7. 7
Annabelle
Now
“ C laire! Grace! Come on, let’s get to school,” I yell up the stairs, hoping the girls have stopped bickering long enough to brush their teeth.
“Minutes matter in the morning!” They’ve already been tardy three times this month alone, and the headmaster has been forthright about our family’s get out of jail free card having expired.
We hustle to the car, the girls buckling themselves in even as I’m pulling out of the driveway.
I’m not a morning person, and this is when I miss Kyle the most. If he wasn't traveling for work— or for pleasure , I think bitterly—he was usually around to assist with the morning chaos.
Most days, it was the only time the girls saw him, since his work hours often stretched late into the night.
Without him, I often feel adrift, struggling to wrangle two grumpy kids and get us out the door on time.
Grief is weird like that. It can hit me without warning, like a paralyzing punch to the gut, immediate and fierce. Little things, like brewing a single cup of coffee rather than an entire pot, can upset me more than big things, like anniversaries and birthdays.
There’s no rhyme or reason to my conflicted emotions, and while time doesn’t heal all wounds, it has helped lessen the hurt.
Everything that happened after the discovery of Kyle’s infidelity cracked my heart wide open, but over the past year, I’ve been stitching it back together.
My life didn’t end when my marriage did.
Luck is on my side this morning, and I pull up to the girls’ private school with four minutes to spare. With a sigh of relief, I wave Grace off and walk Claire into her Pre-K class before starting my daily commute into Nashville.
I stroll into work thirty-five minutes later.
Bypassing the crowded lobby and the lines of people waiting for the elevators, I take the stairs instead.
After jogging up three flights, I swing by Laura’s office for our daily coffee.
The few minutes I spend talking to my best friend each morning over a cup of coffee are crucial to keeping me sane.
As soon as I push open her door, the aroma of a vanilla latte hits my nose. I swipe the still-steaming cup off Laura’s desk and situate myself on the small couch in her large corner office.
Besides being my best friend, Laura’s also my boss now, which is the only reason I’m allowed to waste company time drinking coffee and chitchatting every morning.
When I desperately needed a job last year, Laura swooped in and saved the day by setting me up with a job in radio advertising sales.
The position offered flexible hours, good benefits, a decent base salary, and great bonuses.
By combining my sheer determination to provide for my family with my knack for reading people, this job—which started as a Hail Mary/BFF sympathy job offer—has turned out to be a win-win for both of us.
I’m able to pay the bills each month and still have a little left over.
Once I sell the house and move into something smaller, I’ll be more financially stable, but I've been dragging my feet. It’s the only house that Grace and Claire remember living in.
For them, the house is filled with positive memories, and I hate to steal those from them.
But for me, that house represents the most painful memories from my very worst days.
I steel myself for the conference call I have scheduled this afternoon with a real estate agent to start the home selling and buying process. It’s time.
“Thanks,” I say, lifting my coffee cup to Laura.
“No problem.” She pushes out of her desk chair and joins me on the couch.
“Tell me everything! How was your date?”
Despite my single foray into sex last year, I haven’t started dating, so I live vicariously through Laura’s prolific dating life. She swipes right on Tinder enough for the both of us.
She shrugs. “He was okay, but pretty boring. Too…” She waves her hands in the air, searching for the right word before settling on, “Professional.”
Laughing, I blow on my latte before taking another sip.
“Too professional? Most people consider that a positive quality because it means he holds down a steady job. Not like the deadbeat you dated a couple of months ago, who still lived with his mother and couldn’t pay for dates unless his mommy gave him his allowance. ”
She sticks her tongue out. “I told you that in confidence, Anna. Not so you could hold it over my head for eternity!”
”What are best friends for?” I reply with a laugh. “But get back to telling me more about your date who was too professional.”
“All he did was talk about work for the entire dinner. He was a total snoozefest! He seems like the type of guy who’d have sex with his socks on, and instead of whispering sweet nothings in my ear, he’d be telling me how he highlights the columns in his spreadsheets.
And the sex would be vanilla. Probably missionary position, where he sticks his pencil dick inside me, gyrates a couple of times, blows his load, and then pulls out, thinking his job is done.
No fucking way, buddy. I’m too young to settle for anything less than steamy hot, toe-curling sex. ”
“Hey, old people have sex, too. Approximately twenty times per year. It’s not unheard of for there to be outbreaks of sexually transmitted diseases amongst nursing home residents.” Laura blanches as I nod and add, “The more you know.”
“Gah! This isn’t an NBC after-school special, Anna. I don’t know what’s worse—that you know that fact, or that you told me, so now I know that useless tidbit too.” She shakes her head.
I cackle at the downtrodden expression on Laura’s face. “I’m sorry, I am, but I wanted to reassure you that you still have decades left for hot sex.”
“If anyone needs a heaping portion of hot passionate sex, it’s you, Anna Morris.” Rolling her eyes as I begin to protest, she says, “You need to stop being so preoccupied with my dates. What you need is to go on a date yourself.”
“Not this again,” I groan.
“I know you hate hearing this, but you can’t use what happened with Kyle as an excuse not to let anyone else get close to you. ”
Even after a year of therapy, a giant red warning light flashes in my brain: deny, deny, deny!
“It’s not that, Laura. I just don’t have enough free time to date. Between work and being a single mom, all my time is spoken for. Did you know I count showering as my daily dose of me time?”
Crossing her legs, Laura turns serious. She doesn’t buy my excuse.
“Anna, at some point, you need to start dating again. You cannot deny yourself a second shot at happiness because you’re busy with the girls.
I won’t let you use your role as their mom to avoid romantic relationships.
Make time for yourself. Put yourself out there.
Meet new people. Expand your horizons. Be open to finding someone new. "
Her words hit their target. But dammit, it’s easier to keep hiding from the world.
I already tried the whole love-and-marriage thing once, and it ended far more painfully than I ever imagined.
Kyle’s betrayal left a complicated legacy of grief for me to unravel.
My therapist's words, not mine. The thought of opening my heart again terrifies me, because I know exactly how devastating it can be when a relationship falls apart.
“I’ll take your statements under advisement.”
“Thank you. I’ll stop pestering you now. But let’s get a happy hour or a night out on the calendar soon.” Laura nudges her shoulder into mine. “We work for radio stations, so we should take advantage of that by snagging some free concert tickets.”
“Sold.” I may not be quite ready to date, but the idea of getting dressed up and having a night out with my best friend sounds great.
“Yay,” Laura grins. “I thought you’d need the hard sell before you’d agree.”
“I’m ready to rebuild my social life, but I may need a bit more time before committing to dating.” I take another sip of coffee. “Hey, you think we could get Harry Styles tickets?” My inner fangirl is shrieking with excitement at the possibility.
“Anna, get caught up on current events. Harry isn’t even on tour right now,” Laura huffs.
“And at some point, you need to listen to a little country. One of the radio stations you work for is the largest country music station in Nashville.” She loves country music and can’t understand why I don’t hear its allure.
Ignoring her, I suggest, “Promise to keep Harry in mind when he tours next? Because he’s my number one celebrity crush. I wouldn’t mind making him the third guy I sleep with.”
She smirks. After a sip of her boring black coffee, Laura asks, “Speaking of the guys you've slept with, you ever think about looking up Hayes?”
Oops. When I made that offhand comment, I didn’t think about Laura using it to bring the conversation around to my night with Hayes.
At the mention of Hayes, I surreptitiously lift my wrist to my nose and inhale the now familiar fragrance of his stolen body wash. Sandalwood, musk, and pure sex appeal. Nostalgia assaults me in the most bittersweet way.
I use the body wash sparingly, but today was one of the mornings I washed with it.
I must be a glutton for punishment, because despite knowing that his aroma will torment me throughout the day, I still did it anyway.
I loved our night together, and by wearing Hayes' scent on my skin, all those memories come back to me, stronger than ever.
Because the truth remains… as stupid and improbable as it is, I'm not ready to leave the memories of Hayes in the past yet.
“Yes, and no.” I shift on the couch. Toeing off my heels, I slide my left foot under my right thigh. “Yes, I’d love to tap that again. ”
Laura rolls her eyes and shakes her head. “Don’t. Don’t say that again. That saying went out about the time Bush got elected.”
“First or second Bush?”
“Does it matter?”
“Noted,” I smile. I rely on my seven-year-old to keep me up to date on slang, so it's safe to say that I'm a little behind the times. “Anyway, I’d love to see Hayes again, but part of what made our night together so magical was that our time was finite. I was unencumbered and free because there wasn’t a future for us. I didn’t have to worry about expectations or what he might think of me in the daylight. We just had that one perfect night.”
“Jeez, somehow you just made a one-night stand sound romantic and classy.”
I chuckle. “Plus, it would be impossible to locate Hayes.”
I refuse to admit that I know this firsthand.
Soon after meeting Hayes, I typed his first name into Instagram’s search bar in a moment of loneliness and boredom.
Then I stayed up way too late scrolling through hundreds of profiles.
TikTok and Facebook had even more search results than Instagram. It was a lost cause, so I gave up.
“We need to find him somehow. From what you described, it was more than a random hook-up.” Laura rubs her temple as she thinks. “There has to be some way to find him.”
“It’s pointless. You can’t locate someone when you only know their first name.” But even though I can’t see Hayes again, that night helped me in ways I couldn't even fathom at the time.
Our night together was a sexual revelation, reminding me of who I was as a person, as a woman.
That night, for the first time since getting married, I felt like more than just a wife or a mother.
I was Annabelle, a woman with needs that hadn't been met in a very long time. My night with Hayes made me realize I’d lost my way and left myself behind.
Laura pushing me to date again and make time for myself is another reminder of that.
“I’ll stop talking about Hayes now.” Tapping her finger against her cheek, Laura grins.
“You know what? There’s that holiday country music festival at the Ryman next month.
Could be a fun way to get into the festive spirit before Christmas.
I have to go for work, but I can snag you a backstage pass.
We can eat and drink for free. Maybe mingle with some of the bands. ”
“Wow. That sounds… like a lot of country music.” I try to hide the sarcasm, but I’m unsuccessful.
Swatting my arm, Laura says, “Shut up. It'll be fun! I’ll put together a playlist of all the artists. After you’ve listened to it a few times, you can pick the bands you like the best, and we’ll just stay for those performances.”
Not only does the crazy lady expect me to give up my weekend for a country music festival, but she also wants me to listen to a country playlist multiple times, so I can pick my favorites out of the lineup.
Good God, my ears are bleeding at the thought.
“That is so sweet of you to offer, but unnecessary.” I wave my hand in the air. “All the country artists sound the same to me. Pick your favorites, and we can listen to those. I’m going for the company, not the music, bestie.”
Grimacing, Laura shakes her head. “No. Can’t say that either. You’re not in junior high.”
“Okay, how about BFF? Or LYLAS? Girlypop?”
“Since I love you like a sister, I’m going to tell you the brutal truth—you really need to get out and spend more time with adults.”