Although Zack had been decent to her during their divorce proceedings, he hadn’t been when she’d first told him she was filing. He hadn’t wanted the divorce and still hadn’t seemed ready to let Nina go completely, even after confronting her about the nature of her relationship with her new “friend” from work, Lacey.
Not long after meeting Lacey, Nina had come to understand that the unsettling feelings of emptiness and discontent that had dogged her throughout the latter half of her twelve-year marriage to Zack had nothing to do with Zack’s success or failure as a husband. The solution wasn’t about piecing together something that had come apart. For her, the two pieces hadn’t truly fit together from the start. When she fell in love with Lacey, their relationship felt whole and satisfying, despite its limitations.
Six months in, she began promising Lacey she’d file for divorce, but it would take time. But Lacey grew more impatient with each passing month. Ultimately, she couldn’t hang in through all the ups and downs that accompanied loving a married woman who had only recently discovered her true sexual and emotional orientation.
As Nina swirled the toilet brush around the blue water, she again found herself deflecting the question of whether the biggest decision of her life hadn’t also been the biggest mistake. She’d broken up her family, taken Noah away from his father, and alienated herself from friendships she’d made during her years with Zack. Served her right, she supposed. She should’ve paid more attention to her emotional needs instead of spending the last fifteen years focused on her career as a rising corporate executive. Now, in her early forties, her career thrived, but her family and personal lives felt like they were circling the bowl like the foamy water after a flush.
Almost as if she’d summoned his presence, Zack’s name appeared on the screen of her vibrating phone. She wanted to let it go to voice mail, but she’d basically done that to him all week.
“Hey,” she said, watching the sparkling toilet bowl refill.
“How’s Noah doing?”
“Call him and ask him yourself. He’s outside on his hover board obsessing over his phone.”
“He’s gonna break his neck on that thing,” he said with a chuckle.
“Too bad you didn’t think of that before buying it for him for Christmas.”
He groaned into the phone. “Like you did before getting a ten-year-old his own cell phone as a divorce present?”
Nina bit her lip to stop herself from lashing back. “Divorce present? Really, Zack? I need to be in contact with him while he’s finishing out his school year in Greenwich.”
“Whatever. Look. I didn’t call him directly because all I get from him is ‘I’m fine.’ I want to know how he’s really doing in all this.”
“He’s fine, and I’m not being flippant. I ask him until I’m tired of hearing myself. He’s rolling with the changes a lot better than I am.”
“We’ll see next year when he has to start at a new school.”
Nina clenched her jaw. “He’s always been resilient. He’ll make it work. But you win on passive-aggressive digs. I need to get back to my housecleaning. The movers are coming any minute.”
“No cleaning service? I’m sure they have some good golfing in Madison you could be doing on this gorgeous Sunday.”
She recognized that as another dig, this time about her and Lacey. That’s how they’d struck up the conversation and friendship at work that ultimately led to everything else. She held her tongue on this one, privately acknowledging that Zack had so much to be hurt about and obviously still hadn’t worked through it all.
“Zack, please. I’m done going there with you. It’s over. Everything is over. If you really want to know how Noah’s doing, hang up and call him. He’d love nothing more than to talk to you.”
He sighed into the phone and then cleared his throat. “I’m sorry. Honestly, I didn’t call you to start something. I want you to be happy, Nina, and not just because it’s the right thing to want for my son’s mother. I want it for you, too.”
She sighed, too. “I know. I want to say I’m sorry, Zack, but I’ve said it so many times it just comes out sounding trite.”
“You had to do what you had to do. I get it.”
“I’m not sorry for doing what I had to do.” Nina made sure her voice was clear and confident. “I’m sorry it hurt you. But I can’t keep harboring guilt. We both need to learn how to move on and be okay where our lives are heading, whether it’s what we’d intended or not.”
“I’ll call Noah now,” he said and ended the call.
It saddened her that conversations with Zack always drained her so much. But she was impressed with the conviction in her extemporaneous speech, especially the part about refusing to feel guilty about taking care of her own needs. It was sound advice, and she was more determined than ever to follow it.
After a peek out the window at Noah, she found it fitting to move on to the next toilet.
* * *
Daphne loved this time of year. With most towns in New Haven County offering free bulk-trash pickups, people seized the opportunity to clear out old furniture and declutter their cabinets, storage areas, and lives. They did their spring cleaning with a vengeance, and Daphne usually “cleaned up” picking through people’s refuse and rescuing forgotten or discarded treasures.
Over the last year or so her acquisitions had been a metaphor for her life. Savannah had wanted to declutter her life, and after she’d disposed of her excess weight, Daphne was the second thing she’d let go. Savannah’s sudden marriage to Francesca only confirmed her suspicions that Savannah had had a foot out the door before Daphne even realized they were in trouble.
But enough of that. Sophie was right. It was time to refocus on the positives in her life rather than remain mired in the negative. Yes, her job sucked, and she was alone and lonely in an empty house reeking with memories of her and Savannah, nee Ann Marie, but she still had her dreams.
Since she wasn’t able to borrow her coworker Pascale’s F150 this morning she was on the hunt for smaller collectibles that would fit in her 4-door sedan: vases, dishware, lamps, etc. She pulled down a street in Madison she’d had luck on last year, an upper-middle-class, manicured cul-de-sac where people tossed out the kind of “junk” that Daphne could use to upgrade her entire house.
She rolled up along the curb of a colonial with a dresser and some end tables stacked up near the driveway. After scanning the pile and seeing only those larger items, she drove on to the next house with a tempting offering of smaller discarded fare.
Before she’d even thrown her car in park, an antique Tiffany-style lamp grabbed her eye. She practically salivated as she walked toward it and recognized it as early twentieth-century slag glass. These people must’ve been crazy to throw it away just because of a slightly frayed cord. Meh. They probably had five others just like it inside but in perfect condition.
“Come to Mama,” she said aloud as she cradled it in her hands. She laid it on the front seat, strapped it in with the seat belt, and gingerly drove away. She could easily sell it to a collector for at least three hundred as is—that is, if she didn’t decide to keep it for herself.