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I look down at my keys, running a fingertip along the edge of the rough metal. “I wasn’t planning to tellanyone.”
“You really thought we would judge you, sweetheart? Everyone makes impulsive decisions sometimes. That doesn’t make them mistakes.”
I huff a laugh. “Well, my impulsive decision was definitely a mistake.”
“I wouldn’t be so sure.”
“I’msure, Mom.”
“Hannah, you’ve never jumped impulsively into anything in your life. That you did means something.”
“I think you’re seriously underestimating the effect of a few martinis.”
She shakes her head. “Your father and I will always support you, sweetheart. If ending this marriage is what you really want, then that’s what you should do. But at least let usmeethim! He’s your husband!”
“Mom, he lives in New York. He’s busy. I can’t just ask him to drop everything and fly here in a few days.”
“Not even to meet hisin-laws?”
“I’m not—it’s not—we don’t have that kind of relationship. We’re getting divorced!”
“Your father said you’ve been dating this man for a few months. He’s never asked to meet your family?”
The dig of metal into my skin is painful at this point. I force my fingers to unclench the keys before I draw blood.
This is why you don’t lie. Because the twist of the truth complicates it. When I saw my father’s stunned, worried expression, all I could think about was getting rid of it as soon as possible. Marrying a guy I was dating sounded a little bit better than marrying a guy I’d known for a matter of hours. But now, I can see where that was a massive mistake.
“We were dating casually.”
She tucks a piece of hair back into her blonde bob. “You’ve always been an excellent judge of character. I trust anyone you chose to get involved with is someone special.”
Maybe it was a mistake, not allowing my parents to see the messiness in my life up until now.
I’ve shielded my parents from my disastrous love life, in particular, because their marriage is such an aspirational one. As most of my friend’s parents got divorced, I heard over and over again how lucky I was my parents were steady and solid.
“Rachel, April, and Eddie are all coming over for dinner on Saturday night. Hopefully you’ll be able to join us too. With a special guest.”
I don’t need to ask who I’m supposed to be bringing. “I’ll ask him, Mom. No promises.”
The last time I saw my mother look this thrilled was when she found out her first grandchild was on its way. “Wonderful.” She beams. “The weather this weekend is supposed to be gorgeous. Hopefully, we’ll be able to barbeque.”
“He has an important job, and it’s last minute and a long way to come for just a weekend.”
I call out as many excuses as I can think of after my mom’s retreating back. Her car is parked along the curb, almost to my neighbor’s hedge.
Her only response is a wave. “See you Saturday, sweetheart!”
I swear under my breath before stomping into the house.
She’s certain Oliver will show up, and I share none of that confidence.
I can’t even imagine asking him. I went into this divorce intent on not askinganythingof him. To make it quick and painless and cordial, like snipping a string.
That’s all that’s tying me and Oliver together: a piece of paper we both signed during an alcohol-induced bout of insanity.
It’s bad enough he sent me a text reminding me to get an attorney, which I still haven’t responded to. Now I’m going to have to be the one to renege on mylet the lawyers talksuggestion, call him, and ask for a favor.
Once inside, I change out of my work clothes into a pair of leggings and a t-shirt. Hair up in a messy ponytail, I pad into the kitchen to survey the contents of my fridge. I’m an experimental cook, the kind who buys random ingredients at the store based on what sounds good at the time and then has to cobble them together into some semblance of a meal.
