Second Chance Summer

PROLOGUE

Though we’re separated, I wouldn’t necessarily say I wanted to get a divorce from Hendrick, but there are certain things about the man that I don’t like.

I know—everybody has quirks. I’m sure I did plenty to get under his skin, but with him, it’s never-ending.

Because why do you have to comment on every commercial?

Why can’t we watch a movie without the ending being predicted like there’s a prize at the end?

And when did his smacking get so freakin’ loud?

His voice is even starting to get on my nerves, and I’m not even perimenopausal. At least I don’t think I am.

Ugh…

I’m not going to fall down the hole of thinking that everything a woman points out about a man means there’s something wrong with her when these men are straight nuts. And I know most of this stuff sounds petty, but some things just nag at you until you explode – or move out.

That’s what I did.

Move.

Besides the small things, though, there are bigger things, too.

Like the fact that our differences have become more and more apparent over the years, which baffles me because when we got together, we were the perfect couple.

Seven years later, I’m asking myself what the heck I was thinking?

Who did I marry? Do people evolve this much in seven years?

I sit up and stretch, hoping for an easy Saturday morning. The weatherman said it was supposed to be fire-hot today, and usually when the temperature is in the nineties, I don’t leave my house unless it’s for work or an emergency. Anything outside of that, you can miss me.

“Okay, Nai. You can at least get up and take a shower,” I say lazily.

I could shower, but I’d rather get me some pancakes delivered from a restaurant that’s two miles down the street and eat them while I’m still in the comfort of my pajamas.

I’m singleish. I can do what I want without anyone giving me a questionnaire.

I pull up the big-back app, put in my order, and lean back on my fluffy pillows.

“Oh, the joys of technology,” I say, until I hear my mother’s voice in my head talking about how AI is going to steal my job like ‘Bo-Linda’ at Bojangles.

Never did I ever think an AI would take my drive-thru order, but it does and pretty accurately.

I don’t like it. The only people who like talking to robots are Gen Alphas and that man who made all them electric, self-driving cars.

After Mama told me I’d be jobless, she proceeded to say, “That’s why it’s good to have you a man.

Two people can make it out here. This life ain’t suitable for a woman to be going at it alone.

Women are supposed to have a man. We ain’t ‘sposed to be breaking our backs, worrying about where the next meal is coming from.”

That’s her take on things. My mother has never worked a day in her life.

Even after my father died, he left her enough money to live off of for the rest of her life.

So, yes, she can sit up here and talk about how a woman ain’t supposed to be working and all that, but I, for one, like paying my own bills.

It gives me peace and satisfaction. I don’t feel like I owe anybody anything.

I work for myself, and I ain’t got to worry about nobody’s happiness but my own.

My food comes in a dash. My pancakes are still warm and fluffy, too.

The restaurant even warmed the syrup, and the little butter packets don’t feel like they just got them out of the freezer.

I sit on my sofa in the living room, still pajamaed-up and watch some morning news program that caught my attention when they started talking about a parasite. Every summer it’s something new.

“Good thing I’m eating pancakes and not lettuce,” I say, and laugh to myself.

When my phone rings, I glance at the display to see ‘The Opps’ flash on the screen. Why the heck is he calling me? We’re separated. We have a mediator. Apparently, she isn’t mediating enough if he thinks it’s okay to call me like this.

I let it go to voicemail and continued enjoying my pancakes. In peace.

In the peace that doesn’t come with arguments. Or somebody’s stank attitude because I’m not giving them enough attention. Gosh, this is such a good feeling.

Two forkfuls in syrup heaven, my phone goes off a second time. Annoyed to the heavens, I answer, “Did anybody die?”

“Jeez, Nai. Good morning to you t—”

Who got time for the banter?

Not me.

My hang-up game is strong. I hung up so fast, I impressed myself, but my victory is short-lived because, once again, my phone is going off. With each ring, I can feel my blood pressure tick up a notch. What could he possibly want other than to annoy me? Guess there’s only one way to find out.

I swipe the little green phone icon, and before I can say anything, he says, “Don’t hang up this time.”

“What you want, Henny? I’m busy.”

He smirks. “Doing what? Eating pancakes in your pajamas?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know?”

“Actually, I do know. We were only married for what? Seven years.”

“Don’t remind me.”

“You’re cold.”

“And you’re annoying. What do you want?” I ask, swirling the pieces of buttery pancakes around in way too much syrup because I can.

Ain’t nothing wrong with a little sugar high this early.

It’ll keep me awake just long enough to wash clothes, organize my apartment before I crash for two hours. Saturday naps are the best. They—

“Hellooo?”

I’m so enchanted by these bomb pancakes, I forgot Hendrick was on the phone. He’s really starting to irritate me. Correction – he’s been irritating me. I’m just feeling it again…like a deep tissue pain that you can’t reach.

“What!” I snap.

“You didn’t hear what I just said?” he asks.

“No. The phone must’ve cut out.”

Translation: Ain’t nobody got time for that!

“I was asking you if you’ve checked your email today?”

What the what? Why are you concerned about my inbox?

“I ain’t checked nothing. I don’t work on weekends.”

“It’s a personal email—nothing to do with work.”

“So what? It’s still an email. I don’t work on weekends. And I could be wrong, but I thought I JUST SAID THAT.”

He sighs. “See…this is why we’re in therapy now.”

“Oh, look at you pointing the blame. So typical. How about we just skip therapy and cruise right on through to the divorce?”

“That’s what your mouth says. Your heart probably says otherwise, but how would I know? The thing is impenetrable—even more secure than the president’s bunker.”

“Well, at least I actually have one.”

He sighs again, followed by silence that tells me he’s more irritated than he led on the first time. “This is—we shouldn’t be like this, but whatever. Just check your email.”

“Did this—?” I look at my phone. “Did this fool just hang up on me?”

I shrug it off and walk to the kitchen to brew a single cup of coffee. Curious about his question, though, I open my email app to find a message from Dr. Hubert. This must be what he’s referring to because everything else in my inbox is either spam or newsletters, which I now regret signing up for.

To: Lanai Vaillant; Hendrick Vaillant

From: Dr. Whitney Hubert

Subject: Mandatory Reconciliation Retreat

Good morning, folks!

I hope this email finds you both doing well.

After several sessions with you two, it has become clear to me that the crux of your marital problems comes down to communication issues, long periods of separation (job, travel, etc.), and unresolved emotional distress.

At this stage in the reconciliation process, here’s what I think would be best for you both – a couples’ retreat!

This retreat is located at the beautiful Maui Spa and Resort in Hawaii.

This is an all-inclusive resort for your convenience.

Participation in this retreat is strongly encouraged before any further therapy sessions with me and dissolution proceedings.

Please take a moment to review the following requirements:

? You are expected to arrive in Maui next Saturday.

? Accommodations have been arranged. You will stay in a beautiful one-bedroom suite. Separate room requests will not be honored. That would defeat the purpose, right?

? You must participate in daily events including counseling sessions, trust rebuilding exercises, group therapy, and one-on-one sessions.

? Please note: Your cell phones will be taken by the retreat host to keep you focused on the task at hand - reconciliation.

You will get them back upon departure. I cannot stress this enough: You must attend and participate in all sessions.

At your earliest convenience, please return the participant agreement forms. Attached, you will find information about the resort, your travel itinerary, and the therapy schedule.

Remember, this is to help you two make better decisions regarding your marriage. I know this will serve to only make things better.

That’s all for now.

Regards

Dr. Hubert

Marriage & Family Counselor

“I know you freakin’ lyin’!”

Those words came forth from thy mouth after I had to suffer through this email, feeling sick the whole time I was reading it.

I’m sure this ridiculousness is optional, even though the doctor says our attendance is ‘strongly encouraged’.

I strongly encourage her to stay out of folks’ busted marriages.

Well, she can’t do that with her profession and all, but still – a couple’s retreat?

Really? Like the freakin’ movie (which was hysterical, by the way) but, no.

No! Absolutely not! Is this a joke? Has she not paid attention to our terrible sessions over the last four months?

We practically bite each other’s heads off while sitting on that springy sofa in her office, and she wants us to go on a retreat?

I’ma retreat right here in this apartment. The doctor is smoking something that rhymes with ack if she thinks I’m going anywhere with Hendrick Vaillant.

“Oh, she trippin’ real bad,” I say, and sip coffee.

I laugh out loud because there’s no way I can be anywhere near Hendrick. The hour sessions we have at Dr. Hubert’s have worn me thin and given me more stomach pain than my contracting uterus on period days. How am I supposed to endure a week in a one-bedroom suite with the enemy?

Oh, I know. I can’t if I want to maintain what little sanity I have left!

Taking my phone, I walk back to the sofa with my coffee and dial said enemy back.

He answers, “You read it?” before I can even say a word.

“Yeah. I read it and laughed, because surely Dr. Hubert done lost her FREAKIN’ mind, or is trying her hand at comedy because there’s no way I’m going on a toxic, tropical beach vacation from hell with you. I’d rather chew glass. You and her got me messed up.”

“Jeez, Nai. Can you try not to be bitter for like two seconds?”

“Bitter? I’m not bitter. I’m just done.”

“You’re done? You act like it was terrible living with me.”

“Yeah, that’s because it was! It’s not an act. It’s reality.”

“Well, I think being in Hawaii and doing this is the best thing for us right now.”

“A week alone with you? No, that’s not the best thing. In-person therapy is enough.”

“Apparently the doctor doesn’t think so. She’s the professional here—not you. And it’s Hawaii, Nai.”

“I don’t care if it was the freakin’ Cayman Islands.”

“You always—we’ve—always wanted to go to Hawaii.”

“Yeah, but you were always too busy. If I want to go to Hawaii, I can get there by myself. I have dreams and plans of traveling many places, solo.”

“Oh, like those women on social media who film themselves traveling alone to prove to the world they don’t need a man, huh?”

“They don’t.”

“You do. You can’t even read GPS right. I can see you now riding right up into a lake because GPS told you to keep straight when you were supposed to turn.”

“Shut up. That was one incident. And it wasn’t a lake. It was a—”

“Corn field,” he says, laughing.

Got him again. I want to laugh, but I’m too pissed to laugh right now.

He calls right back.

“What?” I answer.

A long, deep sigh buzzes through the line. Then he says, “You know what I think?”

“I don’t care what you think.”

Completely ignoring me, he says, “I think you’re scared to go because, if we do, you’re going to remember you still like me.”

“Boy, don’t make me dry heave!”

He chuckles. “We should do it.”

“We shouldn’t.”

“She said it was mandatory.”

“It’s not. She’s just big-pantying us, hoping we’d fall for it. Nothing’s mandatory when you grown.”

“I want to do it, Nai. I think it’s a good idea. We’ll be on an island. There will be witnesses.”

I stand up from the sofa and stretch because something about this irritates the crap out of me. Our marriage doesn’t work here. It’s supposed to magically work just because we’re in one of the boujee fifty states? Make it make sense.

And you know what else? While I show my disdain for Hendrick every chance I get, deep down, I still love the man.

How can I not? We had a life together. We planned a future.

And, when I’m with him, it’s not all bad.

He makes me laugh, and that’s one thing I’m afraid of.

Being in paradise will make us remember how we used to be.

How life was before it all got too hard.

Before the bills and the bickering. Before his chewing gave me brain spasms, and the way he left his shoes around the house had me feeling like his personal maid.

Hawaii won’t fix anything. It will be a facade. That, I don’t want because sometimes, when a relationship is over, it’s over. That’s just the way the cookie crumbles.

I can’t say anything further to this effect – well, I could, but why ruin my Saturday morning unnecessarily? I just hang up the phone, but shortly afterward, I get a text from Hendrick:

Hendrick: it doesn’t have to be a big deal, Nai. Just do it, go through the motions if you have to. What do you have to lose?

Lanai: uh…my sanity

I take another sip of coffee. I wasn’t going to respond. I really wasn’t, but he left me no choice.

Hendrick: you said you lost that a long time ago

Lanai: yeah, and since we’ve been separated, it’s slowly coming back…not trying to mess that up

Hendrick: okay, I get it. You don’t want me anymore. I’m the worst thing that has ever happened to you. Let’s just do this and put it behind us. Please.

Gosh, I really don’t want to…

But he’s trying to guilt-trip me, or is this gaslighting? Whatever it is, he knows he’s not the worst thing that has ever happened to me. And I don’t even believe that he thinks that I don’t want him anymore.

I just…

I want the peace I’ve created for myself being unlinked.

I want the space to think. I want my home to be a sanctuary without it being Hendrickfied.

But at the moment, I think I want what he wants – a chance to go to Hawaii to prove that we’re actually not good together.

Perhaps he’d see it, too. Ain’t no island saving this.