Most women look at the kitchen first—and ours is fabulous—but I like primping, taking my time with my hair and makeup, and this little piece of the house just called to me.
I think the reason I like primping so much is I don’t do it often. For years as a stay-at-home mom, I didn’t bother with such things. I might slap on some mascara to run out to the grocery store, but that’s it. During the years I got my degree—same. I wasn’t trying to impress anyone as I was happily married.
Even now, unless I’m doing a Zoom meeting with my ad agency team in New York, I don’t bother. Hell, I’m lucky if I get out of my pajamas on any given workday.
I would get dolled up when Jim and I went out on a date or a team-related function. Those moments weren’t infrequent, but they weren’t often. Regardless, I cherished them because I’d always been a girlie-girl, and I can tell Lucy is going to be the same way.
Tonight, I’m sitting in front of my vanity, adding waves to my long hair with a round iron. My makeup is done to perfection, and my hair is coming along nicely.
I’m getting ready for a date, except it’s not with my husband. While he’s spending the evening with our daughter, I’m going out with David, the man I’ve been dating for the last three weeks. I’m paying extra attention with my appearance, wanting to knock his socks off.
It galls me the reason I want to do this is because I don’t want to give any credence to how much I’ve been thinking about Jim since he visited yesterday.
And that kiss we shared.
And the feelings it stirred, not just from his touch, but from his declaration he wants me back.
No, getting back together with Jim isn’t going to happen. Even though I still love him, I can’t go back to that life. I can’t accept not being his everything and no matter what he might say, I wasn’t that to him for an exceedingly long time. It hurt too much, and while I might miss all the good things we had going for us they don’t outweigh the bad that tore me apart in the end.
Huffing out a sigh of regret and longing for everything we’ve lost, I cap the mascara I had just swiped across my lashes and turn to set it in my makeup drawer.
My gaze locks onto the edge of a photo pushed toward the back. I should ignore it—I had put it in this drawer over five months ago when I asked Jim to move out.
Not really wanting to, but not seeming to be able to help myself, I grab the photograph and pull it out.
I try to examine it without emotion, but I can’t. It’s of Jim and me about two years after Lucy was born. We were so young—just around twenty-two, I think—and we were on a little summer vacation. It was just the two of us. My parents watched Lucy, and Jim whisked me off to the Maldives. We were living a fairy tale with him being a professional hockey player making more money than we even knew existed, having a beautiful baby girl, and I had a husband that adored me.
The picture is a selfie as we were walking along the beach at sunset. Our faces are pressed in close together, both beaming at the camera, and just before Jim had snapped the photo on his iPhone, he turned and kissed me on the cheek. I’m grinning like a fool and Jim’s eyes are closed—almost in rapture—as his lips press against me. It’s a simple picture and even though his eyes are closed, the entirety of it is of a man deeply in love with his wife. It’s a moment that stirred such deep emotions when I first saw it that I knew I’d have to print it so I could see it often.
It was actually in a four-by-six frame on our dresser. I had knocked it over one day, shattering the glass. I pulled the photo out until I could get a new frame, then tucked it into the corner of the makeup vanity frame. I ended up looking at it far more often than I ever did when it was on the dresser, so I just kept it there.
Until the day Jim moved out, then I put it in the drawer.
I left the other photos of him up downstairs as most are family photos, and I wanted Lucy to have a connection to him in this house. It was a stark-enough contrast with him gone that I couldn’t erase him entirely.
I didn’t want to erase him at all, but I’d also given up hope a long time ago that he’d change. When I asked him for a separation, I had thought it might spark him into some type of action. I was hoping it would shock him enough to do something to fight for me, but he never did.
And now that I’ve actually found a nice man to date who seems into me, Jim wants back into my life?
It pisses me off almost as much as it amuses me.
I’m afraid it’s a little too late.
But that kiss, Ella. It was fantastic.
“Shut up,” I mutter. I mean, David is a great kisser, too.
Sort of.
A little too much on the wet side, but he more than makes up for that in the devotion he has shown me over the last few weeks. He knows I want to take it slow, and he’s accommodated my every wish. I wasn’t exaggerating to Jim, either. David is trying hard to win me over so I’ll let him take things to the next level. He sends me gifts, flowers, and cards. He manages to let me know every single day how much he likes me and wants more from me.
At the end with Jim, I would go weeks without knowing if he even loved me anymore.
With one more sorrowful glance at a photo that represents another life, I put it back in the drawer and close it. David will be here soon to pick me up, and I still need to decide what jewelry I’m going to wear.
♦
“This tortellini is really good,” I remark after swallowing a bite. “Are you sure you don’t want to try it?”
David smiles across the table, picks up his wine, and takes a sip. When he sets it down, his eyes are alight with humor. “For the third time, no thank you.”
I blink. “I asked you three times?”
He smirks at me, and no matter that Jim calls him Mr. Ordinary, David Wells is no ordinary man. He’s incredibly handsome, and that smirk makes him look downright sexy. “You’re distracted tonight, Ella. What’s the matter?”
And here’s the thing. David and I have known each other for a little over three weeks. We’ve been on a total of five dates, including tonight. But in between those five dates, we’ve had long telephone conversations and email exchanges where we’ve gotten to know each other perhaps even better than if we’d had a few more dates. He knows quite a lot about me, and he can clearly read my mood.
Setting my fork down, I wipe my mouth with my napkin and replace it on my lap. Sheepishly, I admit. “It’s Jim.”
“What about him?” David asks easily. I told him some things about Jim and why we’re separated. David knows why I want to take it slow. I have never badmouthed Jim to David, and he’s never felt the need to do it for me.
“He says he wants me to take him back,” I say, deciding that sugarcoating the truth would waste time.
David blinks, his smile disappearing and his eyes filling with concern. “And what do you want?”
“I don’t want the man I asked to leave back.” That’s the absolute truth. I’m never going to let myself be worthless in someone else’s eyes.
There’s a definite gleam of relief in David’s eyes. “Then why are you so distracted?”
“Well…” I begin, and then figure I need a sip of wine for fortification first. After swallowing, I say, “Jim has indicated he’s going to fight for me.”