One Week

by Roya Carmen

  And all the while, all through the day, I think about Eli. I miss him, and desperately want to talk to him. This day is so damn hard.

  John takes care of the kids’ baths while I soak in my own. The door is locked and the lights are turned off. My iPhone is singing in the background; the ‘sad love songs’ mix again. A single candle lights the room. I cry quietly.

  I cry because I’ve finally come to a realization. It’s so clear and definite, like all the important decisions in my life have been: when I decided to go to Brown, when I accepted John’s proposal, when I moved here with him, when we bought our house, when we started a family, when I set out to go to Copenhagen. All these decisions were made without a single doubt, without hesitation. My instincts led the way.

  Again, I know this with absolute certainty...

  My marriage is over.

  This has nothing to do with Eli. How could I have fallen so deeply for someone if I were happy in my marriage? It would have never happened if I were happy. I was searching for someone, and Eli came along at just the right time. Why was I so thrilled at the thought of having his baby? Because it offered me an excuse to make a bold move and leave John. Why wasn’t I really upset when I discovered John’s infidelity? I was angry, but not necessarily heartbroken. Because a small part of me wanted him to choose her, and be the one to leave. Why wasn’t I really shattered? Just numb. Because I don’t love him anymore. And perhaps that’s because I can feel that he doesn’t love me anymore either. Why would he betray me if he did? Why would he fall for Amanda if he were happy in our relationship? He wasn’t. He hasn’t been for a long time.

  Our marriage is over.

  The first crack was not three months ago when I discovered John’s affair. It wasn’t even when the affair began, or when I first met Eli. The first crack tore through our marriage months, perhaps years ago, so small, almost invisible. Day after day, more cracks invisible to the eye twisted and broke into each other. The more we grew apart, the more our marriage cracked. Neither one of us noticed the cracks, neither one of us saw it coming. Until one day, it all shattered.

  Everything has changed.

  I check the clock. It’s nine-thirty. “This is still my day, right?” I ask John after we’ve put the kids to bed.

  He cocks a brow. “Sure.”

  “I want a sleepover at Kayla’s,” I announce cheerfully.

  He studies me curiously. “Um… sure…”

  “Can you wake the kids, and take them to school tomorrow morning?” I ask. “Make their school lunches, make sure they have a decent breakfast, brush their teeth, and have all their stuff?”

  “Uh…” He stammers. “I don’t know, Gabbie...”

  “Make sure Emma wears her boots, not her shoes… what?!” I stop abruptly. “Did you just say ‘I don’t know’?”

  “You know how I like to sleep late. I can’t write when I’m tired, and I’ll be useless if I don’t get enough sleep.”

  My mouth drops to the floor. “Are you kidding me right now?”

  “Well, I suppose for one time…” he says. “Why do you want to hang out at Kayla’s on a Sunday night, anyway?”

  “Never you mind,” I say. “God, I never ask for anything…”

  “I said yes,” he scoffs. “I gave you permission.”

  My mouth, which had settled back in position, drops again. “Oh… you give me permission, do you? Wow, lucky me. Well, thank you, Master Moore.” I’ve never been so snarky, and it feels so damn good.

  I hastily pack an overnight bag, slip on my jacket and boots, and wave a hand on my way out. “See ya.”

  I zoom out of our driveway, a heady mix of emotions swirling around in my head. I’m angry. I’m happy. I’m scared. I’m free.

  When I arrive at Kayla’s, she’s surprised to see me. It’s ten o’clock on a Sunday night, and I’m wearing sweats, my hair is still wet, and I’m lugging an overnight bag over my shoulder. I probably look like a drowned rat.

  Curiosity traces her features. “Come in.”

  “I’m leaving John,” I tell her, straight to the point. “It’s over.”

  Her eyes grow wide. “No way… what happened?”

  I take a seat on the sofa. “Well, aside from his affair?” I say sarcastically. “And the fact that I’m in love with someone else?”

  She smirks, and takes a seat next to me.

  “I’ve just realized that our marriage was over a long time ago,” I explain. “It’s why we’ve both been unfaithful, why we’ve both fallen for other people.”

  She wraps an arm around my shoulder and draws me in closer. She doesn’t offer me tea this time — this is beyond tea.

  “This isn’t about Eli,” I tell her. “He was just a victim in all this. I broke his heart.”

  “You didn’t mean to,” she says. “I know you… you couldn’t hurt a soul.”

  I cry again – I’m a total mess. “I… I’m s-sorry.” My voice cracks. “I can’t stop crying.”

  “I know,” she says softly. “Heartbreak hurts.”

  I lay my head on her lap, and she strokes my hair without a word. We stay like that for the longest time, until she breaks the silence. “Maybe you and Eli… maybe you two could work.”

  I smile. “No.” I sniff. “It would never work. He lives and works in Copenhagen, and I live here with my kids. It was magical and I’ll never forget him, but it wasn’t real, was it? You were right.”

  “No,” she argues. “I was wrong. He was real. You two were real.”

  “I don’t know about real, but we were definitely good together.”

  “Maybe you two could be friends,” she suggests. “You should send him a message.”

  “I think he’s blocked me on all his accounts.”

  “Really?!”

  “I asked him to… I didn’t want the temptation.”

  “Wow.”

  “It’s fine,” I say. “I might become a nun,” I joke.

  “You’d make a terrible nun,” she points out. “You wouldn’t be caught dead in black. I’ve never seen you wear black.”

  “True,” I agree. “I do like color. But seriously,” I add. “I don’t know if I’ll ever be interested in dating again. I just want to focus on my kids and my art, and hang out with you gals.”

  “Sounds like a plan.”

  We fall into silence again. She strokes my hair quietly and I stare at her cat, Mitzy, who is sleeping cozily on the arm chair.

  “You know… if I thought this was a bad decision, I’d tell you,” she says out of the blue. “But my instincts...”

  “Do you even like John?” I ask.

  “Well, I don’t know him well,” she says. “But no, not especially. He’s a good-looking man so I see the appeal but…”

  I sit up abruptly. “But what?!” All this time, have my friends hated my husband?

  “I don’t know… I can’t quite put my finger on it… he just seems a bit, I don’t know, cold? Too sure of himself? Forget I said anything, okay? It doesn’t matter anymore.”

  She’s right. It doesn’t. “You’re not wrong,” I say, and flop back down on her lap. “Your sister is a family law attorney, right?” I ask. “Do you think she could take me on?”

  “She will if I ask,” she says. “She’s a great lawyer, and she loves representing women in divorces. I think it’s to do with her own divorce. God, that relationship was a hot mess. This is why I never want a serious relationship. I think I’d become a nun too, but I love sex too much.”

  I laugh. “And you love color too. What would you do with all your colorful wedges and sandals?”

  “Donate them to you.”

  “In that case, I seriously think you should become a nun.”

  “I keep thinking about the kids,” I tell her. “They’re the reason I’ve never even gone there… divorce, I mean. I was miserable, but I was cool with that as long as the kids were happy.”

  “They can still be happy,” Kayla points out. “It will take a lot of a
djustment and it won’t be easy, but they can be happy. But only if you and John handle it right. That’s crucial.”

  “You really think so?”

  “Yeah… I’m not just saying that. Take my sister, for example. That whole family was miserable, and then about a year post divorce, they’re all much happier. I can see it in their eyes.”

  “How ‘bout my eyes?” I ask. “Could you see that I was miserable?”

  “Yes,” she says, “but something changed last fall. I thought you and John had rediscovered each other or something.”

  “Last fall was when I met Eli.”

  I know,” she says softly. “I know that now.”

  Of course she knows. Kayla knows everything.

  Chapter Forty-Three

  MAY 24TH. It’s a date I’ll remember for the rest of my days. The day I officially end my marriage.

  There are no harsh words, no thrown objects, and no mess. The word ‘divorce’ is not even uttered. There are tears, though. Lots of them.

  The kids are asleep, and John is reading in bed as he often does at night. It’s how he unwinds. It’s been a week or so since our argument, and that’s all forgotten now.

  I’ve just had a bath, and I’m wearing a pink t-shirt and flannel pajama pants. I’m rubbing my hands with lotion. My heart is heavy, but oddly enough, I’m not nervous or scared at all.

  ‘We need to talk, John.”

  He raises his gaze to mine with a curious expression — I normally don’t interrupt when he’s reading. He bookmarks his story and sets down his tablet on the bed. “What’s going on?” He knows something’s up. I think he’s known for a while, but just didn’t want to face it.

  I inch closer to him on the bed. “Tell me about Amanda.”

  His shoulders slump. “Gabbie, you know that’s not a good idea.”

  “Yeah, I think it’s a good idea. Besides, I already know a lot about her,” I confess. “I’ve Googled her and checked her out on Facebook. She’s very pretty.”

  “Oh, Gabbie,” he says. “Don’t.”

  “We’ve never talked about her because I didn’t want to,” I say. “I wanted to pretend the whole thing didn’t happen. But it did happen, didn’t it?”

  He lets out a sigh. “It did.”

  “How did it start?” I ask. “Please tell me. I’ve always wondered.”

  His gaze darts across the room. “We met at an author signing. We already both knew about each other, but had never met.”

  “Did you think she was beautiful?”

  “Gabbie…”

  “Answer me… did you think she was beautiful?”

  His gaze pulls from mine. “Yes… I still do.”

  It cuts a little, but not too much. “What was it like at first, with her?”

  He smiles. “It wasn’t about sex at all at the start, Gabbie, I swear. We were just friends.”

  “Well, that’s how it often starts, doesn’t it.”

  “Yes…” he agrees. “ It wasn’t until months later that we… slept together for the first time. We just had so much in common, and she made me laugh. She made me feel young again. I’d forgotten how there was another side of me, someone beyond a father and a bestselling author. I looked forward to our chats… You know that show I love, Curb your Enthusiasm, the show you can’t stand?”

  “Yes… what about it?”

  “She loves that show. We could probably talk for hours about a single episode.”

  “So obviously, she shares your snarky dry sense of humor.”

  He bites his lip. “I swear, Gabbie, I’ve been good, and so has she. We haven’t communicated since I broke it off.”

  “Do you miss her?”

  He stares down at the bed cover and doesn’t make a peep.

  “You can tell me the truth,” I say. “I miss Eli… so much.”

  He turns to me, and in his eyes, there’s so much pain. “I do. I miss her.”

  “Did she love you?”

  He turns from me. “She did.”

  I’m speechless, shaken by the conviction with which he utters those words — he’s so sure of her love for him. I honestly couldn’t be sure that Eli truly loves me like I love him. But John and Amanda have shared months; months of friendship, and months as lovers. Eli and I have shared months of friendship as well, but only a week together.

  “Would she be with you if you were available? Was she serious about you?”

  “Yes,” he admits. “We’d probably be together.”

  I draw a breath. It hurts to hear him say he’d be with someone else if he were free, but it just proves that I’m right.

  “Your story sounds very much like mine,” I say. “We’re both in love with other people.”

  He doesn’t say a word. He doesn’t tell me that I’m wrong, that he doesn’t love her.

  “The difference is… it could never work between Eli and me, but you and Amanda, you have a chance to make this work, and be happy.”

  He takes my face in his hands. “I could never do that to you and the kids—”

  “I don’t want to spend the rest of my life with someone who’s in love with someone else,” I scoff, “and I know how you feel because I feel the same way about Eli. Do you want to spend the rest of your life with a woman who’s in love with another man?”

  His eyes well up, and so do mine. We both know where this is going. “Our marriage is over, John. Why are we still pretending?”

  “But it can’t be, Gabbie. All those years we’ve shared. And the kids… I love you so much.”

  “You loved me… past tense, and I loved you. I’ll always love you, John. I’m just not in love with you anymore.”

  “I’ll always love you too,” he says. “Always. You’re the mother of my children. I’ll always love you.”

  “But you’re in love with her.”

  “Yes,” he finally admits. “I’m in love with her.”

  I knew it all along. I knew it because John is not a player. He doesn’t have wandering eyes, he’s not the type of man who carries on with women, who flirts at parties, who is always a little too charming. That was never John. That’s why the affair was such a shock. I never saw it coming, and when I took the time to really think about it, I knew he had to be in love. That made it hurt even more, but I could understand it because I was living it too, with Eli.

  “Love is a powerful thing,” I tell him. “I don’t hate you. I never will.”

  “I’ll never hate you either, Gabbie. Never.”

  I realize that this conversation is off-the-charts strange, that most couples don’t come to the decision of getting a divorce so easily, so amicably. I know for a fact that Corrie’s separation was horrible. They’re still bickering to this day, yet they keep going back to each other. And I think that’s the case with many couples. John and I are the exception. We’re very lucky.

  “The kids will be okay,” I tell him. “If we can do this amicably.”

  “We can,” he says. “And I’ll take care of you and the kids. You’ll never want for anything, I swear. I’m not going to be an asshole. You deserve so much. I know you left your job for the kids, and you’ve been an amazing mom.”

  “What do you think of shared custody?” I ask. “One week on, one week off? I could also take them when you go for signings and events.”

  He’s crying now, so full of emotion — I don’t think I’ve ever seen him so emotional. “I promise I won’t be a jerk. I’ll let you have them when you want them, for special occasions and… God, Gabbie, are we doing the right thing?”

  I’m crying too now — we’re both sobbing. “We are.”

  The next day, John and I discuss the logistics of this separation over coffee and scones. We both agree that taking things slowly is the best way to approach this. We’re not telling the kids quite yet, or anyone else, with the exception of Kayla, Maeve and Corrie, of course.

  “You think you and Amanda…” I don’t quite know how to ask the question. I want to know if he’s pl
anning to run straight to Amanda and get married. That could make things a little complicated. “Are you… going to move in together?”

  “We’ll see,” he says. “One day at a time. I’m not going to move in with her anytime soon,” he reassures me. “I’ll look into apartments. I plan to take things very slowly… one thing at a time… for the kids. I don’t want to confuse them any more than they’ll already be.”

  I let out a sigh of relief. I’m so glad we’re on the same page.

  We go over our plan of action. He’ll move out slowly, get settled in, and gradually spend less time at home. He’s been away so much for conferences and signings, the kids probably won’t even notice. He’ll have them over to his ‘new office’ and let them get used to the place. They’ll slowly spend more time there, and eventually we’ll officially separate, and tell them about the divorce. We’ll then contact the school and our family and friends, and make the official announcement.

  The kids will alternate between us. One week with him, and one with me. And they’ll be with me when he’s away on business. All in all, I’ll still have them often, but I know those times without them will be hard… heartbreaking.

  It sounds so easy, but I’m pretty sure it won’t be that simple.

  Chapter Forty-Four

  Life goes on… I keep telling myself.

  THE DAYS GO ON very much like they used to. John is sleeping in the guest room again, but I still make him his coffee and oatmeal in the morning. He makes us smoothies, a simple one for me. His is full of whey powder and all kinds of stuff which tastes horrible. We exchange a few words over lunch, and discuss the kids’ activities and schedules. I tell him we’re having roast chicken for dinner tonight.

  And all the while, I know that he’s communicating with her, that he’s making plans with her, quietly hatching out his escape plan. He’s packing boxes, shopping for apartments, and probably furniture too.