Every Wrong Reason(7)

I fought a losing battle every day and I was exhausted. But it was worth it.

I could feel it in my bones.

Kara’s heels clicked against the broken sidewalk as we hurried to Garmans, mingling with the sounds of angry traffic and city melee. The warm sun heated my exposed arms and face and I lifted my closed eyes to soak it in.

There was healing in this industrial chaos. There was a beautiful surrender to the noisy madness that felt cleansing and therapeutic. It wouldn’t last. I would pay for my sandwich, go back to my desk and the reality of my broken life would come crashing down on me.

But for a few seconds, I had the flirtatious smile of an attractive man in my memory and a minute of reprieve from the demands of my life. I sucked in a full breath, taking in the exhaust and grit from the city. And yet, my lungs felt full for the first time in as long as I could remember.

“It’s going to get better,” Kara said so softly I barely heard her.

I opened my eyes to keep from tripping and they immediately fell to the cracked sidewalk and patchy grass on either side. “I’m not sure it is,” I told her honestly.

She dropped her hand on my shoulder and squeezed, pulling me into a side hug. “There’s more to life than Nick, babe. I promise you. And it won’t take you long to figure it out. You just need to get the divorce finalized so you can move on.” Her laugh vibrated through her. “And Eli would be a very good place to start.”

“Maybe,” fell from my lips, but I didn’t feel any sentiment behind it. More sickness roiled through me and a cold sweat broke out on my neck. I swallowed against rising nausea and convinced myself not to throw up.

I was getting a divorce, but even the thought of another man still felt like adultery. Whatever our faults, Nick and I had always been faithful to each other. Moving on seemed impossible when I had dedicated my entire life to one man.

To the one man that had let me down and stomped on whatever remained of my happiness.

Nick and I were over, I promised myself.

I would move on eventually.

And Nick would too.

We grabbed our sandwiches, but I let Kara drop Eli’s off. I had lost any desire to communicate with other people. I practically crawled back to my classroom and sunk into my chair. My deli sandwich went uneaten, just like my one from home, because I couldn’t bring myself to feel good enough to eat.

Kara had meant to encourage me, but she’d done the opposite.

I realized that she was right. That one day I would move on.

But that I was right too. Nick would move on as well.

I knew I could find someone better for me. I knew my life would be better off without him.

I just couldn’t swallow the hard pill that his life would be better off without me too.

That he would find someone better than me.





Chapter Two


9. He hates my mother.




Sunday rolled around with a crashing finality that made my legs lock up and my eyes instinctively roll of their own accord.

The apocalypse had arrived.

Also known as family dinner.

It had been a tradition in my household as long as I could remember. It was cemented into place when my older brother, Josh, left for college; written in blood from all members of my family when he got married twelve years ago; and cursed to damn those members of the family that did not show up straight to the fiery pits of hell when I got married seven years ago.

My mother was nothing if not intolerant of our absences. My father was the same way. He wasn’t the most amorous man alive; in fact, some might take his stoic demeanor and lack of affection to mean that he didn’t love us-or at least he didn’t like us very much. But the opposite was true. He did love us. More than he cared to tell us. He just showed us his love with high expectations that were both everlasting and time-oriented.

Translation: Don’t ever be late. Never ever.

Like I said, Sunday meant lunch with my parents. Neither of them could be bothered to pick up a phone during the week to check in with me, but by God, if I didn’t show up on Sunday, I’d better be dead.

Nick had always found my family stand-offish at best. He loathed any time spent with them, but most of all Sunday lunches. My father, a successful plumber and notorious hard worker, didn’t and wouldn’t try to understand Nick’s aspirations to be a professional musician. And my mother, who had been both emotionally neglected all of her marriage and also completely spoiled by my father who only expected her to cook, clean, iron his shirts and go to bed with him at nine pm every night, refused to respect a man that would choose an unstable career and could therefore impose upon his family to support him.

My mother always thought I could do better and she never kept that opinion to herself. My father didn’t speak his mind openly, but he had never been Nick’s number one fan, even if they could come together over the Bears and Blackhawks.

When I walked into my parent’s dated, red brick row house five minutes before lunch began, I felt the dismal weight of failure settle on my shoulders.

As disappointed as my parents were when I chose Nick, they were even more disappointed in my pending divorce.

Love and happiness had never played a part in their marriage. They took vows, they made promises to each other and no matter how miserable they made the other, they kept their word.

It was embarrassing to them that they had a child who couldn’t keep hers.