Hard Choices (3 page)

Eventually, Robert and Alan prevailed on Molly to take their help and go to college. That’s where she and I had met – not realizing at first that each other’s son was the boy our own son was inseparable from at school. It was a happy serendipity, and she and I had become, and stayed, best friends.

I wasn’t surprised when I got a lunchtime call from Molly, who taught high-school science.

“Hi-Molly-do-not-ask-me-if-I-am-OK-or-I-will-lose-my-
mind,”
gushed out in one breath when I answered the phone. She’d checked up on me about six times the day before, and I knew she was anxious.

“I take it that means you’re OK,” she said dryly. “Listen, I know you were with your kids all day yesterday, so how about some beer and pizza tonight? Just us girls.”

“That sounds great, Mol,” I smiled into the phone. “You know what? It’s only been three days, and you, Robert and Alan have all reinforced for me what amazing friends I have. Thanks,” I said sincerely.

“You get whatcha give, girl,” she said knowingly. “OK, I’ve got a kid who needs some help, but I’ll come by tonight around six?”

“Perfect. See you then.”

***

That night after work, I walked in the door of my empty house and reveled in the silence. Sure, I’d had a bit of empty nest syndrome at first, but in the five months since Danny had left, I’d kicked up my running, finishing my first marathon that past fall. I’d read books I’d been meaning to read for years. I’d watched movies that had been in my queue since I couldn’t remember when. And I’d enjoyed a social life with my friends that I hadn’t pursued when Danny still lived at home. Our house had been the hangout, so I had liked to be around in the evenings. We usually had at least one or two extra kids for dinner – Danny’s friends, his string of girlfriends (none of them serious, thank god) – and I’d enjoyed the youthful energy that had filled our house.

Once Danny was gone, and it was just Scott and me, I’d found myself bored and craving more stimulating company. So I’d gone off in my own direction, enjoying running races, going to concerts, the theater, and wine tastings with a wide circle of friends… while Scott went four-wheeling and snowmobiling and other things I had tried years ago and had no interest in.

I was proud of myself for being an adult. I wasn’t playing the victim. I wasn’t decrying Scott’s infidelity. I wasn’t being a hypocrite. Scott and I had been over long before Sarah came on the scene. I honestly could not remember the last time Scott and I had kissed, let alone been intimate. It wasn’t as though he was romancing her, then coming home to me looking for sex and companionship. We’d been little more than cordial friends for years now. Once Danny had moved out, we’d barely classified as roommates.

It was hard to regret Scott finally moving out and moving on.

I walked into my bedroom – now, truly
my
bedroom – and I heard a knock and then Molly’s voice calling out, “Pizza delivery! And booze!”

I laughed and called back, “Be right there! Getting my PJs on!”

I stripped down, sighing with relief as my bra came off. Damn, that felt good every single night. My C-cups hung lower than they had before three kids and 41 years had passed, but they weren’t bad in a good bra. I slipped on my favorite drawstring pajama bottoms and a soft cotton top.

I came down the hall, into the living room, to find that Molly, god bless her, had already opened two bottles of beer and had two plates of pizza ready to go.

“You know I’ll have to run this off tomorrow, right?”

Molly worked out just enough to “keep the flab monster at bay,” as she put it, so she was careful about what she ate. I knew I’d end up with pizza in my fridge for breakfast.

“Wah. Now sit. I’ve got to tell you about this kid in my class…” and she and I slipped into conversation as easily as we ever had. Some things, mercifully, never change.

We were laughing and working our way through our second beer an hour later when we heard the front door open and close. We looked at each other quizzically. “Hello?” I heard Scott’s voice call out.

Molly and I locked eyes, guiltily eying our pizza and beer party. Then I whispered, “Wait a minute – why are we acting weird? We’re not doing anything wrong!”

“You’re right!” said Molly emphatically. “Hey, Scott! We’re in the living room!” Scott came up the stairs of our split-level ranch into the living room. A blast of January air came with him.

I’d never loved this house, or the layout of it, but it hadn’t been a bad place to raise the kids. Even with all the extra teenagers underfoot, we’d always had plenty of room. All the bedrooms were upstairs, and the living room had sort of defaulted to becoming my personal sitting area – it was a little more formal, a little more chic, than the rooms where the kids hung out. I suddenly realized that I couldn’t come up with a single memory of just me and Scott hanging out in this room.

“Uh, hi, Molly,” he said sheepishly, running his hands through his thinning hair. I’m sure he expected the Wrath of the Best Friend of the Wronged Wife. Boy, was he in for a surprise.

“Hi, Scott,” Molly used the tone teachers usually reserved for misbehaving, but still endearing, nine-year-old boys. “How are
you
? How’s your
new place
?” she continued, almost like she was talking to someone either really young, or really old and senile. I gave her a weird look, but didn’t say anything. I was sincerely hoping she wasn’t just winding up to throw Scott a curveball. I hopped up off the couch.

“Hi Scott,” I said evenly. “What’s up? Are you here to pick up some more stuff?”

“Well, uh, I was hoping we could talk.”

Now I was a little irritated. He was already invading my space. “Um, OK… Listen, from now on, why don’t we always plan on calling each other first?”

“I
did
call you, three times. And texted. You never answered.” I hadn’t checked my phone in the last couple of hours. I’d finally answered all three kids’ texts, with “
Yes, I am really, really, REALLY OK. Promise. Good night,”
then put my phone away.

“OK,” I said slowly, “Then let’s say that, before either of us drops by, we make sure we’ve actually
talked
to each other, and it’s a good time. How’s that? Deal?” I smiled to take the sting out of my words.

“Sounds totally fair,” he nodded. “So then, is now a good time?”

“It’s fine,” I turned to Molly. “That’s cool, right? Were you planning to head out anyway?” Molly was not a late-night person. Always got plenty of sleep, and had to be at work by 7:30.

“Yeah, I am, actually,” Molly unwound her legs from the couch and stood up. Giving me a quick hug, she looked at Scott, then hugged him, too. He was so startled, he almost forgot to hug her back. “I don’t hate you, you idiot,” she said to him, playfully slapping him upside the head. “Hey, at least you waited until after the holidays. That was thoughtful,” her sarcasm went right over Scott’s head.

“Really? Thanks, Molly. I’m… I’m glad to hear that,” Scott sounded mystified.

“Call me tomorrow, Lyssa!” Molly called as she disappeared down the half-staircase to the front door.

“Sure thing. Drive carefully!” I called back. I heard her slip on her snow boots and her coat, but I waited until I heard the door close behind her before I turned to Scott.

“So, what’s up?” I asked.

“Uhh, I just… I mean… I don’t…” he stammered uncomfortably. “Lyssa, I feel like such a dick.”

“You talked to the kids?” I asked knowingly.

He nodded.

“Next time you get a divorce, are you going to splash it all over the internet before talking to your children?” I asked, like I was talking to one of our sons after he’d tried to warm up the turtle in the dryer, or something equally idiotic.

He shook his head, looking just like Kyle or Danny caught in the wrong.

“Then I think we’re good,” I said, not entirely honestly, but I wasn’t willing to share my feelings with Scott, either. I picked up the beer bottles and headed toward the kitchen. “Is that it, Scott? Was there anything else besides social media remorse?” He didn’t laugh. He never laughed at my jokes. Another huge part of our problem.

“Aren’t you… aren’t you mad at me?” he asked incredulously.

I sighed, “I know I’m supposed to be. I know that I’m supposed to feel betrayed and everything,” I shook my head, “but honestly, I just can’t muster up that much emotion.” I paused. “That sounds horrible, doesn’t it?” I asked.

“I don’t know,” he ran his hands through his hair again. “All I know is, I screwed shit up with my kids.” Typical Scott. Couldn’t really see past his own emotions. Not talented at empathizing.

“Yeah, you did,” I nodded. “They’ll get over it, though. You’re a good dad, Scott,” not a
great
dad, I thought, but where was the sense in stating cruel truths? “And they’re already halfway convinced that I really am OK – better than OK. And that will go a long way toward them getting over your Facebook eff-up,” I chuckled. Scott didn’t.

“You’re better than OK?” Scott asked, surprised.

“What did you expect?” I asked, genuinely curious.

“I… I don’t know,” he said honestly.

“Well, I think that’s 90% of our problem, don’t you? We truly don’t know each other anymore,” I said, a little sadly.

“No. No, I guess we don’t.”

We both stood for a moment, staring in opposite directions, lost in our own thoughts. I had no idea what he was thinking, and sadly, I realized, I honestly didn’t care. Our marriage had run its course. And it was ending not with a bang, not with a whimper, but with a handshake and an honest expression of “best of luck on your new adventure.”

“So, do you need to pick some stuff up, or…?” I finally asked.

“Well, I wanted to talk to you because – I’m sure you already know this, working for an accountant and all – but a divorce in Idaho only takes about a month. I’d like to get the ball rolling as soon as we can,” he said tactlessly. Oh well. It was what I wanted too, so no use in pretending.

“That’s a good idea. First step is for us to list all our assets. Let’s do that separately. Just list the things you want to keep – “

“You can have the house,” he said suddenly. “I just want all my, you know, toys,” he chuckled nervously.

I shrugged. “That sounds fair to me. We’ll each keep our own car, we can split the furniture and stuff like that.”

“Oh no. Sarah wants our own stuff. I – “ he stopped suddenly, looking terrified. I couldn’t help but laugh.

“Scott, if you say her name in front of me, I will
not
put a hex on her. Promise.” He laughed nervously again. “It’s fine. I promise. Look, tomorrow, I’ll find the name of a good divorce mediator here in town. No need for us to piss away good money on lawyers’ fees,” I waved my hand dismissively. “We can figure this out, and be fair.
I
trust us to do
that
. Do you?”

He nodded. “Yeah, we’ve always been reasonable, haven’t we?”

“Yes.” I stuck out my hand, “Let’s shake on it. We agree to be reasonable through our divorce.”

“Deal,” he shook my hand back. I noticed an utter
lack
of any electrical current. Shaking hands with my husband of twenty-two years, I might as well have been grabbing the bannister. Yeah, we were definitely making the right decision.

For the next few months, I adjusted to my new, independent life. Truly having my own space. Constantly reassuring my kids that yes, I really
was
OK. Mostly, though, I just enjoyed being alone.

I realized something I had never given any thought to before: I really didn’t
need
a man around. Scott used to plow the driveway. With him gone, I just hired a neighbor to plow and shovel me out. When my sink stopped up, I watched how-to videos online and fixed it myself. I found that ridiculously empowering.

With the help of Alan, Robert, Molly and J.J., I re-decorated the house to my tastes. Not girlie-girl, but me. My room and my bathroom were truly officially mine now, although Scott had moved out of them months before he moved out of the house (claiming that he was worried his snoring was keeping me up). New towels, new paint, new everything, and it finally felt like
mine
.

New linens and new paint in the bedroom weren’t quite enough: I bought all new furniture
and
a new bed. I carefully stored all the furniture in the garage, though. It was good quality, and I figured it was possible that my kids might want it someday.

Scott had been sleeping in what had been Kyle’s room, but I left the kids’ rooms alone. I also left the family room downstairs as it was. I wanted to claim my space, but I didn’t want to bulldoze over my kids, either. People kept asking me if I was going to sell this big house (four bedrooms
is
a lot for one person), but I was in no rush. We’d owned it so long, it wasn’t expensive, and in the back of my mind, I saw it filled with grandchildren at Christmas one day. I liked that thought.

Despite Scott’s declaration that Sarah wanted all new things for their new place, I had prevailed upon him to take his hideous recliner. He’d resisted until I’d finally said bluntly, “If you don’t want it, I’ll just take it to the dump.”

I discovered something else really interesting: without Scott around, I had a lot more money to play with. We’d split our cell phone bills, our car insurance, and everything else – but somehow, he’d always needed something to “tide him over between paychecks.” And my grocery bill had dropped significantly. When I did my bills after he’d been gone a solid month, I couldn’t help smiling to myself a little. I sure hoped Sarah had a good job; she’d need one to keep Scott in the style I’d gotten him accustomed to.

Kyle stopped by one day as I was finishing up painting the kitchen. I heard the front door open and a call of “MOM!” It kind of irritated me. I was going to start locking the door. I really was enjoying my privacy. One of the many advantages of living alone was taking long, hot baths with a glass of wine and a good book, and I didn’t relish the thought of my grown children bursting in on me.

“Kitchen!” I called back to Kyle.

It took him much longer to get to the kitchen than it should have.

“Kyle?” I finally called, climbing down off the ladder where I was painting.

“Yeah. Wow, big changes around here,” he said hesitantly, as he came around the corner into the kitchen.

I internally rolled my eyes. “Don’t worry,” I said a little sharply, “your room and the family room remain untouched, OK?”

“No, Mom, I didn’t mean – “ I stared at him, one hand on my hip, paint roller in the other, and waited for him to tell me what he
did
mean. “I just… I guess… it’s just weird to me how happy you and Dad both are,” he blurted out. “You were married
forever!
Don’t you guys miss each other at all?” he said unhappily.

I put my paint brush down and picked up a rag to wipe my hands. It was a delay tactic, because I was about to tell my son something he did not seem to want to hear. I took a deep breath.

“I can’t speak for your father, but as for me, no, Kyle, I don’t miss your dad. At all.” I looked him dead in the eye as I said it, expecting to see hurt turn to anger. Instead, it just turned to confusion.

“How… how is that possible? Mom, I still miss Amber every day!” Oh. Now it made sense. He was equating his painful break-up with his girlfriend to the dissolution of his parents’ marriage. I nodded my head knowingly.

“Ahhh. I think I see now,” I said. “Would you like a cup of coffee, sweetheart?”

“Uh, sure.”

“Have a seat,” Kyle sort of collapsed into a chair at the kitchen table, dropping his head into his hand and looking up at me. He looked so young when he did that! I could remember him at five years old, giving me that same look here in this kitchen, when he was confused and upset over some painful life lesson. “Kyle,” I turned around to pour him a mug of coffee, “what was the most painful thing about how things ended with Amber?”

He sighed and took the cup from me as I handed it to him. “I think… that it ended so abruptly. It was so out of the blue. One day, we were making plans for seeing each other every weekend while she was down at school, suddenly, the next day – literally the next day – she told me it was over and she wanted to go off to college with a ‘clean slate,’ whatever the hell
that
means,” he said almost viciously.

“So it ended abruptly and it felt… unfinished?” I tried to clarify.

“Yeah,” he said slowly, “it did feel unfinished. It
does
feel unfinished.” It had been more than two years since they’d broken up. Kyle had tried to see her during Christmas breaks, but she hadn’t responded to his texts or calls. Silently, I had applauded Amber’s restraint. I knew it had hurt Kyle, but I also knew it was for the best. If she’d given him any hope, he’d never had moved on. He’d dated a little, not getting serious again. But now, I realized, he
hadn’t
moved on at all. I’d been fooling myself. My son was still stuck in two-year-old pain and confusion. And he could not, for the life of him, understand why his dad and I were not.

“Well, it sounds like you need some closure with Amber. But she can’t give you that, you know. You have to give that to yourself.”

“How?” he asked, with so much pain in his voice, it literally made my heart hurt.

I reached over and took his hand. “Picture the life you
thought
you were going to have with Amber. Think of whatever you wanted with her – a house? Kids? I don’t know. Whatever you pictured with her. Think it through. Really visualize it. Then, Kyle, give yourself time to be sad! You’ve spent two years confused and angry. You loved her. It’s over. That is sad. Just let yourself be sad, OK? Let yourself mourn that life you won’t have with her.” Now I understood where all those tears had come from, the day he’d found out his dad and I were getting divorced. Of course, your parents splitting up is hard, but there had obviously been more underlying pain there.

He turned his head to look out the window, silent for a few minutes. I said nothing, not wanting to interrupt his thoughts. Finally, he turned back to me, a few tears falling down his cheeks. It took a lot of control for me not to reach up and wipe them away. I was proud of him for letting them fall.

“Is that what you did with Dad? Is that why you seem so… over him… already?”

I pushed my hair behind my ear. A nervous habit Scott had always made fun of. “Well, no… No. I didn’t need any closure with your dad, Kyle. And he didn’t need any with me. It didn’t end abruptly for us. It just… petered out over the years. And it was already finished, long before Sarah came along. Our relationship ran its course. We raised three great kids together. We had a happy life. But we… we are not what each other wants. I know forty-something seems like the end of a lifetime to you,” I said wryly, “but your dad and I are just getting started! We spent the first half of our lives taking care of our siblings,” Scott and I had both been forced to be responsible young, “and the next half raising you guys. Your dad and I are
both
ready for our time.” Kyle nodded, like maybe, maybe, he was getting it.

“I’m glad he’s happy, I truly am. I want my children to have a happy father whom they want to spend time with. I hope you guys can get along with Sarah, too. I mean,” I held up my hands, “let’s not go crazy. I don’t see us all spending holidays together,” I raised my eyebrows and Kyle laughed. “But in years to come, at weddings, and graduations, and when my grandchildren are born, I want us all to get along. I can hardly fault Sarah for being what your dad wanted when I had zero interest in trying to be what he wanted.”

Kyle just stared at me for few seconds. Long enough that I got uncomfortable enough to finally say, “What? WHAT?”

He shrugged and said, “I just… I think I thought you were putting up a front for me and Danny and Becca. I thought you were trying really, really hard to make sure we didn’t hate Dad for splitting up our family.”

“And now?”

“Now I realize… well, everything you just told me. I hadn’t seen it that way. But it… it makes sense.”

I sighed. “Wow. I am a fantastic mother, you know that? I raised
incredible
kids! You sure are smart!”

“God, Mom!” Kyle rolled his eyes.

“So now you really believe me that I’m fine? In fact, I’m great?”

“Yes!” he laughed.

“Great! Then do me a favor – tell your brother and sister, too, so they stop bugging me with the most annoying question on the planet: ‘Are you OK, Mom?’ Closely followed by the second most annoying question: ‘How are you, Mom? Really?’” We both laughed. “I know you guys love me, I really do. And I love that you’re thinking of me, I just wish I could convince you not to be
worried
about me.”

“I will tell them, I promise!” he held up his hands in surrender, and again, I saw my little boy. Playing Wild West with his brother and sister, being caught by the sheriff.

“You’re beautiful, you know that?” I said softly, sincerely.

“Yeeeees, Mom,” he said, exasperated.

“All right,” I said, standing up, “since you’re here, why don’t you help your mom paint this kitchen?”

“Well now that I know you’re fine, I’m kind of busy…”

“Nice try, smart-ass. Grab a brush.”

And he did. It was nice. We painted, and chatted. Kyle told me how work was going, and about a four-plex he had his eyes on. Kyle already owned two properties, so I teased him about being the Donald Trump of north Idaho, and begged him never to let his hair get that weird. He threw a rag at me. Everything finally, finally, felt like it had gotten back to normal. I was very thankful.