “You didn’t tell me that was today.”

  “I wasn’t sure how I felt about it until now.”

  Nothing from him.

  “I was thinking of doing a bit of crafting with the certificate when it arrives. Some flowery stamps, maybe,” I say. “A little glitter. Really make it special, you know? Bring out the love and joy inherent in the document.”

  Still nothing from him.

  “I am twenty-seven years old and divorced,” I say, testing the words. “I am a single woman once again.”

  He sips the champagne. “Yes you are. You’re finally free. Is ‘congratulations’ the right thing to say?”

  “Sure. Divorce is about two people bravely committing to the romantic idea that they can make it on their own. It’s quite empowering really.”

  “Then congratulations, Anna.”

  “Thank you. I’m glad it’s over.”

  And he’s being so damn cautious. It’s right there in his wary gaze. “I bet you are.”

  “I’m not going to burst into tears or something,” I say. “There’s no need to look so scared. Out of all of the emotional trauma I’ve experienced this year, tonight actually feels like a good thing.”

  “I don’t mind. Cry if you want or need to. I’m not going anywhere. I’m not afraid of you.” He downs half of the glass of champagne. “You know, this isn’t half bad.”

  “Glad you approve. I thought if we were going to celebrate, then really only French champagne would do.”

  A small smile.

  “I’m okay, Leif. I promise.”

  “You’ve been through a lot of shit.”

  “So have you,” I say. “We both deserve good things.”

  He smiles for real this time. “I’ll drink to that.”

  “You need a refill.” I grab the bottle out of the bucket of ice on the kitchen counter and perform my duties as host of this very small party. A wedding wake, if you will. A marriage memoriam. There’s even cheesecake in the fridge for later, because a party is nothing without cake.

  “How much have you had to drink?” he asks, giving me a curious glance.

  “We may be onto our second bottle, here,” I answer. “Briar and I FaceTimed a couple of glasses’ worth earlier. A bid-adieu-to-the-cheating-bastard kind of thing. Will you dance with me?”

  “I’d be honored.”

  The music changes to Leon Bridges and he slides his arms around my waist. I set one hand on his shoulder, the other still holding onto my drink. We sway in time to the music. It’s so easy with him. So comfortable. Also, Leif is tall and firm and smells nice. The perfect companion for this sort of thing. He’s ridiculously handsome up close like this. Lady-part-tingling male beauty. And I get to put my hands on him in a purely friendly manner. Lucky me.

  “No man-hating angry music,” he notes.

  “Nope.” I smile. “Don’t get me wrong, I went through an intense period of despising your gender. But that kind of emotion isn’t sustainable long term. Not for me, at least. Especially not with Celine involved in it up to her pretty little neck. Two people alone are responsible for this situation. No point throwing away the whole world over their misdeeds.”

  A grunt.

  “I guess I still have my moments of rage,” I say. “I mean, of course I do. It was a deeply shitty thing to have happen. But being pissed off for the rest of all time seems like it’ll do me more harm than good.”

  He nods.

  “I want to move on to bigger and better things. Be happy. And I can’t do that if I’m letting this stuff drag me down.”

  “Sounds wise.”

  “You think so?” I ask.

  “Yes.”

  I nod. “Not that I think I’ll ever marry again.”

  He raises a brow. “No?”

  “Nope. That is not on the agenda. Been there, done that, getting the divorce certificate.”

  “Why not?” he asks. “You might meet someone who makes your ex look like a sad excuse of a man. Someone who makes you deliriously happy.”

  “I might. One day . . .” I sigh. “But weddings are so big and expensive and stressful. And it’s not like the vows necessarily mean a whole lot. I mean, why bother?”

  “It’s true. Words are cheap. That’s why I recommend tattoos, because ink is forever.”

  “Hm.” I think about this. “But can’t you get tattoos erased now? Or at least redone?”

  He shakes his head. “Not entirely. There’s always a mark. No one gets to walk away free and clear.”

  “Is that a good thing?”

  “Of course.” He seems surprised by the question. “That’s why we all do it. To have it carved into us in blood and skin and ink. To mark out something that’s important enough to stay with us to the end. Something we can’t change our mind about. Not like promises or wedding vows.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind. Not that I wasn’t a stunning bride. I wore this white strapless ball gown that was like a dream. The skirt was all done in box pleats,” I say. “I looked like a walking, talking cake. It was glorious.”

  “I bet you were beautiful.”

  “Thank you.” My smile is all things dreamy with a side order of tipsy. “I’d show you some photos, but I actually burnt most of them in Mom and Dad’s barbeque a few months back. Another cathartic healing moment on the road to singledom.”

  “That’s okay. You can draw me a picture sometime.”

  “Will do,” I say. “But even if I met someone amazing who against all odds was actually trustworthy, I don’t really see any benefit to having a wedding. Marriage clearly can’t make up for qualities that aren’t there to begin with. Love. Loyalty. Little things like that.”

  His hand presses lightly against my lower back. A comforting presence. “One day, I’m going to convince you that some relationships are in fact worthwhile and some people can be trusted. But right now, drunky Anna, I’m just going to let you babble.”

  “In vino veritas,” I say. “Thank you for indulging my deep thoughts. And I wasn’t ruling out relationships in their entirety.”

  “No?”

  “No. Just being more realistic about future possibilities,” I explain. “I think this is actually quite healthy of me, casting aside the childhood fairy tales of the perfect Prince Charming and so on.”

  Leif snorts. “The dude couldn’t recognize the love of his life without her makeup on and a fancy dress. I mean, how great was Charming really?”

  “You’re talking about Cinderella, I take it?” I laugh.

  “Yes. It’s a stupid story. Shoe size is a poor indicator for choosing a life partner. Ask anyone.”

  “This is a valid point.” I pause mid sway to take a sip of champagne. Ah. Bubbly nectar of the booze gods. Get inside me.

  His gaze turns speculative.

  “What?”

  “I’m not sure if I should ask,” he says.

  “Go for it.”

  “All right. Did you really think Ryan was Prince Charming? I mean, really, really?”

  I take a deep breath. “Yeah. I guess I did. I mean, he wasn’t always a dick. Sure, he had his fo
ibles, but things between us used to be generally pretty good.”

  “Generally pretty good,” he repeats.

  “Dude. Marriage isn’t easy.”

  “I believe that.”

  “But maybe with the right person it should be,” I say, thinking deep thoughts. “I don’t know. He was the first person I ever slept with. He’s the only person I’ve ever slept with. Sorry if that’s too much information.”

  Leif just shrugs.

  “It’s one of the things that concerns me now and then, actually.” I must be inebriated or I’d never say this sort of thing out loud. “In those dark and foolish moments of extreme self-doubt. What if Celine was better in bed than me? What if she made him howl at the moon while I was only rated an okay? What if in the end that was why he chose her?”

  He frowns.

  “‘Could do better,’” I say in a somewhat plaintive voice. “I used to get that a lot in gym class at school. ‘If only she would apply herself.’”

  “I’m pretty sure acing gym class doesn’t automatically mean you’ve got mad skills in bed.”

  “But wouldn’t it suggest that I had stamina and a certain flexibility?”

  “I’m sure there are plenty of gym class flunkies who do just fine in the sack.”

  “Maybe.”

  “Enthusiasm trumps dexterity every time.”

  “Yeah. Think about it, though,” I say. “I’ve only slept with one person. What do I know about going wild in bed, really? Maybe I need more practice. More hands-on experience.”

  “There’s a lot I could say to that, but none of it is probably appropriate or helpful right now. Continue on with your ruminating.” He swallows. “One question first. Was the sex even any good?”

  I wrinkle my nose. “I think so. I mean, I have nothing to compare it to. Yet.”

  “Right.”

  “We were a couple within about five minutes after we met when I was a freshman.” I take a moment to think it over. So many memories both good and bad. “I guess I didn’t really know any better. Any high school boyfriends were fumbling-hands-type affairs. Boob gropes and valiant attempts to get their hands down my pants before curfew. Nothing serious.”

  He just nods.

  “This is my chance to do some sexing and catch up to the rest of the population.”

  His brows rise. “That’s your plan?”

  “Why not?” I ask. “The last thing I need right now is a serious relationship. Therefore it’s the perfect time to get me some.”

  “Okay.” He looks away for a long moment. I’d pay serious money to know what’s on his mind. “No serious relationships, huh?”

  “Just like you.”

  “Sure,” he says, sounding a little hesitant for some reason. “Whatever makes you happy.”

  “I guess we’ll see what makes me happy. Currently I have no real idea.”

  “There’s no rush. Take your time,” he says, licking his lip. He has nice lips. “Ah, do you think you missed out on much, hooking up with him so early? In ways other than sex, I mean.”

  “Maybe. Probably.” I think it over. “In a lot of ways I let him and our relationship define me. Not a mistake I’ll make again. You’ve got to be your own person separate of any coupledom. Have your own life and interests. I mean, look at how many friends I lost in the divorce because the situation was awkward or made them worry about their own relationship on some level or me on my own just didn’t fit with their perceptions of the world. I only made sense to them when I was part of a matching pair: ‘Ryan and Anna.’ It’s ridiculous. I need to be my own person and have my own friends.”

  “I’ll be your friend, single girl.”

  “Thank you. I’d be delighted to be your friend too.”

  Enough about me. Time for a change of subject. “What were you like when you were younger?”

  “Virginal and virtuous.” And he says it with such a straight face. “Those are the first two words that come to mind. Along with ‘very.’”

  “Right.”

  “Mostly I hung out in the back room at my uncle’s tattoo parlor with Ed. We met all sorts of people. It was an education.”

  “I bet.”

  “We’d draw tattoo design ideas and ask a million questions and generally get in the way,” he says. “Our older brother, Niels, was the sporting type. He was big into football. And Ed was more artistic than me. He was always painting the walls of his bedroom and doing the emo artist thing. I was the loudmouth out of the three of us. Always cracking jokes and trying to woo the girls, but not always successful.”

  “I can see you as a little charmer.”

  “Ha. No. I had no game,” he says. “It took me years to become the practiced lothario you see now before you.”

  “Ha.”

  “I’m ready and available to whisper dirty things in your ear whenever you’re ready,” he offers. “Free of charge even.”

  “That’s very kind of you. I’ll keep it in mind.” I smile all serene-like because I am an amazing actress sometimes. “You never came close to getting married or settling down?”

  He downs some champagne. “I’ve dated some great girls. Or women, I should say. And there was one or two that maybe made me want to keep things going. To explore something more . . . but in the end for various reasons it didn’t work out.”

  “Guess it wasn’t meant to be.”

  “Guess not.”

  “What reasons?” I ask, because booze is so great for removing any and all social constraints. Like being polite and minding your own business even matters. Cheers!

  “Ah, well, one was a tattoo artist that I met at a convention. We tried long distance for a while, but in the end she wanted to be in L.A. and I wanted to be here.”

  “Okay. That’s sad, but inevitable. And the other?”

  “This was back when Ed had just taken over the parlor and we were all working our asses off to make it a success,” he says. “Joni couldn’t handle the hours I was working. I mean, she had a point. She was going to school during the day and tending bar at night. We barely got to see each other.”

  “You really liked her?”

  “We had a lot of fun together.”

  I frown. “Fun isn’t an emotion. It tells me nothing about how you felt for this woman.”

  “It was ten years ago, Anna. That’s a long time. I don’t know how I felt.”

  “Hmm.”

  “What does that mean?” he asks. “What is ‘hmm’?”

  “Maybe if you can’t remember how you felt, then moving on was the right answer.”

  His expression tenses as he gazes down at the next-to-nonexistent space between us. Or maybe it’s more about the neckline of my dress. I’m showing a lot of skin and I do not care.

  “You don’t like my dress?”

  His lips compress. “I love your dress.”

  “Then why so glum, my friend? This is, after all, a party.”

  “Nothing.” He eases back a little. Just so our hips and chests are no longer touching. “Everything is great.”

  “Okay. If you say so.” My brain is suddenly busy as can be. “I kind of hijacked you the minute you walked in the door. If you’d rather go to the bar, I completely understand. It’s your routine. Your end-of-the-workweek celebration. I can do the one-girl disco here just fine.”

  “What? And miss out on swilling champagne, slow-dancing, and watching Twilight?”

  “Go, Team Edward.”

  “Eh,” says Leif. “Not saying he doesn’t have cool hair, but Jacob has all those rippling muscles.”

  “That’s true. It’s a hard choice.” I smile. “Thank you.”

  “For what?”

  “For being my friend.”

  His smile is slow and beautiful. “It’s an honor.”

  CHAPTER SIX

  Day one of being a single woman goes like this. My head hurts and my mouth feels like death and my cell won’t stop buzzing. It’s so bad that it wakes up Leif, who’s lying beside me. This i
s due to drunken late-night discussions that resulted in us both passing out on my bed.

  We didn’t mean to sleep together, it just happened. But nothing actually happened other than sleep.

  “Make it stop,” he mumbles, face embedded in a white Egyptian cotton pillow with a subtle decorative edging. One of my favorite sets. I choose not to care that they were an engagement gift. If I start letting the existence of Ryan and memories made with him define the value of my belongings then I’ll be down to owning nothing. He got years of my life. He doesn’t get to take another thing from me.

  Meanwhile, Leif is not a morning person at the best of times and multiple bottles of champagne the night before can’t be helping. In fact, I’m kind of amazed he’s still beside me on the bed. I figured for sure he’d have been unable to sleep with someone nearby and have snuck out at some stage while I snored the passed-out drunken song of my people. But here he is. Amazing.

  I reach over him to grab my cell off the bedside table. “Oh, God.”

  “What?”

  “Not only have we slept half the day away, but my mother is inundating me with pictures and contact details of assorted single men in the area.”

  He opens one eye. “Already?”

  “Yes. God help me,” I say. “She’s recommending that I try before I buy with a winking emoji. This is horrifying. What the hell has gotten into her?”

  “What would her friends at church say about that?”

  I shake my head. “I don’t want to know. Part of me worries they put her up to it. That’s an even more horrifying thought.”

  With much grumbling and groaning, Leif rolls onto his back. He’s still in his faded black tee and blue jeans from last night. I’m still in my evening gown. When his gaze flicks over my chest region, I do a quick check to ensure the girls are covered. God bless double-sided tape. All necessities remain hidden. No such luck for my bird’s nest of a hairdo. And the intimacy of waking up beside him is . . . a lot. But I can ignore that. No problem.

  “Does Denise actually believe that you’re going to rush out and get remarried without checking the fit first?” he asks, smothering a yawn.

  “Checking the fit.” I grin. “I’ve never heard it described that way. I don’t know. Maybe she has doubts as to my ability to both find and go on a date. Perhaps she’s gotten the hots for the idea of having grandkids. I don’t know. Considering she didn’t even like spending time with me when I was a child, I don’t see how this is going to work.” I scroll through the unending messages. Mom’s dedication sure is something. Something scary. “Oh. This one’s a dentist. Score.”