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Grace. With me. For more than just the weekend.
Calling her up without thinking twice about how it seems. Dropping by the tea shop, just to steal a kiss. Coming home to her, laughing over pizza and beers as we watch those British cooking shows she loves.
Coming home to her, not just for one night, but all of them.
The thought just about takes my breath away. And scares the fuck out of me, too.
What the hell are you doing?
I know where this kind of wishful thinking leads—and it’s straight to misery, heartbreak, and an unhealthy dependency on beer and day-old chicken wings. It took me long enough to scrape myself off the floor after my marriage to Rachel went down in flames. I’m back on top, everything going great for me, so why the hell would I willingly fuck it all up again?
Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice?
Well, that’s just my divorce lawyer laughing all the way to the bank.
I need to snap out of this haze of pre-wedding sentimentality, so I volunteer to grab up some more snacks, and head back towards the main lodge, hoping the fresh lake air will clear my head.
“Charlie!”
I stop dead on the trail. A familiar looking blonde woman is strolling with her date. Rachel’s cousin, she greets me with a polite smile. “Small world, huh?”
“Tiny,” I agree, thrown. “Uh, how have you been?”
The last time I saw her, it was for our final Thanksgiving before the split. Rachel and I had spent the day fighting before arriving at her folks’ place, and you could cut the tension with a knife. Now, Laurie nods at me the way you nod at a colleague you’re trapped in an elevator with. “I’m good. Busy, you know.”
“I know.”
There’s a pause.
“I saw the article about the bar,” Laurie finally says. “Congrats. I know you were always talking about opening it someday.”
“You’ll have to come by and check it out. Drinks on the house,” I say.
Laurie laughs, and cups her stomach, which I now notice has a tell-tale baby bump. “Not for a while, but I’ll take you up on that sometime.”
“Congratulations.” I offer.
“Thanks.” She beams, for real this time. “It’s all terrifying, but it helps that Rachel’s in the same boat. We’ve been trading notes on our morning sickness,” she says with a laugh.
Oh.
“Rachel’s… Pregnant?” I repeat slowly, the news somehow landing like an anvil.
Her eyes widen. “You didn’t know? Shit, I’m sorry.”
“No, it’s fine,” I insist quickly. “That’s… Great. I’ll have to reach out, send my best.”
“Sure. Right.” Laurie swallows. “Anyway, I need to find a restroom. Again! Good seeing you!” She and her partner hurry away, leaving me to process that particular bombshell.
My ex-wife is having a kid.
I bring up my phone and click through to her profile. I blocked her in the thick of the divorce for the sake of my sanity, and now I uncheck the boxes, and take a look at her new life.
New boyfriend. Beaming sonogram pics.
Engagement ring.
I exhale in a slow breath. She’s giving it all another shot, huh? Good luck to her. Staring at the pics, I don’t feel old resentments, or anger. After all, by the end of it, we parted on good—if exhausted—terms.
