Still Fine at Forty

Still Fine at Forty

Dakota Madison

Special thanks to Shelby Rodriguez.

Her
feedback made this a much stronger story.

One

When the final bell rang, I was happy that another school year had come to an end. As much as I loved being a high school English teacher, the past year had been a rough one. I spent it trying to balance the challenges of a separation and divorce with the challenges of a demanding profession. I breathed a sigh of relief that I held it together as well as I had.

My ex-husband’s infidelity had completely decimated any confidence I had in myself as a woman, but I was somehow able to maintain my belief in myself as a teacher. Teaching was the one constant in my life, and had been for the past 17 years. It hadn’t always been. There was a time, my second year of teac
hing, when I thought that I had made a career-ending mistake. I was also a newlywed then and I felt like I had my marriage to sustain me if my career fell apart. Now, at forty, it was my marriage that had fallen apart and my career was the thing sustaining me. Funny how everything comes full circle.

My best friend and one of the school’s fine arts teachers, Melanie (Mel) Malone poked her head into my classroom. 

“I have a surprise for you,” she said.

I wasn’t sure I could take any more surprises. I had just found out that my ex-husband was getting married to the home-wrecking slut who destroyed our marriage. In what could have been the cliché to end all clichés, my ex left me for his 22-year-old TA (otherwise known as teaching assistant or tight-ass & perky boobs, as I often referred to her, when I did
n’t call her The Home Wrecker). Not that I was bitter. I just supported him financially and earned all of our household income while he was in graduate school. Then I supported him mentally and emotionally when he was a new professor trying to secure tenure. I made tremendous sacrifices so he could have a brilliant career, and in the end, The Home Wrecker ended up with the prize. And she did nothing to earn it. As soon as my ex became a superstar tenured professor, I was dumped like yesterday’s garbage when she batted a few eye-lashes his way. The Home Wrecker got everything I had worked for and I got to be a 40-year old divorcée.

“Earth to Jennifer,” Mel said as she walked over to my desk.

Mel and I met our first day at the state university over twenty years ago and we quickly became inseparable. Our classmates joked that we were the Jen and Mel show because we rarely left each other’s sides.

“What’s up,
Chica?” Mel gave me a look of some concern.

“It’s been almost a year,” I said.

“Have I told you how much better you are without him?” We both knew it was a lame attempt to cheer me up but I appreciated the sentiment.

“Every day,” I replied. But I still didn’t feel better. I still felt like the woman dumped.

“Here’s what we’re going to do.” Mel held up the brochure in her hand. “I booked us a Girls Getaway Package in Sedona.”

“I can’t go to Sedona,” I moaned.

“Too late. It’s non-refundable.”

I gave her a look of utter disdain. It didn’t
faze her one bit.

“And don’t give me that look,” she said handing me the br
ochure.

“What look?” I asked, trying to sound innocent.

“Your look of utter disdain. You know that shit doesn’t work on me.”

Mel was always the tough one. As a feisty redhead, she didn’t take any crap from anyone. If there was an opposite of me, Mel was it. While I was petite and perhaps cute, Mel was nearly six feet tall and rail thin. I had more of an athletic figure, even though I hated sports. I never ran a day in my life but people would always mistake me for a runner. Mel had beautiful green eyes and shampoo-commercial perfect hair. I had brown eyes and a mop of brown curls.

I grabbed the brochure from her grasp and glanced down at it.

The Sedona Mountainside Resort was apparently the perfect getaway for any occasion. According to the brochure, the five-star resort was the epitome of opulence and serenity nestled in Sedona’s renowned Red Rocks. Each suite boasted breathtaking mountain views. Not only was Sedona a romantic getaway (barf!) but it was also one of the Top 10 Girls Getaway Destinations.

“I don’t know,” I said. I still wasn’t convinced of the sanity of such a proposition.

Mel grabbed the brochure from my hands. “Look at this.” She pointed to a stunning photo of the acclaimed Red Rocks and read a sentence, “Sedona is considered the most scenic place in America with over 500 square miles of awe-inspiring beauty.” She looked up at me. “How can you possibly resist that?”

I frowned. She still hadn’t sold me on the idea.

“You know this is my way of getting you back in the saddle,” she said. “And I don’t mean horseback riding.
Although we could do that, too. Nothing wrong with a roll in the hay with a cowboy.”

I rolled my eyes at her.

There were several reasons why I hadn’t dated since the divorce. First was that I was scared. I met my ex-husband when I was a freshman in college. He was the only person I had ever dated seriously and we quickly became an exclusive item. We got married right out of college and that was it. The extent of my great love life was Rob. I wasn’t sure I even knew how to date and I definitely didn’t know how to date in the 21st century.

And even if I wanted to date, where would I meet someone?
A bar? A club? I didn’t even go clubbing when I was the appropriate age for it. I couldn’t imagine my 40-year old ass wagging to rap songs with 20-year olds.

I taught high school students all day and graded their papers all night. It wasn’t like I went anywhere but the supermarket and the occasional trip to a Big Box store. My only other regular activity was walking
Pugsy, my four-year old pug. I walked him a lot. But my neighborhood consisted of young couples in their starter homes and retirees on a fixed income. It’s all I could afford as a divorced high school English teacher.

I never told Mel that I’d tried an online dating website—once. I got a few replies from older gentlemen, balding and puffy; they looked kind of like doughboys. I didn’t find any of them attractive at all. Then I received an email from a decent looking guy, who looked promising, until I read his email. He and his wife
we’re looking for someone to join them in a threesome. I cancelled my account on the website immediately after that. 

“We leave on Friday,” Mel said. “We’ll be gone five days. You’ll need to get a sitter for
Pugsy.”

Pugsy
was one of the few things I actually got in the divorce. And I suspect that was only because The Home Wrecker doesn’t like dogs.

“Can you ask Lizzie to dog sit?” Mel asked.

I rolled my eyes.

“Your sister is such a royal bitch,” Mel continued.

“She’s a bit rigid,” I said trying to be nice.

“That says a lot coming from you.”

“I’m not rigid,” I fired back. Am I?

“Maybe not rigid, but you can be inflexible.”

“Isn’t that the definition of rigid?” I asked.

“Okay, then, Miss Flexibility. Are you going on this vacation or not?”

Peer pressure. Mel was good at it.

“You know I don’t have any money to spare. How can I po
ssibly go on week-long vacation? And to Sedona? That’s awfully ritzy.”

“This is my treat. You know my aunt left me a shitload of money and I have no one to spend it on.
Except you. So start packing, sweetheart!”

I was out of arguments. I guess I was going to Sedona.

***

Instead of driving right home, I took a detour to my sister, Lizzie’s house. Lizzie was an actuary. If you don’t know what that is, you’re not alone. The only thing I actually know is that she deals with numbers all day. As an English teacher, I deal with words. It’s just one of the many ways in which Lizzie and I are complete opposites. I hated going to her always spotless and perfect house, but I had no one else to watch
Pugsy.

I parked my Prius in the perfectly marbled driveway and hopped out. I took a quick peek under my car just to make sure nothing was leaking or dripping because if I dared to get one spot of anything on the driveway, I would never live it down.

As I made my way up her perfectly manicured walkway, I was careful not to accidently disturb a plant or brush one of the flowers because I would never hear the end of it.

Lizzie must have heard my nearly silent hybrid car pull up, or she heard my footsteps on the pathway, because she was already in the doorway when I arrived.

“What’s up?” she said with a tone that was less than inviting.

“Are you going to be busy the next five days?”

“What is it this time?” she sneered.

I took a deep breath before I ventured on. “I need someone to watch
Pugsy.”

Without responding, Lizzie turned and walked into her house. I followed. Her entire house always struck me as more like an Ikea showroom than an actual place to live.

When Lizzie turned back, she gazed down at my shoes. “You did wipe your feet, didn’t you?”

I held my tongue.  

My sister glared up at me. “Why do you even have a dog if you’re not going to take care of it?”

I’ve asked Lizzie to watch
Pugsy twice in four years. The first time I had pneumonia.

“
Pugsy’s a boy,” I managed to get out in spite of the overwhelming feeling of intimidation I was suddenly feeling.

Lizzie blinked at me as if she had no idea what I was saying. “You called him
an it,” I continued.

“
Pugsy is an animal. Don’t start with your anthropomorphism, please. I can’t take it.”

“Will you be able to dog-sit or not?” I was starting to feel the familiar frustration I felt with my sister every time we interacted.

“Where are you going?” she countered.

I weighed the idea of lying, but I knew Lizzie would be fur
ious if she caught me. Lizzie never lied. She always told the absolute truth regardless of how it made someone feel.

“Mel invited me to go to Sedona,” I finally admitted.

Lizzie scoffed. “What are the two of you going to do in Sedona? Wait, I take that back. I know exactly what Mel is going to do. But what are you going to do?”

“It’s a vacation, Lizzie. I’m hoping to have some fun. You may not have personal knowledge of the word, but I know you know what it means.”

“You and I just have different definitions of fun,” she said.

“I haven’t been on a vacation since Rob left me for The Home Wrecker. I think I deserve a little fun.”

“I heard she’s pregnant,” Lizzie stated coldly.

It took me a minute to register what my sister said. The Home Wrecker is pregnant? The news came at me like someone
had just kicked me in the stomach. It wouldn’t have been such a shock if I hadn’t spent nearly twenty years waiting for the day when Rob and I would have a child together. That day never came because he was too busy in graduate school in our 20s and he was too busy getting tenure in our 30s. Then when he finally became a tenured professor, I thought for sure our time had come. I guess his time with The Home Wrecker had come instead.

“I guess that means you didn’t know,” Lizzie said and I swore she grinned a little.

The room felt like it was closing in on me. Was I going to faint? All those years I wanted a child and I was told no. We have to wait, he said. The time just isn’t right, he said. We haven’t even been separated a year and he’s already having a baby with her?

I slumped into a stool at my sister’s kitchen counter. I was now 40 and my chances of being able to have a child were getting slimmer by the minute. Not to mention the fact that I was missing one important ingredient to even make a baby—my life was void of any men.

I finally shook my head in response to Lizzie’s question.

“Well, they didn’t waste any time,” Lizzie
snarked.

“How did you find out?” I managed to get out with my su
ddenly dry mouth.

“My boss plays golf with your ex. I guess Rob was answering phone calls from Megan, sorry, The Home Wrecker, throughout the entire round. My boss was furious.”

I was still stunned. Words completely escaped me, which is usually not a problem for an English teacher.

When I glanced at my sister, she actually looked like she had a note of sympathy on her eyes. She exhaled and said, “Fine, I’ll watch the dog for you.”

I managed a slight smile. “Thanks, that means a lot to me.”

“Let’s not get sentimental. I still expect to be paid.
Twenty dollars a day plus food.”

I nodded.
Sisterly love.

***

When I got home, Pugsy was waiting patiently at the door for me. He was such a good dog and a wonderful companion.

“Just let me get changed and I’ll take you for a walk.” I leaned down and gave my little guy a kiss on the top of his head. His tail nearly wagged off.

A few minutes later, we were doing our standard 30 minute walk around the neighborhood. Several of my neighbors stopped to pat Pugsy on the head, which he always loved. He was the type of dog that basked in attention. He gave them each a few wags of his tail in appreciation.