“I haven’t seen your girl over at her shop lately,” Jake hands me the mail on his way to the back.
“She’s not my girl, she’s somebody else’s.” I gave her up.
“Did she tell you that?” Jake asks, surprised.
“Found her on Instagram, the wedding pictures were a pretty big hint.”
“Ah, cyber-stalking...classy,” Jake chuckles, laughing harder when I throw a ball of paper at him. “I thought you said she wasn’t wearing a ring?”
“She wasn’t. Fuck, I don’t know. I was just hoping to see her so we could talk things out a little. If she’s going to be right next door, it’d be nice if we could be friends at least.” I mutter, knowing that being friends with Freya would kill me slowly.
5
Freya
I put up the damn tree. I cried a little and accidentally-on-purpose broke Scott’s stupid mini beer can string lights. ‘They’re so ironic Freya’, eyeroll. I boxed up every single thing of Scott’s that he didn’t take with him, the temptation was great to light it all on fire in the yard, but it’ll go to charity, I can be an adult, dammit.
Still not ready to get back out into the world, I organize my pantry, haul out my label maker and go to town, scan all of my receipts in for my accountant, hope that doesn’t give her heart failure, sort my entire closet by color and make Mitzy a little Santa hat, complete with a bell at the end. Mitzy promptly ripped it off her head, mauled it and swatted the bell under the refrigerator. Eh, I tried.
I also, unsuccessfully, attempt to find Enrique on social media. Zilch. He has a horribly outdated Instagram profile that proclaims him alive and in possession of a computer at some point. The only good news is that I can't find a woman connected with his name either, so it’s possible that he’s single. I don’t know what to do with this information yet, but it’s a point of interest at my pity party.
Finally the need for groceries, to avoid living on ramen and yogurt that is reaching a questionable date, forces me to get out and go to the store. Edmundston is a pretty good sized town, about ten thousand people live here. I can tell that word about my divorce is getting around by the number of sympathetic glances I’m receiving. I keep my head high as I set a land-speed record in the grocery store.
After shopping I hit a drive-thru for a coffee. I’ve been gone about an hour when I pull back into my driveway. Right beside Scott’s car. Fuck. I’m not ready. He’s not waiting in the car, meaning he must be in the house. Clearly, ‘change the garage code’ should have ranked somewhere on my list higher than ‘turn my closet into a damn rainbow’. Lesson learned.
I sit in my car for a minute, trying to get a handle on the moment. Finally, I give myself a pep-talk in the mirror. Okay Freya, this is it. Don’t cry, don’t take him back, don’t claw his eyes out. Do say all those mean things you’ve been saving up, you’ve earned it sister. Getting out of the car, I square my shoulders and march into my house.
Scott isn’t in the living room or kitchen when I walk in, but he obviously heard the door because he comes walking up the hallway from the bedroom, smiling. I narrow my eyes.
“I’d say the bedroom is off-limits at this point.” I decide to fire the first shot. I’ve got a lot of anger for the man standing in front of me right now. His smile falters.
“Freya, Honey, don’t be like that, I wanted to see you.” He’s wearing my favorite shirt. Dick.
“Don’t be like that? Really?” I stare at Scott in utter disbelief and then the words just spill out of my mouth at high volume. “You packed your shit and left. I get a text, a TEXT, that we’re through and you’re having a baby with another woman. I get served divorce papers at my shop, spectacular for business by the way. How am I supposed to BE EXACTLY!?” I end at almost a shriek, chest heaving with emotion. I need to sit down or I’m gonna throw up.
Turning my back on him, I stomp over to the table and sit, in his customary chair to be specific. It’s satisfying to see his lips tighten before he arranges his face back into a loving smile.
“About that, Hon-”
“Don’t call me Honey again,” I snap, cutting him off. “I swear, if you do, I will make the effort to find an extension cord, take my hot glue gun outside and use it to write you a love letter on your car. I bet that paint would bubble something fierce.”
After a startled silence, Scott sits heavily in the chair across from me.
“Fine, Freya, I just...wanted to see you, to...talk.”
“Correct me if I’m wrong here, but I very recently signed papers that pretty clearly state that you don’t want to see or talk to me anymore.” I know I’m being snitty, but that seems to be the only mode I’ve got right now.
“There is no baby. Trina lied to force me to tell you about us.” Scott’s head drops into his hands. He looks up indignantly when an incredulous laugh bursts out of me.
“Sorry, but you’re telling me that you cheated on your wife with someone...and then found out they were a liar?” I blurt out another laugh. “Hello, Karma, it’s Scotty calling.”
“You don’t have to be such a bitch, Freya.” Scott sneers, “I came back to tell you that we could put this behind us, throw the papers away and be together for Christmas.” That feels like a calculated poke at my loneliness, you dick.
“I don’t have to be a bitch, Scott, but I think I want to. Get out of my house.”
Scott stares at me for a minute, clearly surprised. Finally, he shakes his head with a little laugh. Reaching into his pocket, he pulls out his keys. Following his movements, I see a little sparkle at the seam of his pocket. Curious, I look harder and realize his pants pocket looks funny...like, lumpy. That’s why he was in the bedroom, that snake.
“Like what you see?” Scott leers, rocking his hips. “If you ask nicely, I’ll give you a ride.”
“Ew, no!” I mock barf and he rolls his eyes. “I’m just wondering how much of my jewelry you have stuffed in your pocket,” I continue, crossing my arms and staring at him hard. Before he can stop himself, Scott glances down. Grimacing when he realizes that not only has he given himself away, but that the end of my diamond bracelet is dangling out of his pocket, he shrugs carelessly.
“You never wear this shit anyway, figured I could use it again.” He gives me the grin that made me fall in love with him and I hate him a little for it.
“Keeping both balls in play as it were?” Ha, pun intended. “That way, if I didn’t bite, at least you’d have some back up bling for the new girl? I think that officially categorizes you as a shit-pile, judges?” I glance around as if we have an audience and then look him square in the eyes. “Let’s face it, even if I did want your stupid ass back, I’d have to soak you in bleach and light you on fire to get rid of the cooties at this point.”
“Freya, I know you’re angry, you should be, bu-” his mollifying tone is annoying and I cut him off.
“You know what, Scott? As long as everything in your pocket is something you bought, and nothing of my mothers, I don’t even care. Take it. But I don’t want to see you again. Ever.”