Chapter 2
Britain
Driving through rolling green hills dotted with blooming trees, I try to focus on my breathing. In, 1234, Out 12345678, over and over. My anxiety is off the charts right now, and has been all morning. In actuality it's just a continuation of the anxiety that plagued my sleep. I slept as little as I normally do, falling asleep around 1:00 A.M., yet promptly waking at 5:30 A.M. ready to start this treacherous day. And since then, I've had that sick to my stomach, queasy feeling, all damn morning.
Deep, calming breaths Britain, I tell myself. The low stone fences of The Hamilton Academy begin breaking through my line of sight and I know I’m getting close. I send out a silent prayer as I drive up to the main gate: Please let today be gentle on me. Please, please, please. Oh, and please let Caroline’s team win…Oh! and please let Summer have a massive pimple on her nose.
As per usual in the DMV, the weather turned overnight and we are being gifted a 70 degree day with clear skies. It made the drive out to the girls’ school absolutely stunning. Bright green hills surrounding both sides of the road. The vivid, blue sky, dotted sparsely with a few puffy white clouds. All the charming, historical buildings in Middleburg. All of it was just beautiful. And it would have been a relaxing, enjoyable drive if not for the foreboding doom that has enveloped me.
Pulling up to the sports complex on the backside of the campus, I can’t help my quick perusal of the parking lot for a familiar car. My chest deflates in relief as I release the breath I didn’t know I was holding. I don’t see his Mercedes CLS. Good. I need a couple of minutes to psych myself up for this.
I’ve met Summer before, but back then, she was just an executive assistant at the office, my office. She probably ordered the flowers Damian sent me on our anniversary. In which case, I hate to admit, she’s got good taste. Of course she does.
I flip down the visor to do a last once-over in the mirror. No mascara smeared on my now hooded lids, check. Foundation is blended into my neck and looks natural, check. My golden blonde locks haven’t turned frizzy, thank god, and I’m overall having a good hair day. Actually, it’s a GREAT hair day. My hair always hits a perfectly blended, highlighted mix about two weeks after I get it done and I’m just about there.
I take a glance down at my outfit as well. The Reformation sundress Jess picked out fits like a fucking glove. My breasts look fantastic. Well, fantastic for a 35-year-old mom of two who's never had breast augmentation. My phone pings, startling me.
Jess
Open the note. Read the affirmations. Believe. You got this girl.
Britain
Thanks love, I’ll do them now.
Yesterday, Jess wouldn’t let me leave the restaurant until I came up with 25 compliments and affirmations to tell myself before I embarked on this day. “Positive self-talk is so powerful. How are you going to be a hot, bad-ass bitch if you don’t believe you are one?!”
Here goes nothing. I look down at the list on my phone, then back at myself in the mirror and recite:
“I have beautiful bone structure. I am intelligent. I am a loving mother. I am a lady in the street, and a freak in the sheets.” I burst out laughing. The list was definitely composed three margaritas deep.
I nearly screech as a gentle knock sounds on my car window. I turn to see blue eyes, topped with copper hair, and that strong jaw bone I’d know anywhere. Damian’s looking at me like I’ve lost my marbles. Fuck. How long has he been standing there? I roll down the window.
“How long have you been standing there?” I brace myself for impact.
“Long enough.” He laughs back his response. I remember myself and frantically scan behind him, for you know who, but all I’m met with is another male body. My father-in-law looks at me kindly, offering a gentle wave. I roll up the window, turn off the engine, and exit my car.
“Kind of dressy for a softball game, Brit,” Damian wagers at me. I roll my eyes. Jerk.
“Yeah, I wonder why?” My response is heavy with sarcasm. “I thought I was going to have to sit next to my replacement for seven innings.” This elicits a deep belly laugh from my father-in-law.
“Love, no one could replace you,” Allan says jovially, then moves to embrace me the same way he always has, like the daughter he never had. His warmth bolsters me. “I’m going to go save us some seats, I’ll see y'all in there,” Allan says, reading the room like an expert.
“Britain, I wouldn’t just show up to a public event for our children with a new girlfriend in tow. Not without the girls having met her first. Hell, not without them knowing I’m even in a relationship. I’m not a monster.” He’s right, he’s not a monster. It feels good to villainize him because it helps me feel better. The honest truth is we’ve both been the villains of our story. No one is right, and no one is wrong. We’re just two people trying their best. I slide my sunglasses over my eyes to hide the tears starting to well up.
“You just said ‘we’ll’ and I figured you meant…” I can barely bring myself to say it, but maturity meeting maturity, I force out “Summer.”
“I’ve never tried to hurt you. I’m not trying to hurt you now. You have to believe that. Please believe that?” He looks down at me, and I can see the sincerity in his eyes.
“I know.” It’s the truth. I know it, he knows it. It’s still sucky. “Look, I don’t know if I’ll ever be ready to face the two of you together at an event…” I wave my hand around the area to gesture that I don’t have the right words, but to understand the gist of what I mean. “I’ll get there eventually. Just not yet, okay?”
“Britain, of course.” Damian softly replies.
I want to be good at this, this whole divorce thing. It’s hard, but I really want to try for the sake of the girls. And so, I extend the olive branch, reluctantly.
“If you want to introduce Summer to the girls, privately, I’d be okay with that.” My voice is barely above a whisper. The words have barely finished leaving my lips when Damian embraces me in a tight hug.
“Thank you,” is his whispered response.
We’re interrupted by a loud shriek across the parking lot, and Damian and I instantly separate.
“Mom! Dad!!” Elodie is waving her hand to get our attention. She turns around giving the group of friends she was walking with a quick goodbye then jogs over to meet us. I embrace my happy girl, savoring the hug deeply then turn her over to her dad. The two peas in a pod. She’s the prettier, carbon copy of him.
“Where’s Papa? I thought you said he was coming with you?” Of course my daughter knew Papa was coming today, not Summer. Damian and I share a gentle laugh, full well knowing the inside joke there.
“He’s saving us some seats. Come on, let’s go,” he says, then pulls Elodie into his side to start making their way to the bleachers. Watching them walk together, Damian’s arm draped around Elodie’s shoulder, I relax and follow behind. He’s asking silly questions about her history term paper, and Elodie is trying her best to answer them without giggling after every word.
All of a sudden, the sadness hits me like a ton of bricks. I’ve mostly felt numb these last few months, but seeing the two of them together, remembering that Damian isn’t always an unfeeling prick like my mind keeps making him out to be, it stings. I’m not sad at the loss of my marriage. I’m sad for the loss of my family, our team. It’s the realization that after the game, I’m going to go home and be all alone that delivers the excruciating blow. My body betrays me as a soft sob escapes my lips. Luckily the sounds from the softball field drown me out, and Damian and Elodie haven’t noticed I’m no longer behind them. It hits me again, alone. Just like her.
After the game, I came home to my big empty house, alone. Six thousand square feet is a lot of space for just one person. I climb the stairs to the primary bedroom flipping on lights as I go, the only sound is the echo of my feet pattering the hard wood. I used to love this house. I used to love this room, but now, the vibes are off. I want nothing more than to just shower away this day and crawl into bed with a book. Before I can slip out of my dress, my phone vibrates then rings with an incoming call. I look down and see that it’s Caroline. I answer immediately.
“Hey baby. You did so good today!”
“Thanks, Mom. Sorry I didn’t get to come talk to you after the game. Coach wanted to go over the teachable moments.”
“No worries. I know you’re busy. Dad and I are super proud of you. You looked real comfortable on second base today. And that double you hit in the third? Chef’s kiss.”
“Thanks mom.” I know she’s trying hard to just accept the compliment and not be annoyed with me like a typical teenager.
“You’re welcome,” I say, hoping she can hear the smile in my voice.
“Hey, Mom…”
“Yeah?”
“Are you and dad getting back together? Elodie said she saw you guys in an embrace at the game today.”
“Oh, baby,” I sigh. “No, we’re not getting back together. Your dad and I still care a lot about each other and, well, I guess old habits die hard. It was just a hug.” I try my best to use a placating tone, hoping to dispel the discomfort.
“Oh.” Her disappointment is apparent. “That’s what I told Elodie, that it was probably nothing.”
“Yeah, it was…it was nothing,” I say, dying a little bit inside.
“So, um, what are you going to do?”
“Well, I’m going to take a nice hot shower, throw on some jammies, maybe read Bridgerton…again.” I laugh, trying to lighten the mood.
“No, Mom. What are you going to do, like, with your life?”
“Oh,” I say, completely caught off guard.
“Like are you going to start dating? Swiping left and right?”
“What do you know about swiping left and right?” My inner mom pokes through.
“Mom, I’m 15. I know things now.” Oh my god. She’s not my baby anymore.
“Well, for your information, no. You won’t find me on Tinder or Bumble. I have zero plans to start dating. Promise,” I try to say in a reassuring tone.
“Why not?” Again, Caroline shocks me. “I mean, I know Dad’s dating, so why shouldn’t you?” I’m stunned into silence. “Mom, I know things.”
“Did Dad tell you that?”
“No, he didn’t have to,” she says firmly.
“Ooookay. Well, you should definitely talk to your dad about that.” I’m trying desperately to avoid outing Damian.
“Sure, but that’s not the point. I just, I just don’t want you to be lonely.” Her voice cracks and I with it.
“Oh, sweetie. I love that you care like that. I won’t be lonely, I promise. I’ll join a book club. I’ll take up golfing. I’ll keep busy, and when the time is right, or I meet someone who is right, I will go on a date.” I pause briefly, “Oh, or you know what??? Maybe I could get a dog?” I’m desperately trying to end this conversation on a high note and avoid talking about my love life with my 15 year old.
“Oh my god mom, please! Can we please get a dog?!??” Elodie shrieks into the phone. I laugh in my head. Of course Elodie has been on the line this whole time.
“Hi, Elodie! I am willing to discuss getting a dog once the semester is finished, and you’re home from summer camp.” This should buy me some brownie points — and some time.
“Okay Mom, sorry. I told Elodie to be quiet, but as usual, she couldn’t do it.” The eye roll is palpable. “We’re going to go watch a movie in the commons. I’ll text you tomorrow, okay?”
“Absolutely. You girls have a good night.” I pause, “You know I love you both so much, right?”
“Yeah, Mom, we know. Love you, too,” they both practically say in unison.
“K, night night babies. Hugs and kisses.”
The call ends, and I collapse onto my bed just in time for the sobs to wrack through my body. Now that the numbness has been pierced, I guess I’m just going to feel all the things now. Regret, shame, and grief wash over me, again, and again, and again. I’m mourning. I’m mourning the loss of our family, the loss of my children’s innocence, the loss of a warm body to share my bed with. I let myself feel it all. Now that no one can hear me, I let it all out. I sob for hours until I finally drift off to sleep, still wearing this damn dress.
I wake up to the sun bursting into my room. Guess I forgot to close the blackout shades last night. Wait. I scramble to find my phone, which I didn’t even bother to plug in to the charger. The time says 7:45 A.M. Oh my god, I slept in. For the first time in two years, I slept more than five hours. I unlock my phone to see no less than ten messages from Jess.
Jess
How did it go?
Bad, or like nuclear bad?
Britain?
hello???
Do I need to do a wellness check??
Wait, or are you having hot makeup sex with Damian right now, in which case, I definitely DON’T want to do a wellness check.
I totally support your decisions, but really? You’re going to go back to him?!
You are a strong, independent woman! You don’t need him!
Okay, it’s 9 PM, I’m hoping you just drank a bottle of wine and passed out. At 9 PM. For the first time in years.
Okay B, I’ll be at your house at 8 AM busting down the door if you don’t get back to me.
And from this morning:
Jess
I’m getting in the car, last chance to show me proof of life! But if I get there, and you are alive, girrlll, I will unalive you.
Shit.
Britain
I’m alive!
I’m sorry. I may have had a mental breakdown and passed out. I don’t know when exactly, but it was definitely before 9, I guess. And I just woke up.
Jess
Shit, so it was like nuclear bad, huh?
Actually, no. It was good. The “we” was just Damian and his dad. No Summer. Umm, but then I realized I’m alone now. Like alone, ALONE. And once I got home, I just cried myself to sleep.
Yikes.
Yup.
Would a boozy brunch with your bff help you feel better??
lol. Probably, but I’m going to take a rain check. I have some homework to do for Carla. Oh, and then I also need to submit my resignation. That thing too.
Fine. But I demand some Real Housewives and wine time VERY soon.
That shouldn’t be a problem as my schedule’s about to get real open.
Love you bitch.
Love you too.
I can’t believe I cried myself to sleep last night. I haven’t done that in, like, 17 years. I crawl out of bed and head to the ensuite. I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror. My sundress is terribly wrinkled. My great hair day has gone to shit. And my face, well, my face looks pretty good. Is this what I would look like if I slept? Okay, yeah, I need to be getting some more sleep if one good night’s sleep makes me look five years younger.
Staring at myself in the mirror, I take a moment to examine how I feel this morning, like Carla taught me to do, and I’m surprised. I feel sort of good. Like maybe that release was cathartic for me. Is this ‘the peace’ that Carla’s always talking about? She’s right, she always is. Okay Carla, I hear you. Britain, you’ve got some work to do. But first, coffee. No, first shower, then coffee.