Chapter 19
Six months later
MIKE APOLOGIZED PROFUSELY for his behavior that night he came home, and we moved forward, although I never forgot the sting of his final blow.
It took us three months to sell the house.
The kids were really worried about having to change schools, and I was struggling with finding a place for us to stay that I could afford.
Gwen came to the rescue. She insisted it was payback for all the times I was there for her through the years.
She only lives ten minutes away and offered to let us stay with her until I got on my feet.
She and Mike agreed to get along for the sake of the kids.
Mike has seen them more since the divorce than he did while we were married.
We went through mediation to save money, and Mike was fair in splitting all of our assets and in giving me child support and alimony.
He seemed angry at first, but it turned out his freedom was far more important than fighting in court.
When I was fair in agreeing to visitation, he was fair in agreeing to allow me custody.
It turns out we get along much better when we don’t speak.
We text about the kids, and I rarely see him at pick-up or drop-off.
It’s what I need. Seeing him either fills me with regret, anger, or a combination of both.
Sometimes at night, after spending my day in class or clinicals, then studying and taking care of the kids, the loneliness overwhelms me.
Even though Mike and I had a shitty marriage, I still miss his presence at times.
At least, I miss the Mike I thought I knew.
Then I remember all the bad times and that feeling inches away.
The truth is I don’t miss him; I miss the idea of him and the idea of having someone to love.
One weekend when Mike has the kids, Gwen gives me a look. I haven’t seen it in a while and I’m not sure if I’m reading her right. “What?” I ask her as I munch on a bag of Cheetos and flip through romance books on her Kindle, looking for my next glimmer of hope.
“Let’s do something.”
“Like what?” I ask. “You wanna get a pizza?”
“Does my ass look like I need a pizza?” She turns her backside to me and sticks out her rear end as far as it will go.
I take another Cheeto and pop it in my mouth before I toss the bag on the couch, stand, and turn my ass to face hers. “Does mine?”
We stand there laughing for a minute with our asses facing each other in comparison. She always says she has a lot of weight to lose, but I know if it were a contest she would have far less than me. I think she looks great, but we are our own worst critics.
“What I meant was let’s get out of here and go somewhere. Anywhere! I’m tired of staring at these walls. Let’s go out for a drink!”
“You mean like, to a bar?” I question in horror.
“Yeah, a bar!” She laughs. “It’ll be fun.”
“I don’t know if I’m ready for that!” I shriek.
“Come on, Ev! All you’ve done since the divorce is bury your head in your books and take care of the kids!”
“It’s all I want to do!” School is a needed distraction.
I applied for a grant for single mothers who want to return to school.
The money has really helped with the cost. Classes are a lot harder than I remembered, but there is something about being back in that environment that lights a fire inside me. I forgot how much I love to learn.
Gwen sighs and plops down on the couch. She grabs the remote and curls her legs underneath her.
I see the sadness in her expression as she leans her head on her hand and sighs loudly.
If it’s meant to make me feel guilty, it’s working.
I close my eyes and take a deep breath. A diaper commercial causes me to lift my gaze toward the television.
For months I cried every time I passed by a baby, or saw a baby, or even a baby item.
It’s taken me months to be able to watch one without tearing up, but slowly, I’ve found some peace with her loss.
I consider how long I’ve been sitting around feeling sorry for myself and burying my head in my books to avoid moving forward with my life. Gwen has been my rock. Surely, I can do this for her. “One. Just one drink,” I say, holding up my finger so she’s clear there will not be two.
“Really?” She gasps as she bolts upward. Both Roscoe and Wookie fly off the couch in fear and curl up on the floor together. They’ve formed a bond very similar to Gwen and mine. It’s pretty darn cute.
“What are we going to wear?” I ask with concern.
“Let’s go see if we have anything other than yoga pants.”
I follow her up the stairs. She leaps two at a time in excitement. I’m out of breath by the time I reach the top. “You mean I can’t wear yoga pants?” I manage to huff out.
“No. Real clothes tonight!”
“Yoga pants are my real clothes!”
Gwen and I haven’t played dress-up in years. She blasts some Fall Out Boy as we search through our closets for something that makes us look cute and disguises our flaws. An hour later she settles on a blue little number and heels, and I settle on something black that allows me to hide my rolls.
We drive around town looking for the right place to go while we play music and dance in the car.
When I say we dance in the car, I’m not kidding.
We have perfected car dancing. We started in high school.
It’s a lot of hand motions and lip puckering.
The key is exaggerating every movement, singing loudly, and acting like you’re fierce.
We usually spend most of the time in hysterical laughter.
It’s one of my favorite things we do together.
It’s an unusually warm March evening, and we roll down the windows. We laugh at each other’s hot car moves, and for the first time in months, I feel better. Almost hopeful.
We settle on a cute little place on the strip and pull into the parking lot to begin our ritual.
“Do I look okay?” I ask her.
“Yes.”
“Are you telling me the truth or are you telling me what you think I need to hear in order to get me to go in there?” I ask, pointing toward the door.
“I’m telling you the truth. Why do you say that? Is it because I look bad and you don’t know how to tell me so you’re making it sound like you’re worried about yourself all while you’re secretly thinking that I look terrible and you don’t know how to tell me?”
I try to follow her logic and surprisingly, it makes complete sense to me. “No! You look great. You always do.”
“Well, so do you!”
After I roll my eyes and call myself a fatty, I receive a slap on the arm and a growl. I know the expression on her face means I’m about to be served Gwen’s trademark talk about negative thinking. I’ve heard it so many times I could probably lip-sync it.
“How many times have I told you to stop talking like that?” she questions. “That kind of negative thinking leads nowhere. You need to build yourself up not put yourself down. You’re beautiful, Ev.”
I sigh and turn my head to glance out the window so she can’t see me roll my eyes again. “Yeah, yeah.” The sarcasm drips off my words like ice cream off a toddler’s chin.
“You are! You’re gorgeous. You always have been. I’d kill for hair like yours. It’s so long and flowy. I wish mine would grow longer.”
“So I have okay hair. I wish I had your boobs, butt, and thighs.”
“Take them. When you get a good look at them in the mirror, you’ll be begging to hand them back.”
I rotate sharply as I point my finger in her face. “Ha! “Now who’s the Negative Nancy?”
“Are we going in there or what?” she asks in irritation.
Nice change of subject. We fix our lipstick and watch the people coming and going for a couple of minutes in silence.
“We can do this,” she says.
“Totes,” I reply confidently.
We continue to stare at the door and people-watch.
Everyone looks so young and hip. I can feel any confidence in myself draining away.
I stare down at my black jeans and wish they weren’t so tight.
A few more minutes pass. We take out pieces of gum to chew and pretend to be busy getting ready to go in when the truth is we’re both stalling.
“I like her shoes,” I say, motioning as a girl who looks half our age struts to the door.
Gwen follows my gaze and leans to the side to get a better look. She grabs the steering wheel to balance as she checks them out. “Oh yeah, they’re super cute.”
We sit in silence for a few more minutes until Gwen turns to face me. “What are we doing?” she asks.
“I don’t know!” I laugh back.
“We act like we don’t belong here. Like we’re too old to go to a bar for a drink!”
“Yeah, the truth is, most of these people are probably too young to be in there.”
“Right? So let’s go! Let’s do it!”
“Okay! Let’s go.”
Gwen and I take a deep breath as we step out of the car. The bar seems miles away. We try to act confident as we stroll inside, but the minute eyes turn to check us out, I immediately want to hide.
As soon as she sees the younger, hipper crowd, Gwen turns to me and frowns. Her face needs to be an emoji. I could die laughing right here. She leads the way to a table off to the side, away from the crowd, and we slide in, happy to be out of the limelight.
Our waitress is patient and she recommends French martinis for us when we appear clueless about what to drink. They’re super strong, and we both play with our glasses and try to make small talk over the music.
“It’s loud in here!”
“What?” she asks.
“IT’S LOUD!” I shout with increased volume, pointing upward with one hand and covering my ear with the other.
“Yeah!” she shouts back. “I can’t think!”
We scoot closer together to hear each other better and end up watching everyone as we sip our drinks. We point out mediocre-looking guys as they enter the bar and then observe them attract girls who are way out of their league.
“Does everyone settle now?” Gwen asks.
I shrug my shoulders. These girls are beautiful. Way prettier and in better shape than I am. If the guys who talk to them are the best they can get, than what does it mean for an older mom like me? A destiny of more despair, apparently.
After we finish the second drink I swore we wouldn’t have, Gwen and I decide to leave. As we exit the bar, it takes us a few minutes to adjust to the sound difference. We head home with a quarter of the enthusiasm we had when we originally left to go out.
“You know what I want right now?” Gwen asks.
“What?”
“Fries. I want French fries.”
“Me too,” I say enthusiastically as if she just read my innermost desire.
“Extra salt!”
After stopping and each ordering our own large fries so we don’t have to share, Gwen and I munch away as we drive. We both finish them before we get home.
“Ugh,” I say, holding my stomach as I push out of her car. “I feel bloated.”
“Yeah, me too. Why did I do that?”
“They were pity fries,” I point to my left butt cheek as I explain, “This entire cheek is made up of all the pity fries I’ve eaten. This thigh is pity ice cream.”
We head directly up the stairs and change into our comfy PJs. It’s only ten thirty, and before I know it we’re both dozing on the couch.
“We’re pathetic,” she groans.
I giggle as I glance over to her. We look like we’ve been through a war. “I feel like shit,” I tell her. “I hate the way my body feels right now.”
“Me too. Why do we do this to ourselves? We should never have stopped for those fries.”
“I know. But, do you want to hear something really, really bad?”
“Hmm?”
“Even though I feel like crap from the fries, do you know what my mind is telling me will make me feel better?”
“Sex?” Gwen questions.
“Well, yeah, that would be nice, but no. That’s not it. Think of something really, really bad. Something that would make the least sense for how awful I feel.”
Gwen shrugs and frowns to show she has no clue.
“I feel like having that chocolate ice cream in the freezer. You know the one with the brownie pieces in it?”
Gwen sits up straighter. “Is there enough left for both of us?” I laugh and she falls back into the couch.
“No! We’re not gonna do it!” she stammers while shaking her head.
“We need to stop this. Do you know how I felt tonight in that dress? Fat and fugly. I’m tired of feeling fat.
I’m tired of feeling like everyone around me is better, or prettier, or more deserving. ”
“Do you know why I wore the black?” I ask. “Because it helps me disappear. For the last few years I’ve trained myself to allow food to fill a void I have inside.”
“We need to get out of this rut!” She stands and grabs my hand. “Come with me.” She flips on the kitchen light and pulls the garbage can over to the fridge. “We’re going to get rid of all the crap in this house. Tomorrow we start eating better!”
“Yes!” I shout. “And working out!”
“Yes!” she shrieks back to me, pointing at the idea as if it’s another person in the room. “We’ll do it together!”
“We’ll support each other.”
“Just like we always have!”
Gwen and I start throwing away chips and cookies and even the ice cream from the freezer.
“We need to do this for us,” I add.
“Not because we want to attract a man or because we think it will make us more deserving…” she responds. “Because I’ve tried that and I always fail when I do it for someone else. We have to do it so that we can be happy with who we are.”
We both agree and take the trash out together. We spend the rest of the night planning meals and exercise routines. It feels good to move forward. Not for anything or anyone, just for me.