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“So, she was mysterious?” I say.
“Yes, but not in a good way. People in a relationship should be open with each other,” Brad says.
I swallow my guilt. I told Brad that I dabbled in art. If he googled my name, he’d realize I’m a pretty well-respected artist. Then I remind myself that we’re not in a relationship, and I don’t need to be that open.
We’re both silent for a while, and then Brad speaks up. “What about your ex-husband, what sort of a man was he?”
“He was bat shit crazy,” I say with a slight chuckle. I can laugh about it now, even accept that staying in that marriage was a result of my own weaknesses. It’s a wonder what distance does to a person’s perspective.
“Why did you stay with him then?” Brad asks.
“Because I was weak and a fool,” I say and then shrug. “The truth is that I never once thought of leaving him. It never crossed my mind that I could survive without him. Stupid huh?”
Brad shakes his head. “Not stupid. It was just terrible luck that you ended up with a nasty person. He was the one who was stupid.”
His words create pinpricks of delight that race up my spine. Emotion spreads in my chest, and I’m a step away from crying. “Thanks.”
We move on from the emotional topics of our exes. I ask him about his previous week’s work, and he tells a few stories, but I notice that he doesn’t really delve into that. Perhaps it’s a privacy thing. I don’t mind. I just like the sound of his voice.
At six, we leave the pub, and every part of me feels relaxed. We head to Debbie’s to pick up Isaac. My cell phone vibrates from my handbag, and I fish for it when Brad leaves the car to walk up to Debbie’s door.
I can’t believe it when I see a text message from Clay.
Clay: Why did you go off without telling me?
Me: I don’t owe you an explanation, Clay.
Clay: You’re my wife.
I grind my teeth and force myself to be calm. What the heck is wrong with him? We have the papers to prove it, what else does he need to believe that we’re divorced?
Me: We’re divorced, Clay. I can go wherever I like, whenever.
Clay: I’m not losing you, Mila. I love you too much.
Me: This conversation is ridiculous. You already had me, Clay, and you lost me when you left me for Terry. Remember?
I watch the screen and wait. Silence. Relief surges through me. Maybe now he will leave me alone. Then my phone vibrates. I celebrated too early.
Clay: I like LA too.
My pulse races and my hands tremble. I bring the screen to my face just to be sure I’m reading correctly. Another text comes in as I’m staring at the previous one.
Clay: I’d like to sit on a bench and watch a baseball game.
I clamp a hand over my mouth. Don’t panic I tell myself over and over again. I look around wildly, and then I realize how ridiculous I am. Clay is not in LA, but somehow, he knows I’m here, and he knows I’d gone to a baseball game. There’s only one way he could have found out, and I can’t wait to get home to ask Jessica.
“Hi, Mila,” Isaac says as he enters the car.
“Hi, sweetheart,” I say and plant a smile on my face. “Did you have a good time?”
“It was the best,” Isaac says, bursting with enthusiasm, and he launches into a minute by minute narration of how the afternoon went.
I can barely concentrate, which makes me feel doubly guilty. I can feel Brad’s eyes on me as we go home. I try to act normal, but I guess he can tell that something is off with me. Right now, I just need to be alone to figure out this mess. I hate Clay, I really do. Why does he have to reappear in my life just when I’m learning to let loose and have a bit of fun?
At home, I excuse myself and tell Brad and Isaac that I’ll see them the following day in the morning. Isaac protests, but Brad places a hand on his shoulder.
“Mila needs her own space as well, son.” I can hear the hurt in his voice.
I’m sorry, my mind screams, but I really can’t be in their house right now. We had sort of made plans to spend the evening together, and Brad had whispered what he would like to do to me that night. I wave goodbye and hurry to my rented house.
As soon as I shut the front door, I speed dial Jessica’s number. I grip the phone as I wait for her to answer. She picks up on the fifth ring just as I’m about to lose hope.
