“Children,” I say, clearing my throat. They shift their eyes from their mother to me. “We’ve decided to divorce.”
“You’ve decided,” Susan snaps. “You,” she says, lifting her hand and pointing her finger in my face. “You.”
Ignoring her and her finger, I focus on my children. They haven’t said a word. They’re all watching, but wearing different expressions, each of them.
Laurent is the first to speak. He’s smirking and jerks his chin in my direction. “Was this even a marriage? You’ve lived here, what? During the weekends since we’ve moved out?”
“Yes,” I say with a nod.
Susan growls. “Oh, Mother,” Lucinda coos. But she surprises me when she crosses her arms over her chest instead of running toward Susan. “You have been with countless men at the club, why do you care if Dad finally files? It’s been years in the making.”
“Don’t you dare talk to me that way. Landry, did you hear what she just said to me?”
This is what I wanted to avoid, all of this. I did not want to get into an argument about who does what privately. However, Lucinda is not wrong. This has been years in the making and living a lie just isn’t what I want to do for the rest of my life.
“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” Susan gasps. All three of them let out a laugh as they watch her. She takes a step back, a wobbling step. “Fine. I’m the big bad bitch. Whatever.”
She turns and stomps away. Shifting my gaze to my children, I shake my head. “Don’t be too hard on your mother,” I mockingly scold.
Lucinda snorts, but I lift my hand to stop her before she can say anything else. “Marriage is about what happens between two people. No matter what, this doesn’t involve any of you. Don’t disrespect your mother. Just don’t.”
There is a moment of silence, and Lucinda sighs heavily. “Fine, but just know. You should have done this long ago. A long time ago,” she retorts.
I watch her leave, Laurent lifts his hand in a wave and follows her. “Drink out back?” Lawrence asks.
With a nod, I follow behind my middle son. Together we make our way out back, but not before he grabs a couple of beers for us. I usually don’t drink beer often, but since my preferred drink of choice is up in my room, I take the near-water without complaint.
“Why now?” he asks as soon as we sink down in the lounge chairs that face the yard and pool.
Tipping my bottle back, I take a long pull of the drink, then let out a sigh after I’ve swallowed. “I’ve been sitting on the documents for a while, months actually. I planned on shredding them, but I don’t know. This isn’t living.”
“It’s not. But it hasn’t been for at least a decade, so again, why now?”
“She thinks I’ve fallen in love,” I say with a snort.
“Have you?”
Shifting my gaze to him, I shake my head once. “I haven’t.”
“But?”
Lifting the bottle to my lips, I refuse to answer. Nothing will ever come from any of it, so it doesn’t need to ever be said aloud.
“But nothing. I am doing this because it is time. I’m not getting any younger.”
“Do you want to meet someone, get married again? What’s the end game?”
My practical son. The one who has a passion for psychology, for traveling, for life. He will understand my reasons, he will understand me. I may not need to explain it to him, but I want to.
“Happiness, Lawrence. I just want to find a little happiness. I’m not sure if that comes with another person, or just within myself. However, I do know that it is not in this life that I have right now. All of you have your own lives and I am glad that you do. It is time for me to decide how I would like to live out the second half of my life.”
“Half?” he asks, lifting a brow.
I snort. “Well, the next thirty years, maybe?”
“Hopefully,” he adds. “She will not take this lying down. She will try to take the company.”
“She is only entitled to half,” I remind him.
He chuckles. “People get ugly, Dad. They get really fucking ugly. I’ve seen a few friends go through divorces already. Are you sure you just don’t want to live completely separate lives? May cost you less money and less headache.”
“It isn’t right, what has been happening. I’ve never agreed and I’ve lived long enough this way.”
“This way?”
Shifting my gaze to the pool, I look out at the landscape in front of me. “I’ve taught you all the difference between right and wrong.”
Lawrence doesn’t add anything to my simple statement. He doesn’t need to. This is wrong. What I’ve done, what I’ve quietly accepted Susan doing. And how much of a pussy does this make me?
My wife has been fucking other men for years, I’ve allowed it, I’ve accepted it. Though much more sporadically than her, I have done the same. I did not teach my children that this was acceptable, and yet I’ve been showing them that it is.
TENNESSEE
“You are so freaking close to work. I’m totally jealous,” Bethanie announces as she drives up to the front of my building.
“My mom found it for me,” I say with a small smile.
She reaches across the car, her fingers wrapping around my wrist. “I am really happy that you’re going to be working at AI. I don’t have a lot of friends here in Dallas and I’m hoping that we can be that.”
I learned a long, long time ago never trust a soul on earth. People will do anything and everything to get ahead in life, even throwing their friends under the bus, without hesitation. I’ve seen it happen a million times. I’ve watched my mom’s work friends do it to her for promotions.
I am under no illusion that Bethie won’t do it to me too. But, I have to admit that it feels nice to have at least one friendly face in a town full of strangers.
“Me too,” I say, giving her a small smile.
“See you Monday morning, and I’ll have a coffee for you when you get to work. What do you like?”
“That’s too much,” I say, shaking my head.
Bethie paid for lunch already and adding more to that, to someone that she hardly knows? I can’t accept it, I just can’t.
“Seriously, I get one every morning. It’s the little treat I give myself every day. Monday, you get one too.” She grins, giving me a wink.
“A blonde café latte?”
“You got it, sister.”
I exit the car, thanking her again then give her a wave as I make my way toward the front doors of my new apartment building. Digging my key card out of my bag, I swipe it quickly, then tug the door open and slip inside. I’m careful not to let anyone in behind me.
Call me paranoid, but this is the one thing that I am not excited about in my new life. A locked-up building, where anyone can slip inside, and I can’t just get out of. It reminds me of being paralyzed by that drug, of being locked inside of a bedroom upstairs, of not being able to leave.
Lifting my hand to the front of my throat, I remind myself to breathe as I climb the stairs toward my floor. I can’t let this fear, my past, dictate my future. I have had too much counseling, I have worked too hard for this to be my demise.