Authors: Brenda Grate
“I tried,” Emma said. “You know your father. He won’t change his mind.”
“I’ll talk to him.” Jen’s words were clipped, professional. She’d make an excellent attorney one day.
“What if I don’t want to stay in the house?” Emma cringed. She shouldn’t have said it. There’s no way Alan would change his mind about the house. She should have just let the inevitable play out and then she wouldn’t have to make a stand.
“What?” Jen asked. “You’re not serious, Mother.”
Emma peered through the shop window. She couldn’t see Connie anywhere. She’d have to deal with Jen on her own. She turned her back to the window and stared across the street at a small liquor store. Maybe she’d go over there after she talked to Jen. A drink would go down really well.
“Are you there?” Jen asked.
“Yes.” Emma breathed the word, her stomach churning. “The house is too big for me. There’s no point in keeping it when there isn’t a family living in it. I’ll get something smaller, but with room for you and Brad to stay when you visit. I know you aren’t happy about the divorce. Believe me, I’m not either, but we all have to deal with this.”
She waited for a response but only heard heavy breathing through the phone. Jen was preparing for an onslaught.
“I’m not a child, so don’t talk to me like one. I knew a long time ago that Daddy would divorce you. He never said anything, but it was obvious to me.”
How our children stab us in the heart so easily and don’t even care.
Emma leaned back against the shop window and tried to catch her breath.
“Of course I’m not happy about the divorce,” Jen continued. “But it happens. I just don’t think it’s right to take away our entire childhood without even considering our feelings. I think you should at least try and stop it.”
“Jen,” Emma broke in before she could launch into any more hurtful statements, “I’ve done all I can. I can’t stop your father. If you can’t, how do you think I could?”
“You’re his wife. You know him better than anyone. You should know how to stop him.” Jen’s voice was getting dangerously near shouting. It was exactly the same scenario that ended with a click in her ear the day before.
Before Emma could respond, the phone was lifted from her ear.
“Jen, what is going on with you?” Connie asked into the phone. “Don’t you know how your mom feels right now?”
Emma gave Connie a weak smile of relief. Connie scowled into the phone, but grabbed Emma’s hand in a quick squeeze of support.
“Dammit, girl, you need to think about someone besides yourself right now. You’re a big girl. Act like one.”
Emma couldn’t believe Connie got away with talking to Jen like that. It was probably the fact that she had the guts to do it that had Jen’s respect. Not even Alan stood up to Jen when she went on a tirade.
The conversation continued while Emma moved into the store. Her nerves couldn’t handle any more. She found an empty change room and slumped onto a stool, her back to the mirror. She slid the curtain closed and hoped to disappear for a long time, maybe forever.
She’d been only nineteen when they got married and already pregnant with Brad. She’d spent the next several years raising Brad and then Jen. She loved her children, but had never gotten over the regret of leaving school. She’d tried going to culinary school when the kids got a little older, but hadn’t made it more than halfway through before Alan pressured her to quit.
Emma leaned her head against the wall and closed her eyes.
What do I have to show for the years I’ve spent with Alan?
Most mothers claim their kids as their greatest achievement. Emma didn’t know if she could. Brad had pretty much raised himself and Jen refused to be raised by anyone but Connie.
So what have I really done with my life?
The curtain flew back and Connie’s outraged face poked in.
“There you are.”
Emma looked up at her, not bothering to hide the tear tracks.
“Did you calm her down?”
“Probably, but I’m not calm. That girl needs a lesson in reality. Sorry, Em. I’m just so angry at her right now.”
“I understand.”
Emma leaned her head back against the wall. Weariness overcame her. She could think of nothing more than being back in her bed so she could pull the covers over her head and shut the world out.
“Do you have any Valium?” she asked Connie.
Connie took Emma’s hand and pulled her to her feet. She placed a gentle arm around Emma’s shoulders and led her out of the store.
“Come on,” Connie said. “I’ll take you home. Want to watch
Pride and Prejudice
? I’ll pick up some wine.”
Emma pressed her head against Connie’s.
“Sure. That sounds nice.”
They had watched
Pride and Prejudice
, always the BBC version with Colin Firth and Jennifer Ehle, more times than she could count, but it never got old. Emma didn’t feel like watching anything other than maybe the flecks on her bedroom ceiling, but she went along with the plan. It would probably be good for her anyway.
In her present mood, it would be much better than going dancing.
Chapter 4
Emma struggled to keep her mind on the movie. It wasn’t boring her, but her mind just wouldn’t stay away from the events of the last several months. Especially the day Alan had called to her from the sitting room.
“Emma, come here,” he had said. “I want to discuss something with you.”
She’d been in the middle of preparing dinner, but she recognized his tone. She switched off the stove, slung a tea towel over her shoulder and sat on the chair opposite him. He held a drink in his hand and a stern look on his face. This would be no simple talk. Their lives were about to change.
Alan took a long pull from his drink then set it on the table beside his chair. Emma resisted the urge to ask him to use a drink coaster. He hated to be interrupted while he prepared a speech.
“I’m leaving,” he stated.
Emma stared at him, dumbfounded.
Her brain struggled to comprehend what he was saying.
Where was he going? On a trip?
She pushed back the truth, unable and unwilling to accept it.
“Where are you going?” she asked.
“Don’t be inane. You know what I mean. I’m leaving. Leaving you. We’re getting a divorce.”
Emma gaped at him. She saw the tea towel out of the corner of her eye and had the urge to snatch the towel and slap him across the face with it. She clenched her hands in her lap instead.
“Why?”
She couldn’t think of anything else to say. It was the only question, really. But how do you answer a question as big as the ocean, or even one as deep as a marriage bed?
Has any couple been able to answer that question?
“I’m bored.”
“What? That’s it? You’re divorcing me because you’re bored?”
Emma’s voice grew shrill. Alan winced. Even he must realize what an utterly stupid explanation it was.
But really, is there any other explanation? You can go down a list of reasons, but maybe it always comes down to boredom.
Emma watched her husband watch her, waiting for a reaction, anything. She realized in that moment why he was bored with her. She was too passive. Maybe she needed to throw something, scream, claw at his face. God knows he drove her to do all of those things, but she’d never done it. She’d always believed a good wife tolerated things and kept her mouth shut.
Did she believed the right things? Her father had died when she was small and her mother had been sickly and never remarried. They had little family, so Emma hadn’t seen many wives at close range, or husbands for that matter.
What do I do now?
“For fuck’s sake, Emma, say something,” Alan exploded. “Show me something more than a calm demeanor.”
She’d been right. She snatched the tea towel off her shoulder and whipped it across his face. She wished she could have a snapshot of Alan’s expression at that moment. She would have treasured it forever.
Emma slung the tea towel back over her shoulder and headed to the kitchen to finish dinner. There was really nothing else to say. Alan was bored. She had lived with him long enough to know that boredom was the death knell. If he became bored with a television show, he switched to a new channel. If he became bored with a company, he sold it. If he became bored with his wardrobe, he threw it out and sent her to buy new things.
So I’m like a suit. He’s going to throw me away and get something new.
Emma stirred the Alfredo sauce, resisting the urge to walk in the other room and upend the pan over Alan’s head. She kept telling herself she wasn’t boring.
What do I do that’s interesting?
There it was. She was a boring person, she just hadn’t realized it before now.
Emma couldn’t even cry. The shock, so great, had dried her into dust. With a small nudge, she’d crumble into nothing and blow away.
How do I become interesting?
“What? You are interesting,” Connie said with a chuckle.
Emma must’ve spoken out loud. She stared at the screen. Mr. Darcy was just being dressed down by Elizabeth for giving her such a shoddy proposal.
I won’t think about Alan’s proposal. He’s not boring at least.
“Sorry, Con. I was thinking out loud.”
“What were you thinking about? And why do you think you’re not interesting?” Connie paused the movie, turned sideways on the sofa, and placed the popcorn bowl between them.
“I was thinking about when Alan told me he was leaving. Did I ever tell you his reason?”
“No, but I imagine it was an interesting one.”
Connie’s upper lip pulled into a snarl. She had always hated Alan.
How cliché is that? Don’t best friends always hate the significant other?
“He said he was bored. By extension that meant I am boring.”
“That sniveling piece of—”
“Calling him names won’t help.”
“Oh yes it does. It helps me a hell of a lot. But I will resist for your sake.” Connie patted Emma’s hand and gave her a sympathetic look. “You’re not boring, Em. I hate him for saying that to you, but I’m more mad at you for believing him.”
“Connie …” Emma frowned.
“You’ve given too much of yourself away,” Connie continued. “When you married him, you made your whole life revolve around him and the kids.”
“That’s what moms do.”
“I know I’m not qualified to say, but I’ve known a lot of moms, especially my own, and I don’t think that’s what being a mom is. I think being a mom is having your own life and giving a large piece of it to your family, but not all of it. You’re not supposed to disappear inside your family. You’re supposed to be one of the walls.”
“So you’re saying I’m boring, too.” Emma groaned and let her head fall back against the sofa. “It’s true. I gave everything to my family and now that they don’t need me anymore, I’m nothing. Empty.”
Connie didn’t say anything, and Emma rolled her head toward her. She could see her struggling for words.
“It’s okay, Con. You can say it. I’m devastated, but softening the blow isn’t going to help me.”
Connie shook her head, her chestnut hair falling over one eye. “You’re quite amazing, my friend. Do you realize how strong you are?”
“Nope. I’m pathetic.”
“No, you’re not. You could be completely falling apart right now, but you aren’t. Sure, you’re beating yourself up, which you shouldn’t do, but I’d rather that than have you fall into more depression.”
“I can’t fall into a depression with you around. You won’t let me.” Emma pouted. “Truth is, I don’t know what I’d do without you. I cry myself to sleep every night and feel aimless every day. If you didn’t come over and make me put on my best mood for you, I don’t know what I’d do.”
Connie clicked her tongue, her way of showing disagreement when she felt choked up.
“It’s true.” Emma grabbed Connie’s hand and squeezed. “I really want to do nothing more than lock myself away in this house, but I can’t even do that. I have to pack and move …” Emma grew dizzy with panic at the thought. “What am I going to do?” she whispered.
Connie squeezed back. “You’re going to take it one day at a time. Maybe get a job?”
“A job? What would I do?”
“Come work for me at the restaurant. I need a sous-chef.”
“Oh, Con, you’re too kind. I don’t even have a diploma. How could I do that? I dropped out, remember?”
“So? You know how to cook, and you’re damn good. You’ve had all the practice you need as a mom. Besides, I’m the boss. I can hire whoever the hell I want.” Connie sat back and twisted her nearly waist-length locks into a bun and secured it with the elastic she always kept on her wrist. She would let her hair down and put it back up at least fifteen times a day. Emma had always been slightly envious of Connie’s gorgeous hair. Her own nearly black hair hung thick and wavy and nearly impossible to tame other than keeping it in her customary French twist. She kept it long but rarely let it hang loose.
“Thanks,” Emma said. “But I don’t think so.”
“Why not? Give me a good reason.”
“Well, for one, I don’t want to work for my friend. You’d never be able to tell me off if I did something wrong.”
“What makes you think I wouldn’t tell you off?”
Emma laughed. “I know you. It would have been different if we’d opened the restaurant together, with both of us equally proficient. Now I’d just feel like a charity case.”
“Then why don’t you go back to school? From what you told me, it sounds like you’ll have plenty of money for it.”
Emma stared at Connie, stunned. It hadn’t even occurred to her that she could take up her life where she’d left off when Alan entered it.
“Think about it, okay?” Connie said. “But keep in mind that you can do whatever you want now. I know you’re going to have to take some time to heal, but please promise me you won’t shut down. Allow yourself to resurrect your dreams or make new ones.”
Emma smiled, charmed by the thought of dreams. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d indulged in one.
“Now,” Connie said, “let’s finish this movie because I have to get back to the restaurant. Rick is covering for me, but I can’t stay away too long. Cat and mouse scenario and all that.”