8. Halloween
Chapter Eight
HALLOWEEN
My divorce becomes final on October twenty-ninth. Maybe because there are no children and very little left for us to fight over, the proceedings move faster than I ever imagined they could.
I expect relief and maybe even a triumphant feeling, but when I leave Dana’s office, I sit in my car and cry instead.
I don’t want Owen back, and I don’t regret my decision, but eleven years ending with paperwork and signatures is sad. I cry for the woman I was when I walked down the aisle, for the version of Owen I believed I married, and for the future I assumed I would have.
When I return to work, my newly-ex-husband is waiting outside the building, and he’s holding coffee.
He looks thinner, his hair is slightly too long, and his shirt is wrinkled. For eleven years, I made sure we had a dry cleaner. Apparently, Owen hasn’t found one.
“Can we talk?” he asks as I approach the building.
“I’m working.”
“Five minutes.”
When I glance at the cup, he holds it out. It’s iced vanilla coffee with a little cream. He finally remembers my actual order, and that makes me sadder than the pumpkin spice did.
“Thank you.”
He smiles hopefully. “Mel.”
“No.”
“I haven’t said anything.”
“I know.”
“I understand now,” he says. “I took you for granted.”
I wait.
“I thought because we were solid, I could screw up and we’d still be solid.”
“That isn’t how solid works.”
“I know.”
“I don’t think you did.”
“I do now.” He looks toward the office windows. “I’m sorry about Bree. I’m sorry about lying. I’m sorry I made you feel like you weren’t enough.”
I shake my head. “You didn’t.”
His eyes lift.
“You made me feel that way for a while, but that wasn’t the truth.” After a few long seconds of silence, I say, “The worst part wasn’t even the affair.”
His face tightens.
“It was the hallway.”
He closes his eyes.
“You watched me fall apart, and when I gave you one last chance to tell me the truth, you lied again.”
He looks at me again, eyes big and soft. “I was afraid you’d leave.”
“Yes.”
“I never wanted to leave you.”
I nod. “I know, but you wanted me to stay without giving me the truth I needed to decide whether I wanted to stay with you.”
His face crumples. “I loved you,” he says.
“I loved you too.”
He hears the past tense, and his gaze drops to the coffee. “So this is really it.”
“The decree was entered this morning.”
His face tightens. “My attorney told me. I’m sorry, Mel.”
“I believe you.”
“Is there really no chance?”
“No.”
He nods. His eyes shine, but I don’t rescue him from the silence. Eventually he steps aside, and I walk into the building.
The next evening is the office building’s annual Halloween gathering, an event Gary has planned with enough enthusiasm to suggest he believes corporate morale depends heavily on orange streamers.
There’s a fog machine, enough candy to feed an entire school district, and a twenty-five-dollar gas card for the best costume.
I almost skip it, but Dawn puts on a witch hat at four thirty and tells me I’m coming in a tone that makes it sound like an order.
I’m wearing black pants and an orange sweater, which I consider a sufficient contribution to the festivities. Mark comes downstairs in a dark suit.
I look him over. “What are you supposed to be?”
“A man forced to attend an office Halloween party.”
“Terrifying.”
“I worked hard on the costume.” He smiles, and his eyes stay on me a beat longer than they normally do.
“Divorce final?” he asks quietly.
“Yesterday.”
“You okay?”
“Yes.” When he gives me a look, I add, “Mostly.”
His expression softens. “I know the feeling. It’ll get better.”
For the next hour, I talk to coworkers, eat an impressive number of miniature peanut butter cups, and watch Nina win the costume contest dressed as a giant blue pencil. Eventually, Mark and I find ourselves near the back door with paper cups of cider.
“What?” I ask as he studies me.
“I’m reconsidering a previous policy.”
“Which one would that be?”
“The friends-only policy.”
My pulse skips. “Oh?”
“Can I take you to dinner now?”
I smile. “Now you can ask.”
“Dinner?”
“Yes.”
His smile is almost boyishly relieved, and it makes me like him even more.
We walk outside together after the party, and Mark stops beside my car.
“Saturday?” he asks.
“Saturday.”
Neither of us moves. I look at his mouth.
“Melanie.”
“Yes?”
“I’m trying very hard to continue being respectful.”
“I know.”
“That look isn’t helping.”
I laugh softly and step closer. “So stop trying.”
He gives me half a second to change my mind, but I don’t.
He leans in and kisses me, warm and unhurried, and when his hand settles lightly on my sleeve, I curl my fingers into the front of his coat and lean closer. Weeks of careful restraint finally have somewhere to go, and the realization sends a rush of heat through me.
When we separate, I’m breathing too fast.
Mark slides his hand further up my arm and squeezes gently. “Saturday.”
“Definitely Saturday.”
I drive home smiling, and realize the future finally feels like somewhere I want to go.