Page 1 of 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.”