28. Alana
If this was livingwithout Hudson, Alana thought morosely a few weeks later, she was definitely going to be moving to Montana.
She hadn’t meant to tell Shannon, but...well, it slipped.
Alana was curled up on the couch, having swaddled herself in the blankets she stole off Hudson’s bed (she was going to wash them and put them back before he got home, he wouldn’t have to learn that she slept better when she wrapped herself in his smell, because that was not the behavior of someone who was happy clappy about her upcoming divorce), and was FaceTiming Shannon for the first time in what felt like forever.
“You’re not fine,” Shannon said.
“I am!” Alana protested.
Shannon just looked at her. “Bitch.”
“What? I’m fine!”
“You can just say you don’t want to talk about it.”
“Talk about what?”
“Don’t make me call JP to send him over so he could smack you upside the head for me, Alana Rose.”
“No need to be middle naming, Shannon No Middle Name Rhodes.”
Shannon grinned. “I love you, Lana, but you are full of bullshit.”
Alana was good at lying to people. She was excellent at lying to people, a skill she shouldn’t have necessarily been that proud of. But shit was different when you spent your whole life pretending.
Pretending that no, she was physically okay in all work circumstances, because there was only so much time she could take off and her insides didn’t really give a shit if there was no more PTO left in the proverbial jar. The only reason she had made it this far in life without falling apart was because of the lies she’d told. The ones she told as a kid, the ones she told now. Small lies, like pretending that her gross coworkers weren’t a trial and a tribulation every waking moment of her life. Medium lies, like telling herself that she didn’t need to bring a change of shoes to go home from work and that she could spend thirty-five minutes on a jam-packed train during rush hour in five-inch stilettos. Which, all things considered, wasn’t such a big deal.
But then there were the big lies, the ones she told even though she knew in her soul that she shouldn’t have. The ones where she laughed off people’s comments about her body, about her life, about the choices she made, where she said she wasn’t offended when people decided to take it upon themselves to give piles of unsolicited and absolutely terrible medical advice. But it was more work in the moment to tell the truth, to lay herself bare to people, whether they were people who actually knew her or not and tell them that she wished she could take their opinions and shove them directly up their assholes, back where they came from.
She had been lying for years, and nobody had caught her. Nobody had ever looked at her and said, “Alana, are you sure that’s the truth?”
Nobody, that was, until she married Hudson. And suddenly it seemed that her ability to lie flawlessly to people, to have other people believe that she was okay, had suddenly vanished. She didn’t know how she felt about that. Mostly panicked, if she was going to be honest.
When it was time, when the year ended, Alana was going to move. What was she going to do, stay in the apartment where she would be haunted by the ruins of a relationship that wasn’t even real? She’d made some questionable choices before, but she wasn’t going to make them again.
“I’m not full of bullshit at all. I was actually thinking that maybe in a few months, I’d move to Montana.”
She’d just blurted it out, but maybe it was actually a good idea. Maybe at the end of the year, she would pack up and move to Montana, a state she had never been to, and had only a passing interest in even visiting. Was she really letting a man drive her away from the city that she loved and the family that she made?
Was it even him or was it her?
Shannon was there. She’d move to be near Shannon, and would try to fix her shattered heart there, as far away from her current life as she could be. It would be fine.
Shannon dropped her phone in shock.
“What do you mean?” Shannon demanded, scrambling to pick the phone back up, the background whirling. “Hold the fucking phone, Alana Rose Bruckner, we are not just going to pretend you didn’t just fucking say that you’re thinking of moving here???”
“You live there,” Alana protested, not wanting to do the whole, ‘oh right, because I’m a bad friend who actually isn’t great and handling my feelings, I forgot to tell you about the part where actually, oops, I fell in love with my fake-real? Real-fake? Husband and divorcing him is going to shatter me into several million pieces and because I cannot go full Grey Gardens or Miss Havisham, because that would be too much even for me, instead I am going to move across the country so I don’t have to be reminded of him every physical place I go and I only need to be reminded of him by stalking him on the internet for the rest of eternity’ kind of thing.
Except for the look on Shannon’s face that said that no, she actually was going to do that.
“Alana. I love you with every fiber of my being. But you are not the kind of main character in a Hallmark movie.”
“Is it the fat part or the Jewish part? I feel like Hallmark has been trying to expand to both of those.”
“No, because even if you found the love of your life in a small ass town, he would move to you. There are some people who thrive in wide open spaces where the most exciting thing to do on a Saturday night is drive two towns over to watch a movie, but you would shrivel and die here.”
“And you’re not shriveling and dying?”
“I grew up here. It’s different.”
“That wasn’t a yes or no.”
“I’m good for the short term,” Shannon said. “But I don’t think I’d be able to live here forever. Hence the whole escaping to New York.”
“That was also a combination of watching too many Friends reruns and also watching Gossip Girl,” Alana pointed out.
“Are you ever going to let me live that down?”
“Probably not.”
Shannon laughed. “Fair enough. I dunno, Lan. Montana’s great, and maybe you’d thrive in like, Boseman, or something, but not here.” She paused. “Why would you really move?”
“You’re gonna laugh at me.”
“Maybe, but that doesn’t mean I won’t take what you say seriously.”
“I don’t know if I’ll be able to stay here after I divorce Hudson.”
“Why not.”
“You know why not.”
“You sure I do?” Shannon countered.
“You’re going to make me say it, aren’t you.”
“Absolutely I will,” Shannon replied.
“But what if I don’t want to?”
“And how’s that been working out? What does Lane think about this?”
Alana looked everywhere but her screen. “I haven’t told him,” she mumbled.
“Oh shittttt.”
“Shut up.”
“Alana, you can’t lie to your therapist! Why the fuck are you even paying him, then??”
“I’m pretty sure our marriage isn’t legal,” Alana argued. “And anyway, he knows that Hudson’s my roommate now.”
“And he hasn’t asked you about your feelings about that?”
“I said they were fine!”
“So, you definitely lied to your therapist.”
“Well, they were. They are. As long as I ignore my feelings, everything’s great.”
Shannon folded her arms. “Cute. How’s that going?”
Alana crumpled. “Is it bad that I miss him?”
“Oh, honey.”
“I’m making a mess of this. This was just supposed to be a little marriage of convenience for everyone, and now I’m the idiot who went and fell in love with my fake-real husband.” Alana sniffled. “And I don’t care that that’s what happens in books where all the girls are wearing princess party dresses and the men are British nobility with mysteriously obtained wealth that has nothing to do with colonialism. This isn’t the same thing.”
“No, because a romance novel means you know they’re going to end up living happily ever after the whole time,” Shannon said. “And so it doesn’t matter what kind of shit they go through, it will work out in the end. Real life is a lot messier.”
“I don’t like real life,” Alana pouted.
“Same,” Shannon sighed.
They sat there in silence for a few minutes.
“So. What are you going to do when Hudson comes home?” Shannon asked. “Keep pretending that everything’s fine?”
“Yes,” Alana said. “There are still like six months left in our marriage. If I say something and he absolutely doesn’t feel the same, I wouldn’t want him feeling uncomfortable and then having to live with me under this lease and also feel like I’m holding this marriage over his head or whatever.”
“And you just not saying anything is going to be fine?”
“I mean, it might end with my heart broken forever,” Alana said. “Probably will.”
“What happened to putting on your own oxygen mask first?”
“Sure, but doing this would be like maybe reaching over and throwing his oxygen mask out a window before I put on mine.” Alana paused. “Does that make sense?”
“Kind of, yeah.” Shannon sighed. “Do you want me to come stay with you for the surgery?”
“Don’t you have your grandpa’s business to run and whatever?”
“Family emergencies are family emergencies, Lana.”
“You know I love you a lot, right?”
“I know. And you know that I mean it, right? If you need me to come, I will. Pinky promise and everything.”
Alana sighed. “I know. I haven’t thought about it yet. I’ll let you know when I make the decision.”
“It could be the morning of, and I will figure it out,” Shannon said. “Is Hudson going to be back for the surgery?”
“His program thing ends that morning, so I have no idea. I’m gonna Uber there, and then since it’s inpatient, I’ll be there for a bit anyway. And it’s out on Long Island, so it’s not like I’m expecting anyone to schlep all the way. I’ll be convalescing in my bed at home for a while after, and then I can, I dunno, have the boys fan me and feed me blancmange or whatever that pudding stuff is called.”
“No matter how good all those books try to make that stuff sound, it still sounds gross. What’s wrong with getting fed grapes?” Shannon asked.
“Meh, not such a grape person.”
“Don’t worry, we’ll find something sufficient to hand feed you while we wave palm fronds.”
“Who’s we?” Alana’s eyes narrowed. “Is there a friend we’d like to talk about, Shannon?”
“Sure, I can get Mandy to come and fan you with me. She’d get a kick out of it.”
“Doesn’t she have, I dunno, other responsibilities that are slightly more important? Say, a whole job and what feels like a whole economy resting on her shoulders?”
Shannon shrugged. “She’d do it. She’s not the only one who might need a bit of a break from Montana.”
Alana’s eyes sharpened. “Does that mean you’re coming back soon?”
“Not yet,” Shannon said. “But Grandpa’s doing a lot better than anyone thought he would be at this point. I think the thought of other people running the shop is motivating for him.”
“Whatever works.”
“Within reason,” Shannon agreed. “I’m gonna have to find another apartment, then. But I’m not going to worry about that until I have an actual date that I can leave.” She sighed. “And also finally look for a new job, officially.”
“One thing at a time,” Alana said.
“Same for you, silly.”
“I mean, yeah, whatever.”
“Alana.”
“Ugh, fine.”
Going to sleep was hard that night. Not that it had been any easier, any of the other nights that Hudson wasn’t home, but the reality of what was facing her had suddenly decided to hit her like a ton of bricks.
Alana hadn’t really been an anxious person before, and she still wouldn’t say that she was, but the what ifs were louder now than they had been for a long time.
It wasn’t that she was scared of the surgery. She wasn’t. Hell, she could honestly say she’d never been more excited for an astronomical hospital bill in her life.
And it wasn’t like she hadn’t already had surgery before, although when she had, she had Shannon as her roommate. She couldn’t ask Hudson for help. She couldn’t ask him to leave his art early. She would hate herself if she had become that kind of person.
You’re allowed to ask for things, her subconscious/the memory of Lane reminded her.
Which, yeah, sure. But asking for things was exactly what had gotten her into this in the first place.
This was what she had wanted. And she was going to be okay by herself. The recovery process wasn’t supposed to be that long, and if she really needed to, she could text Jamie or Ophelia or Matilda to come over and help. She had to stop relying on Hudson.
She was a strong independent woman who didn’t need her husband.
And if she kept telling herself that, maybe one day she’d believe it.
The next night, while sitting on a disturbingly comfortable couch in JP’s new apartment, Alana reopened one of the dating apps. She’d never actually left said dating apps, just let them languish in the background, still collecting data while she used her phone, and letting whatever creepers that were swiping on her continue to shout into the abyss.
She could do this. She had done it before and would have to do it again. Maybe finding someone on an app would help her get over Hudson.
The best way to get over someone is to get under someone else, right? Alana had no idea, but she was willing to test the theory.
The first three profiles she swiped through were enough for her to remember just why she used to joke about moving to a nunnery, even though she had no plans on dedicating her life to Christianity at all. She would make a terrible nun, though not as terrible as Jule D’Aubigny, because she didn’t plan on burning down said nunnery.
Well, not on purpose.
Why were there men who claimed to live in Manhattan who had fish pictures? Where were they going fishing, and why did they feel the urge to show that? Alana didn’t think the residual cavepeople urge to shack up with someone who could provide for the family quite carried over to Fish Picture Men, especially when, in one bio, it read ‘no fat bitches’.
Alana also wasn’t sure what kind of person would be into that, but it wasn’t her.
Maybe she should take up her Auntie Yaya’s suggestion to go to temple with her on Saturday one week. If Auntie Yaya’s stories were correct, Beth Shalom was just teeming with attractive, single, and eligible men, who would start their own wrestling matches for the chance to date Alana. She was certain that Auntie Yaya’s stories were greatly exaggerated, but maybe delusion wouldn’t hurt now.
She swiped to the next profile, and, to her shock and horror, it was Stuart. From work. She shrieked, and swiped left as quickly as she could.
Absolutely not. Someone’s algorithm was broken as hell if these people thought there was a singular chance in hell that Alana would ever, ever, ever consider Stewart in any sort of romantic or sexual way.
No.
Just…no.
Especially after the debacle that was The Biggest Apple, the world’s greatest and worst cruise.
God, she had to tell Hudson. He would get such a kick out of…
Alana stopped. Dropped her phone onto the couch.
“You okay there?” Jaz asked, curled up on the other end of JP’s couch. “You look like you saw a ghost.”
“You know how sometimes you’ll just be living life and then there’s just a flash of, ‘if you don’t fix things, this is how your life is going to work out’? Like that Christmas movie?”
Jaz nodded. “Those scare the shit out of me.”
Alana sighed. “Same.”
“Wanna talk about it?”
“No.” Alana tangled her fingers through the blanket.
“Should you talk about it anyway?”
Alana laughed. “That would probably be the intelligent thing to do, but I don’t want to.” She sighed. “How are you so well-adjusted?”
Jazmine laughed so hard she almost choked. “Girl. In what world am I well-adjusted? Have you heard my music?”
“Just because you write a song, it doesn’t mean it’s autobiographical,” Alana argued. “I’ve gotten enough lectures from JP about that.”
JP reached out a hand for a high-five, and Alana obliged. “Hell yeah, Lana.”
“And while that’s true, I do actually write my own songs. So even if they’re not all autobiographical, and they’re not, there are parts of my life hidden in them. So even if the subject matter is, I dunno, a song about someone murdering their ex, there are parts of it that reflect my feelings when I was really angry at an ex. Not angry enough to kill them, but angry enough to wish I wanted to. That make sense?”
Alana nodded. “But feeling something and acting on it are two separate things.”
“Don’t I know it,” Jaz muttered. She raked her curls out of her face, only for them to spring back. “If it makes you feel better, I one hundred percent believe that you are more well-adjusted than I am.”
“God, for your sake, I hope not.”
“We’re all a hot mess,” JP said, pushing away from the desk. “That’s the whole thing with people, isn’t it. We judge the people who are not as good at hiding their messes as we are, and we both wish that everyone thought we were perfect, and are desperately hoping for someone to ask us if we’re okay.”
“Sometimes I forget you almost became a therapist,” Alana mumbled.
JP laughed. “That nugget of wisdom actually came from your husband.”
“God, it’s annoying as hell how good he is at that.”
“At what?” JP asked.
“Knowing how feelings work.”
JP shrugged. “I mean, sometimes.”
Jaz shot JP a look.
“Sometimes I wish my life came with spoilers,” Alana said.
“But then where would all the surprises be?” Jazmine asked.
“I wouldn’t need surprises if I knew things were going to end well.”
“They wouldn’t feel as good if you knew, would they?”
Alana laughed. “I don’t know how I would know. I haven’t lived enough versions of myself to be able to tell.”
“Would you hate me if I said that once again, I will be taking that sentence and writing a song about it?”
“I’ve never been a muse,” Alana replied. “It’s fun.”
JP let out what had to be some sort of combination cough and laugh.
“What?”
“Nothing,” JP said hastily. “Nothing at all.”
“Jay,” Jazmine tsked. “Behave yourself.”
“I am!” he protested.
“I am confused,” Alana said.
“Don’t worry about it,” JP said.
Alana shrugged. “Okay.”