Jesse jumped gracefully down from the bed of the truck, and then he held out his hand to help me climb down (once again, much less gracefully than him, I might add).
I stood in the middle between my past and my future, and the symbolism wasn’t lost on me. I wanted to get into that truck with Jesse, that metaphorical vehicle to bring me from my distressing past into the promising future.
But first I had to deal with my soon-to-be-ex.
Jesse headed to the driver’s side of his truck as I stood in a staring contest with Richard.
Jesse paused and turned back toward me. My eyes flicked to his, but Richard’s never left my face.
“You good?” he mouthed to me, and I nodded. I felt my heart swell.
“Catch ya later,” Jesse said, and then he climbed up into his truck and pulled away.
Richard and I still stood in the driveway.
“What did you want to talk about?” I asked.
“The papers. Sweetheart, don’t do this to us.”
I sighed in frustration. “Richard, we’ve been living separate lives for over a year. Don’t start this shit with me again. We don’t want the same things anymore, and this divorce is inevitable. You can’t just keep me locked in a marriage that I don’t want any part of.”
“Are you sleeping with him?” he asked, his voice an accusatory hiss.
I shook my head in disgust.
“No,” I said. “I’m not.” Not because I didn’t want to, though. “Richard, you know that I wouldn’t cheat on you.” Sleeping in the same bed with another man was not cheating, I reminded myself. But then again, he hadn’t asked me if I was cheating or if I was having sex with another man.
If we wanted to be technical, I had, actually, slept with Jesse the night before. Literally slept. But I knew that wasn’t what he meant.
My conservative upbringing had hammered in certain values, not the least of which was that I would never be able to get over the guilt that would certainly plague me if I decided to sleep with another man while I was married to Richard.
But Jesse the tempter was waving all that temptation at me, and I was finding it increasingly difficult not to give in to what I wanted. Especially when I thought about the softness and intimacy we’d shared the night before simply by sharing a bed.
The more I thought about him, the more I wondered what his lips would feel like on mine, what his tongue tasted like, what his body would feel like when it connected with mine for the first time. And suddenly I knew that there was going to be a time for us when that would happen. Somehow, standing there in the driveway in a face-off with my husband, I knew that the stars were going to align and Jesse and I were going to get our chance together. Someday, after the Richards and the Carlys and the Allisons, someday we’d find our way to each other.
“Do I know that, though?” he asked accusingly.
“Believe whatever the hell you want to believe. I am not cheating on you.”
“You better not. You know the consequences if you do,” he said, and I briefly revisited one of the conversations we’d had when we first separated. He’d explained to me the idea of a no fault divorce versus finding one party at fault. No fault was an easier split in the eyes of the law, he’d told me.
“Yeah, I know,” I said, but I didn’t care about the fault versus the non-fault. I just wanted out.
It was strange; it wasn’t like this was the first discussion we’d ever had about getting a divorce. We’d already spoken about splitting assets and putting the house up for sale. I’d already opened my own bank account and changed my direct deposit so that our funds would be separated.
So I wasn’t really sure why suddenly Richard had this fight in him for us. He’d never once fought before; but, then, I’d never been as serious as I was about actually making that final split before, either.
“Can we go inside?” he finally asked, still holding his laptop bag and car keys.
I sighed and followed him in.
“Richard, I really just want this to be over. Let’s just make a clean break. I’ll get in touch with someone to list the house—”
He whirled around on me and cut me off. “Don’t be ridiculous. If we’re selling the house, I’m listing it.”
“Of course,” I said, literally forcing myself not to roll my eyes. And then I realized the huge conflict of interest by having him list the house. He’d get the commission, and he’d keep it all for himself even though I was due half that money.
But it was just one of those things I didn’t care about. It wasn’t the battle I wanted to go to war for. It wasn’t the hill where I was going to die. He could have the fucking commission.