Chapter 2
FINN
Things have been getting worse and worse in my marriage for a few years now.
Vivian had gone away for a girls’ trip with her friends to Napa and came back as a different woman.
She told me that she and her friends, ones she had known since college, had fought the whole time.
When she finally had enough and went shopping alone, she met Sheila.
Sheila is a fashion designer, and Vi was instantly enamored with her fast-paced lifestyle.
They spent the last two days of her trip shopping during the day and hitting the bars at night.
Apparently, Sheila is single and always ready to mingle.
Suddenly, nothing in our life was good enough for her.
Vi quit her job, saying she needed to focus on herself.
Given my senior position at a large tech firm, we weren’t financially dependent on her income, so I went along with it.
She joined a country club, started spending more time at the salon, obsessing over her clothes and what she called her “image”—whatever that means.
Sheila quickly became her best friend, and they went on girls’ weekends at least once a month.
The more she gravitated toward Sheila, the more space grew between us.
I threw all my time into work and spending time with Marcee.
I quit trying to make things work with Vi when she made it clear my efforts were wasted.
We were able to live separate lives for a while, both content to do our own thing, but then she started trying to change me, mold me into what she believed better aligned with the image of her ideal partner.
I wasn’t having it, which pissed her off to no end.
Her spending habits escalated, spiraling out of control after I rejected her attempts to tailor me.
Going so far as buying matching BMWs with Sheila on a whim just a few months ago.
Seeing red, I yelled at Vi and told Sheila to go fuck herself.
That was the first big fight we ever had.
Vivian ranted and raved, saying I embarrassed her and had no right to speak to her friend like that.
Then she marched into my office, cleared my desk, and took a letter opener to my leather Herman Miller chair.
Later that day as I cleaned up my office, I cried, knowing then that our marriage was over.
Marcee had come home that evening so excited because she and Lexie had been asked to their junior prom, and she was over the moon excited.
Her smile lit up the room and her green eyes sparkled with joy.
The thought of putting her through a divorce broke my heart, so I made a choice right then to grit my teeth and make it work until after she graduated.
The plan worked for almost a year, then over spring break, Vi went on a trip with, you guessed it, Sheila.
I checked our accounts and saw the insane amount she was putting on the credit cards and nearly threw up.
In just two days, she spent more than I made in a month.
Knowing we couldn’t afford this to continue, I called the credit card company and cancelled all her cards.
Next, I moved all the funds from our checking and savings accounts into new accounts solely in my name, then sat down and made a budget, giving Vi an ample allowance.
When she called me screaming about her card not working, I told her what I had done and she hung up without a word.
After that phone call, I was in a constant state of anxiety, knowing the fallout would be bad.
She was supposed to come home on Wednesday, so I encouraged Marcee to stay at Lexie’s house since they were on spring break, and her folks had a pool, wanting to shield her from the inevitable fight.
Vi hadn’t come home until Friday, and unfortunately, Lexie and Marcee were in her room when she skidded into the driveway, tires screeching to a halt.
I hate that Marcee was in the house and heard the fight, and I feel like a piece of shit for leaving without talking to her.
Needing a minute to process the end of my marriage, I came to my safe place, the beach.
While driving here, I called my lawyer and asked him to get the divorce papers started.
I wanted to expedite the process, done with all of it.
Now I’m sitting here on the cool damp sand, staring at the surf, still reeling over the fact that it really is over.
My phone rings and Marcee’s face flashes on the screen.
I answer instantly. “Marcee, honey. I'm so, so sorry. I’m coming home right now. Please forgive me for leaving without talking to you.” My anxiety and guilt have me tripping over my words.
“Dad…” Her voice cracks.
My head drops and a tear courses down my cheek…I hurt my little girl. The one person I never wanted to hurt. “I’m so freaking sorry, honey.”
“No, no. It’s okay, Dad. I was just wondering if you wanted some company? Or at least a towel. You look miserable on the sand in slacks.”
Whipping around, I drop my phone when I spot my daughter at the edge of the sand.
I run to her and pull her into a hug. As I hold her against my chest, everything seems to settle within me.
We will be okay. I'll make things right for her. She is crying so hard she’s hiccupping, and as I realize she drove in this emotional state, a wave of panic crashes through me.
“Marcee, I'm so glad you’re here, but it wasn’t safe driving all this way when you’re this upset.
Promise me you will never do that again.
Call and I'll come anywhere that you are, okay?”
Pulling back, she gives me a watery smile before looking over her shoulder and pointing to a familiar red Lexus in the lot, with Lexie seated in the driver's seat.
“Lexie wasn’t hearing it when I said I was driving out here myself and insisted that she would give me a lift.”
Lifting my head, I wave at Lexie, my heart overflowing with gratitude for her friend that stood by her when she needed her. When I couldn’t.
“I wasn’t sure if you needed space, but a call didn’t seem like enough, and I knew you would be here. Lexie promised to stay in the parking lot in case I needed her, and she can take me home if you want more time alone.”
“No, I’m done being alone. Thank you for coming, sweetie.”
“Good.” Her smile is tinged with sadness, but her shoulders ease, showing her relief at the words.
I release our tight hug and wrap my arm over her shoulder as we head to shore and sit side by side, not even talking, just staring at the water with her head on my shoulder.
An hour or two later, butts numb and stomachs growling, we make our way to my car where a familiar brown bag of greasy tacos sits on the hood with a note:
Nothing seems as bad with tacos
Love, Alexis
Pulling out of the parking lot after scarfing down too many tacos way too fast, I spot Lexie in the far corner. Hanging around, just like she promised, in case Marcee needed her, and yet again, my heart swells over the care she has for my daughter.