She's Up to No Good(2)

“I guess I need a lawyer to figure out how this works.” I was trying to get a reaction. Brad was a lawyer, and that had to sting. But he nodded.

“I’m going to sell the condo. I’ll give you half.”

My mouth opened again, this time to tell him I didn’t want it, but I shut it quickly. If he was going to blow up everything we had built and leave me single and homeless at thirty-four, I shouldn’t walk away with just a ridiculously expensive exercise bike. I nodded almost imperceptibly.

He stood and walked to the door, where he picked up a duffle bag that I hadn’t noticed him packing. “I’m sorry,” he said one more time from the doorway, pulling off his wedding ring and leaving it on the little table where we put the mail. And then he was gone.

I dropped my head into my hands, tears of frustration at my own inadequacy beginning to fall. How did this happen? I asked myself. We had been together six years. Six years! And then just out of the blue . . . ?

But was it out of the blue? a tiny voice in my head asked. Now that I knew the context, he had been smiling at his phone a lot. In a way he didn’t smile at me anymore—when had he stopped looking at me like that? I never even asked him what he was smiling about. But the truth was, I didn’t care. I should have cared. I should have asked. I should have realized something was wrong when he stopped wanting to have sex. Or maybe I should have cared when I stopped wanting to, which was a long time before he did.

But I hadn’t.

I swore, breaking the silence of the room. It was too quiet. I looked around my home of the last five years, seeing it through fresh eyes now.

This condo . . . Well, it had always been a waystation. Even before we got married, the plan was to buy a house to start our family in. This was never a forever home.

And maybe that was where the trouble started. I was ready to move and try for a baby four years ago. But Brad found something wrong with every house. Or the timing was off with his job. And whenever I brought up a baby, he reminded me that he wanted us to be settled in a house first.

On the one hand, it was better that he was selling the condo. I wouldn’t have to imagine him there with some fresh-out-of-college, doe-eyed blonde who laughed at every inane thing he said. But on the other hand, why hadn’t he been willing to take that next step with me?

I took a deep breath. I can do this. Yes, I was hurt, but I had survived one hundred percent of the setbacks I had faced so far in life. This wouldn’t be the one that destroyed me. I would take a couple of weeks to lick my wounds and then . . . Well, I’d just figure out a game plan. Because I had to.

But to do that, I needed to leave. Right then. Staying in the condo even just overnight would make it harder.

“This isn’t my home,” I said out loud, picking up my phone from the end of the sofa where I had thrown it.

I felt my shoulders droop as I unlocked it and saw the house I had been looking at when Brad dropped his bomb. It would have been such a perfect place to raise a family. I felt my imaginary future children popping like bubbles and dissipating into the air.

With a sigh, I swiped up to close the app and took another deep breath, looking one last time at the Washington, DC, skyline through the balcony door. Then I went to my contacts, pressed the call button, and cradled the phone to my ear.

“Hi, sweetie. What’s up?”

My voice broke as I started to cry in earnest. “Can I come home for a little while, Mom?”





CHAPTER TWO


Six months later



My mother strode into the family room and planted herself directly in front of the television.

“Hey!” my dad and I said in identical tones.

“Mom, you’re in the way.”

She raised an eyebrow and moved a hand to her hip. “I’m in the way? Last I checked, this was my house.” Dad picked up the remote from where it sat on the empty sofa cushion between us and turned off the TV, scooting infinitesimally away from me.

“Uh. Okay. Sorry?” I looked at my dad, silently asking him what was going on with Mom. He didn’t respond. His fingernails were apparently fascinating.

“Jenna, it’s Saturday night.”

“Did you want to watch the movie with us?”

My mother blinked heavily and exhaled. “I want you to get out.”

My stomach dropped. She was my mom. She wasn’t supposed to kick me out, even if I was almost thirty-five and camping out indefinitely in my childhood bedroom. “Where am I supposed to go? I don’t get paid over the summer.”

“I don’t mean you have to move out. I mean, yes, I do. You have to move out. But I don’t mean tonight. I mean, you need to start going out and seeing people. And doing things. And not watching Caddyshack with your father on a Saturday night. Or else you’re going to be living here until you’re our age.”

“It’s Groundhog Day,” my dad volunteered. “We watched Caddyshack last night. It’s a Bill Murray-a-thon.” Mom glared at him, and he stopped talking.

“I go out,” I grumbled.

“Happy hour on the last day of school doesn’t count.”

“Where do you want me to go, Mom? My friends are all married. It’s not like they’re going out to bars. They’re home. Most of them with their kids.”

“And if you don’t start going out, that’s never going to be you.”