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Prologue
Tyra
One YearEarlier
“I’m doingthe right thing, right?” I ask my best friend, Celeste, for probably the eighteenth time since this date has been set. Von, my four-year-old, is currently at daycare. His father, well, that’s the entire reasoning as why I’m questioning that this is what I should do.
“Tyra, only you can answer that question. I hate like hell you’re going through this and that you won’t even let me come to at least hold your hand.” That’s Celeste for you—there no matter what, even if I’m second-guessing myself.
“I tried, God, I tried my hardest. It’s not like Mace would even go to counseling.” I’m defeated—there’s no two ways around it—emotionally and mentally at my wit’s end. That’s why, a month ago, I tossed in the towel after two years of basically being a roommate to my own husband and called an attorney. There was only so much begging, pleading, and crying a person could do without losing their own self-worth.
“You did, Tyra, don’t doubt that. Right now, it’s about you and Von. That’s all it can be about.” More people need a friend like Celeste. Sure, my parents are amazing, and I’m talking beyond terrific, taking Von when I’ve had an appointment that wouldn’t work around his daycare schedule, helping me move out of what was our home and into the smaller two-bedroom condo we moved into a week or so ago, finally getting situated, albeit sparse because there wasn’t a single thing I was adamant about taking. A fresh start was what I wanted, even if that meant hitting thrift stores and garage sales, repurposing furniture in the form of sanding, staining, or painting. That’s what I did, well, minus Von’s bed. That came brand new. Safety was a concern, and not having something rigged in case my rambunctious toddler decided to be a monkey and jump on the bed.
“I know it’s the only thing to do, but the gaping hole in my chest is making me think otherwise.” I never wanted to be that statistic, the sixty percent of married couples ending in divorce, and maybe that is partly my fault. I wanted what my parents have, to be totally and completely in love with my husband the way my mom is with my dad. The dancing in the kitchen while cooking, Von coming between us or making gross noises because we’re kissing, that’s all gone now, and I’m not sure I’ll ever have it again.
“That’s it. I’m meeting you at the courthouse. No friend of mine is doing this alone. Then we’ll go out afterwards, and you can get rip-roaring drunk. In fact, stay where you are. I’ll swing by and pick you up.” I hear the keys rattling in the background and know Celeste won’t take no for an answer unless I buck the fuck up.
“Celeste, I’m okay, really. I’ll call you when the papers are signed, but I think this is something that needs to be done alone. If you could call my parents and ask if they’ll take Von after daycare so we can grab a drink, that would be awesome.” I’m attempting to put on a fake game of pretending to be okay when inside the walls are closing in.
“Consider it done. I still don’t like that you’re doing this without me. Is Mace going to be there?” Celeste asks the million-dollar question. I’m sitting in my car after arriving at the courthouse early, wanting to be out of the house and away from myself even though that’s not entirely possible.
“He waived that right. Mace is a complete and total stranger to me. I’m just surprised he still sees Von at this stage in the game.” Our beautiful boy—dark hair, tanned skin, lips the exact same color of his father’s, and the only thing he seems to get from me is our matching green eyes. There are times I look at him and see Mace staring back at me when he was little, like in the picture his mom shared with me, and I see the beauty in everything his father gave him, down to the dimple on the right side of his cheek. Other times, my heart aches so badly knowing that what Mace and I had is completely obliterated.
“Shit, maybe this will give him a swift kick in the ass. After you’re done with the heavy stuff, text me. I’ll pick you up from your place, and don’t worry; Von will get taken care of, too. This afternoon, it’s time for you to lick your wounds while licking the salt off your hand before sucking down as much tequila as it takes to get you through the day, okay?”
“Just so long as you’ll hold my hair when the time comes.” Tequila doesn’t make my clothes fall off like the country song says it does to certain people. What it does to me is give me a killer hangover in the form of throwing up, sleeping on the bathroom floor at one point, and waking up with a headache from hell. Apparently, I’m a glutton for punishment, and Celeste will be there right along with me.
“Oh, I’ll be there; don’t you worry your pretty little head. In fact, we’ll hire a car so we can both collapse as soon as we’re in for the night. Now, head up, shoulders back, and knock ‘em out, tiger. The sooner this shit’s done, the sooner you can start moving on,” Celeste states. As I’m waiting for the clock on the dash to change for me to make my way into the building, I’m people-watching as they come and go, wondering why they’re there and if I’m one of the many who are here to do the same thing.
“I can do this. Love you lots. I’m going to head inside. Their air conditioning is cheaper than running my car out of gas,” I reply.
“Good idea. Love you, Ty.” We hang up. I turn my car off, take the key out of my ignition, grab my purse, and throw my phone into the monstrosity I use as a purse along with a diaper bag even though my son is potty trained. Now, I use it for a change of clothes, a snack or two, wipes because he’s a boy and has a tendency to get messy, and a couple of bottles of water. I’m stepping out of my car and straighten my black cotton T-shirt-style divorce dress, jean jacket that will have me sweating in a few minutes if not seconds, and stylish sandals. After today is said and done, this outfit will either be retired or donated. No woman needs to keep something to remind her of the day she signed her divorce papers to a man she’s still hopelessly in love with. I’m such a fool. After today, I’ll be a single fool at least.
ONE
Tyra
Present Day
Here I am,once again questioning if I’m sane or not. Nobody has to answer that; the proof is in the pudding. The mirror in front of me shows that I’m clearly trying too hard, and why I thought agreeing to a blind date when I know with every depth of my being that I’m not ready confirms that.
“Mom, I don’t want to leave the house tonight. Why can’t you stay home with me?” Von interrupts my inner monologue, inadvertently giving me an out as well. Except I can’t, right? I could text the guy my now ex-in-laws set me up with, cancel, and then call Von’s grandparents and do the same. The relationship I have with James and Leah is amazing. They saw what was happening between Mace and me, the toll it was taking on not only me, but on their grandson as well. His parents have stepped up to the plate in a way they should never have had to, picking up Mace’s slack caused by own selfishness.
“I can stay home. I know grammy and grampy were looking forward to having you tonight, though. Are you sure staying home is what you want to do?” Selfishly, I hope Von says that’s what he wants. I’m even crossing my fingers that things go my way.
“Well…” He pauses to come up with the right words. “Do you know if they have my favorite ice cream?” His eyebrows are at the roof of his hairline as he considers the prospect that they’d have anything less than what he likes. I swear they ask him each and every time before he comes over on what should be Mace’s weekends.
“I think that’s a silly question. Don’t they always have all of your favorites?” Which they do, down to the toys. Von is the only grandchild on both sides of our families, the apple of their eyes, and can do no wrong. I get it because I think pretty highly of my not-so little boy.
“Fine, I’ll go, but pick me up early tomorrow morning, please?” he begs. I planned on doing that anyways, seeing as how I have a rare Saturday off. The spa I work at is open six days a week. Having two days off consecutively is like winning the lotto.
“What are you scheming for our Saturday? I thought we could get up, scrub the house, go grocery shopping, and then maybe hit up the park?” His little nose scrunches up until I get to the part about the park.
“Okay, pick me up after the boring stuff. You look really pretty, Mom. Are you going out with Auntie Cece?” Always the inquisitive one with questions galore along with a compliment. One day, he’ll make a woman very happy.
“I’ll do that. It won’t be too early though. Unless you want to help scrub toilets?” I’m trying to veer him away from the path of asking too many questions about the reason I’m dressed up instead of the scrubs I wear to work or the jean shorts and tank top I’m usually in when not at work.
“Does anyone really want to scrub toilets?” Von answers me.
