It struck me as kind of late, especially since she had to drive back, but I wasn’t going to point that out. She was trying to spend as much time with London as she could, but because I was still annoyed that I hadn’t had a chance to talk to London, I put my phone aside without responding. I didn’t text her back until almost two in the afternoon.
My run that morning was nearly eight miles and when I got home, I did a hundred push-ups. Only when I’d showered did my irritation begin to wane.
Liz put together a small recipe book of about fifteen recipes, most with no more than six different ingredients. Afterward, she showed me how to meal plan, and we went to the grocery store to stock up on everything I would need.
Though Marge and Liz would disagree, I nonetheless felt a bit like a third wheel, and after lunch, I hopped in the car and drove to the bookstore. I had never been a big reader, but I found myself wandering to the relationship section of the bookstore. There were a few shelves of books about coping with divorce and I thumbed through all of them before finally selecting a few. When I was checking out, I was sure that the clerk would read the titles before glancing at me with pity, but the teenage girl with pink hair behind the register simply scanned the books before shoving them into a bag and asking me whether I’d like to pay in cash or with credit.
Afterward, I decided to swing by the park, on the off chance that London would be there. If she was, I wasn’t sure whether I would intrude, but I wanted to see her. It occurred to me that I was behaving like an addict who was suffering from withdrawal, but I didn’t care.
When I got to the park, there was no sign of Vivian and London. I pulled in anyway. With the temperatures cooling off a bit this weekend, there were more kids there than usual. I took a seat on the bench and opened one of the books. I began to read, at first because I thought I should, but after half an hour, because I wanted to.
What I learned was that Marge, Liz and Emily had been right. Though it may have felt otherwise, what I was going through wasn’t unique. The emotional swings, the self-blame, the circular questions and sense of failure were par for the course when it came to most divorces. But reading about it, as opposed to simply hearing it, made it seem more real somehow, and by the time I finally closed the book, I felt a little better. I thought about returning to Marge’s, but instead I spotted a boy who resembled Bodhi and I reached for my phone.
When Emily picked up, I rose from my seat, inexplicably nervous. I walked toward the fence that lined the perimeter.
“Hello?”
“Hey there,” I said. “It’s me, Russ.”
“What’s going on? You doing okay?”
“I’m fine,” I said. “Just missing London and had to get out of the house. How are you doing?”
“About the same. David and Bodhi are at the movies right now. I think they’re going out for pizza later. Which means that I’ve been staring at my paintings again.”
“Have you deciphered the whispers yet?”
“Working on it. What have you been up to today?”
“I ran eight miles. Felt pretty good, too. I hung out with Marge and Liz, went to the bookstore. Now, I’m just killing time and thought I’d call to say thanks for yesterday.”
“My pleasure. I had a great time,” she said.
I felt a strange sense of relief at that. “How was dinner with your sister last night?”
“She and her hubby had been arguing before I got there. Though they kept it mostly in check, I still noticed a lot of glaring and heard more than half a dozen deep sighs. It was kind of like a stroll down memory lane, what with David and all.”
I laughed. “That sounds awful.”
“It wasn’t pretty. But Jess called this morning to apologize. And then, right after, she launched into yet another story about how Brian seemed intent on antagonizing her.”
We continued to chat while I circled the park, and more than once, I caught myself smiling. I had forgotten how easy Emily was to talk to, how intently she listened, and how freely she volunteered information about herself. She never seemed to take too much too seriously, a trait she had always possessed but now felt seasoned by maturity. It made me wish I could be more like her.
After forty minutes, we finally ended the call. Like yesterday, the time seemed to pass effortlessly. As I walked back to my car, I wondered why Vivian and I hadn’t been able to talk with the same ease, and by allowing her name to slip into my consciousness I felt another burst of frustration that I hadn’t been able to speak to London. Preventing my daughter from talking to her mother was something I’d never done, not since Vivian had walked out the door. Emily, I thought to myself, would never do something like that, and as I slid into the car, I found myself thinking about how naturally beautiful Emily was – no makeup masking skin with a slightly olive undertone, no expensive highlights or collagen fillers.
She was more beautiful now, I thought to myself, than she’d been when we’d dated.
Emily, I realized, had sounded happy to hear from me, and I couldn’t deny that it made me feel better. People pleasing is best when it happens easily, after all, and where I constantly felt like I was struggling to please Vivian, it seemed that with Emily, all I had to do was be me, and that was more than enough.
And yet, as much of a distraction as Emily had been, I hadn’t been lying to Marge or Liz. As an old friend – and an attractive one at that – it was understandable that I’d enjoyed spending time with Emily and it probably made sense that I’d called her. I felt comfortable with her, just as I always had. What it didn’t mean was that I was ready – or even interested – in a relationship. After all, healthy relationships required two well-adjusted people, and at the present time, I wasn’t enough for her.