Every Wrong Reason(74)

Or a demon.

A demon that couldn’t get over her ex-husband.

Cheese and rice, there was something wrong with me.

I tossed my phone on the desk and crossed my arms. And my legs. And tapped my foot.

When I couldn’t stand it anymore, I picked it up again and scrolled through old messages. Finally, I settled on texting my mother. That was safe.

Need me to bring anything for dinner on Sunday?

Three minutes later, she texted back: Just be on time.

Oh, my god. Mom. I needed boundaries with my family. They were literally going to drive me over the edge if I didn’t put a stop to this.

The bell rang and I breathed a sigh of relief. I could lock my phone away now and I wouldn’t be tempted. At least not very much.

I bent over and unlocked my bottom drawer. But then, as if I was actually possessed, I pulled up Nick’s number and texted: Do you think there was more we could have done?

I pushed send and my heart stopped beating. I lost all my breath and I wanted to immediately take it back. I wanted to delete it and unsend it and erase this moment from time completely.

I needed a time machine or the Doctor or freaking Michael J. Fox and the DeLorean.

I dropped my phone into my purse and slammed my drawer shut. Idiot. I was such an idiot.

I didn’t look at my phone until the end of the day. Until I’d gotten into my car and turned it on.

Then finally I allowed myself to see if he’d texted me back.

He had.

Of course, he had. I had never doubted that he wouldn’t.

Yes.

That was all he wrote. A simple, world-changing, confusing, mind-boggling, frustrating Yes.





Chapter Twenty-One


28. I can’t do this on my own.




Spring came overnight. One day I thought my toes would fall off if I stepped outside my house and the very next day the sun rose warm, bright and ready to melt every ounce of snow from Illinois.

It was amazing.

I had never been more ready for a change of seasons. This winter had been the darkest, gloomiest yet and I didn’t think I could survive much more of it.

Thank god, I didn’t have to.

The beginning of March brought all kinds of hope and anticipation for what was to come. I felt my heart swell in my chest and my spirits pick themselves up off the filthy ground. It was a new day, a new dawn and if I had the voice of an angel like Michael Bublé, I would have sung the shit out of it.

Instead, I decided to take Annie for a walk after school. I wore rain boots so we could stomp through melting piles of snow. She loved every second of it. I knew I would have to bathe her as soon as we got home, but we’d been cooped up in the house for so long that I didn’t care.

We just needed to breathe freely and move our winter-atrophied appendages.

Walking was beyond therapeutic. I didn’t just have cabin fever from being indoors for months; I had it from being in my own skin… in my own head. I was exhausted from myself.

But today felt different. The end of the school year was in sight, the end of my divorce was too. Maybe.

Hopefully.

And tomorrow was my birthday. Thirty-one.

I nearly had a meltdown when I turned thirty. I couldn’t stand the idea of aging into a new decade. I wasn’t ready to let go of my twenties and the youthfulness they represented. Thirties seemed too mature for me. Too grown up.

But Nick had been the one that made it amazing. He’d given me bouquets of thirty things all day long. He kept having them delivered to my classroom until my desk had overflowed and I had to set things along the windowsill.

Thirty pink roses. Thirty cans of Diet Coke. Thirty Snickers Bars. Thirty brand new red Sharpies. Thirty dollars for my Kindle. Thirty dollars to Garmans Deli. Thirty packs of my favorite gum.

I had to make three trips out to the car to carry it all, but he was at home to help me haul it all inside. Then he’d taken me to a bar called Thirty and Clover. The food had been awful and we’d laughed about it all night. He had leaned over the table at the end of the night and said, “See? Thirty isn’t so bad.”

The next day we’d fought about something stupid. I couldn’t remember what it was now. But I knew we didn’t speak to each other for four days.

Two months later I demanded a divorce.

Annie and I walked around the corner of our block. I could see our cute house, up a little hill. The grass had started to peak out from beneath the melting piles of snow. It was still dead and brown, but at least I could see it.

It felt like hope.

It felt like change.

Mrs. Dunn was outside getting her mail and I stopped to talk to her. I hadn’t seen her in months. She was an elderly woman. Most of the people on our street were elderly or young parents with wild kids running everywhere. There wasn’t much in between.

“Hi, Mrs. Dunn.” I smiled at her and paused on the sidewalk. The leash hung loosely in my fingertips while Annie skipped around Mrs. Dunn’s pink velour jogging suit.

“Hi, Kate.” She bent over to pat Annie on the head. “Hi, pretty girl. Out for a walk?”

“It’s so nice today. We couldn’t resist.” Across the street, young kids bounded into their driveway with a basketball.

“Seems like everybody needs to get out of the house today,” Mrs. Dunn smiled across the street at the children playing. “Do you know the Jacksons? Nice family. The kids are sweet.” She gave me a sideways glance, “Loud, but sweet.”