Two by Two(62)

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.

I said as much to Marge before I left for home, but she just shook her head.

"That's Vivian's voice you're hearing in your head," she said to me. "If  you saw yourself the way everyone else does, you'd know what a catch  you really are."





I arrived at the house at half past six and hesitated at the door,  wondering if I should knock. It was ridiculous, of course, and the fact I  felt that way led to a growing sense of frustration, one that was  directed more at myself than at Vivian. Why did I still care so much  about what she thought?

Habit, I silently heard myself answer, and I knew that habits could take a long time to break.

I opened the door and stepped inside, but there was no sign of London or  Vivian. I heard sounds coming from upstairs and I moved toward the  steps when Vivian rounded into view, holding a glass of wine. She  beckoned to me, and I followed her into the kitchen. Glancing around, I  noticed pans and plates piled in the sink, and neither the stove nor the  counters had been wiped. There was half a glass of milk and a placemat  that still sat on the table, and I knew in that moment that she had no  intention of cleaning the kitchen before she left.

I felt as though I no longer knew her, if I ever did.

"London's upstairs in the bath," she said without preamble. "I told her  that I'd come and get her in a few minutes because we needed to talk to  her. But I thought we should get on the same page first."

"Didn't we already cover this on Friday?"

"Yes, but I wanted to make sure you remembered."

Her comment felt like an insult. "I remember."

"Good," she said. "I also think it'll be easier for London if I take the lead."

Because you don't want her to know about Walter, right?

"This is your show," I said.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Just what I said," I said. "You're making all the decisions. You've yet to ask what I might want."

"Why are you in such a cranky mood?"

Was she serious? "Why didn't you have London call me back last night?"

"Because she fell asleep. Not ten minutes after you called, she was  sound asleep on the couch. What was I supposed to do? Wake her up? You  see her every day. I don't."

"That was your choice. You're the one who walked out."

Her eyes narrowed and I thought I saw in them not simply anger but  hatred. She kept her voice steady. "I was hoping we'd be able to behave  like adults tonight, but it seems pretty clear that you have different  plans."         

     



 

"You're trying to blame all this on me?"

"I just want you to hold yourself together while we talk to our  daughter. The other option is to make it as painful as possible for her.  Which would you prefer?"

"I would prefer not to be doing this at all. I would prefer you and I had an honest discussion about salvaging our marriage."

She turned away. "There's nothing to talk about. It's over. You should be receiving the settlement agreement this week."

"Settlement agreement?"

"I had my attorney put it together. It's pretty standard."

By standard, I'm sure it stipulated that London was living with her in  Atlanta, and I felt my insides twist. All at once, I didn't want to do  this; I didn't want to be here. I didn't want to lose my wife and  daughter, I didn't want to lose everything, but I was nothing but a  bystander, watching my life unravel in ways that seemed entirely beyond  my control. I was exhausted and when the nausea finally passed, my body  felt as it might dissolve.