3. Gemma
Istep out of the floor-length shower, wrap myself in a towel, and walk to the bath counter. This whole thing with Oliver and him accusing me of cheating stresses me out.
I swish away some steam from the clouded mirror. Hot showers are the best. The dark and puffy eyes from all the crying slowly disappear, and my skin seems to improve.
My mom got me all these different creams. She said that now that I’m close to 30, I should use creams with Retinols. Or was it Retinoids?
Either way, I’m still young, and I think wrinkles make us more authentic… I stretch my skin back, the wrinkles fading.
Older.
More cream can’t hurt, right?
I put on a second but thinner layer.
As I dry my blonde hair, running a comb through it to keep it straight, my eyes roam over my body.
Am I that unattractive that Oliver cheated on me?
It feels like yesterday when I saw him with a tall, slender woman. Stunning. Like one of those models on social media.
Mary does yoga in the mornings. Maybe I should join.
In response, my stomach rumbles.
Why do I even care? That asshole. He’s nobody I should want to impress. If a man doesn’t want me like I am, it’s his loss.
Three years ago, I would have forgiven Oliver without a second thought, my love for him blinding me to his faults. Standing here, gazing into the mirror, I see a different woman. The naive girl he married is gone. I know my worth and won’t accept anything less anymore. Ending my marriage is the first step, and as soon as he signs the damn papers, I control my life, not Oliver.
A knock sound on the door and I stop the hair dryer.
“I brought breakfast. How long do you need?” Mary, one of my best friends’ voice filters through the door.
“I will be right outside.”
“Okay.”
I finish drying my hair and throw on my robe before leaving the bathroom.
“Are you thinking about that asshole again?” Mary’s voice startles me. She lounges on the mattress in my room, her blue eyes locked on me and her wavy brown hair spilling over my pillows.
“No, I’m not thinking about him.” But even to my own ears, my voice sounds muffled. Please drop the subject. But this is Mary we’re talking about.
“Gem, I know that look.” Her brow furrows. “Although you got rid of him, you’re still not yourself.”
And she’s right. I am not myself. I’m a version of myself, but not the Gemma who loved every challenge thrown her way. The Gemma I used to be was always sketching, always dreaming of owning her own label. But that Gemma, well, she’s been on vacation since the second year of marriage.
“I’m fine.” I join her on the mattress.
“You can’t keep torturing yourself like this. That asshole isn’t worth another moment of your thoughts.”
I nod. She doesn’t understand that it’s not about what I deserve. It’s that after so many years together… I feel disposable. Like I was never more than a pretty accessory on his arm. Am I even pretty?
“I know, I know. I wish I could flip a switch and stop caring.”
Mary pulls me into a hug. “I understand it takes time. You guys were together for so long. But you’re strong, the strongest person I know. You’ll get through it, and I’m going to help.” She gives me a little shake. “We need to get you out of this apartment.”
“I’m truly not in the mood.”
“Come on. It will be you, me, furniture, and our favorite gelato place after that. I’m thinking two extra large cups will do the trick.”
Oh, right? I forgot. We planned to shop for the apartment this weekend. After being best friends for so long, we move in together. We always talked about it, but it never worked out.
Now, with my divorce underway, Mary working at her father’s firm, and Lil, my other best friend, who left her fiancé at the altar, the timing couldn’t be better. All of us agreed that it’s time to start over somewhere else.
Our move is just a few months away, and the only things we have organized so far are the kitchen and a floor-to-ceiling picture of an ocean at sunset. Mary’s idea.
“Alright, alright.” I hold up my hands in defeat. “Just let me get dressed.”
Mary throws her fist into the air, bouncing up from the mattress. “Yes! Operation Furniture-Gelato Distraction is a go!”
“How was the last brunch with your mom?” I rummage through my closet to find something comfortable to wear.
“Horrible.” She mimics the voice of her mother. “How about finding a man? Who needs work? At your age, I was already married.”
“Hearing that, I’m kind of thankful for my mom now.”
“I don’t want to go there this weekend. Can we switch?”
“Nope.”
“Ugh. At least Ella got an asshole boyfriend.”
“That bad?”
“Yeah. You should have heard him after they walked out last Sunday at dinner. He said that nobody cares about her career and that she should do more charity work. I guess it sounds better in the papers if your girlfriend is Saint Maria.”
“It does, but what against an actress?”
“Exactly. And that wasn’t even the worst. He said she should eat less because she looks like a pig in skinny jeans. I should have told him to fuck off.”
I slip into my jeans and turn in front of the mirror. Seems fine. Still, some yoga sessions with Mary couldn’t hurt.
“We need to find someone for you. Someone who can erase that jerk from your memory.” Mary never was a fan of Oliver.
“Weren’t we talking about your sister?”
“That’s already lost hope, and I can’t do anything without her hating me more. But you…”
I twist towards her. Oh, no. “What’s with the smile?”
She cuddles the pillow to her chest and peers up at me with puppy eyes. “There’s a party tomorrow night that we can’t miss.”
“Why that?”
“Remember the guy I met online?”
“Yeah.”
“He’s going to be there.”
“Wait. You mean the guy you’ve been messaging all the time?”
“Yes, him. And maybe you’ll find a distraction, too.” Mary bats her eyelashes.
“Fine, but I’m leaving as soon as you track him down.”
“Good enough.” She throws the pillow to the bed and props her head on it. “So, your thoughts on this place?” Mary gestures at my sparse room, empty except for a mattress, a mirror, a closet, and a few boxes in the corner.
“It’s perfect.” And it is, despite the emptiness.
High ceilings, enormous windows that let in streams of light, and an openness that makes the space feel airy and bright. This apartment is a blank canvas, waiting for us to make it home. We’ll just need the right furniture to go with.
I grab my purse. “Let’s go.”
“First breakfast. You need to tell me how the meeting with Oliver went.”
After having breakfast and updating Mary on my divorce, we step out of the apartment complex into the bustle of the city. Exhaust fumes mingle with food from street carts; indistinct voices blend into an ever-present hum, so different from the sterile suburbs I’d lived in not so long ago.
“So, any ideas?” Mary asks as we walk down the sidewalk. “Theme, color scheme, style?”
“Something simple and cozy. Nothing too frilly.”
“A sort of minimalist boho chic. I like it. Lil will like it, too.” She pauses, eyeing a furniture store up ahead. “How about there?”
“Sure.” I follow her lead, stepping into the store. Couches and chairs in muted grays, creams, and wood tones fill the space, simple yet striking. Yes, this is what I had in mind.
We spend the next few hours browsing stores and ordering furniture and decorations. After that, we settle into the plush booth of our favorite gelato place.
Mary leans forward. “I cannot wait for both of you to move here. I hope Lil will love it. It’s her first time here, after all.”
I smile, imagining Lil’s face lighting up as she enters our new apartment. “Do you remember when we first met her? Freshman year?”
Mary’s eyes grow distant. “God, it seems so long ago now. I remember she always used to sit alone in the library, and I had this one economics class with her. But if you hadn’t introduced us, we would have never even talked with each other.”
The server approaches us, pad in hand. “What can I get you?”
“Double scoop of pistachio,” Mary says without hesitation.
“And I’ll have a scoop of dark chocolate and one of salted caramel, please.” I lay down the menu.
The server nods and disappears behind the counter.
Thinking back, I still remember Lil clearly. How desperate she sounded, hammering against the door. How she stared at me when I opened that door. Lil’s pale face and her slender fingers were smeared with blood from a cut. “Her hand was bleeding the first time I met her.”
“What? You never told me that.”
The server returns with our gelato—vibrant green pistachio for Mary and my own swirls of rich brown and creamy beige. We thank him and dig in.
“It was in the back room. The one I got locked in so many times already,” I say between spoonfuls. “But she downplayed it so much.”
Mary shakes her head. “That’s Lil.”
“I’m glad I didn’t listen when she told me it’s nothing. If I hadn’t been so pushy, who knows if we’d all be friends today?”
“I wonder what would have happened if we hadn’t crashed her wedding.”
Exhausted and back home, a vision of what this place could become forms as we return to the apartment.
“Movie night?” Mary takes off her shoes.
“Yes, please,” I take out a vase we bought from the shopping bags and place it on the kitchen counter.
Home.