Defining Moments Read online

  So, on the one-month anniversary of the day Justin dropped his bomb on me, I spent hours scanning “help wanted” job sites and filling out applications for everything from receptionist to waitress to dish washer. Then, I ventured down to the local culinary school and applied to attend. I’d always loved to cook and I think I’m pretty damn good at it. Two weeks later, I was attending culinary school three days a week and waitressing full-time in the evenings.

  I have to say I love waitressing. I love being able to interact with people, and it doesn’t hurt that I love the food at the restaurant I’m working at. Culinary school is going well and, although it’s just a certificate program at this point, it will get my foot in the door to working as a line or sous chef in a restaurant. My best guess is I’ll be able to finish up within the next few months or so. I’m excited to start my new career and be able to move forward with my life. It feels good knowing I’ll be able to take care of myself soon, with no more help from Justin. As much as I hope he’ll come home for good, I know I don’t ever want to depend on his income as my stability.

  Just as I’m finishing up the breakfast dishes, my phone chimes.

  Justin: Are you home? Need to talk to you.

  Me: Yep. Come on over.

  Justin: Be there in 5.

  I run upstairs quickly to throw my hair up in a bun since I haven’t showered yet. I pull on some jeans and a t-shirt and brush my teeth. Butterflies erupt in my stomach when the doorbell rings. Maybe this is it. Maybe he’s decided to come home and he wants to talk about it. I try to squash the hope I’m feeling as I make my way down the stairs, but I can feel my heart lighten a little. Yeah, totally pathetic.

  I hear him talking on the other side of the door and I chuckle to myself that he still talks to himself when he’s nervous. The smile falls from my face the moment my eyes connect with the person on the other side.

  Here, on my front porch, is a beautiful young woman with a small baby bump and her arm wrapped around my husband’s waist. I look from her, to him, and back to her before it registers what I’m seeing. Justin’s face is emotionless, staring at me as though he’s frozen.

  “Hi, you must be Ell,” says the teeny-bopper with an annoyingly high-pitched voice. I can’t help but size her up. She’s irritatingly beautiful; long, straight black hair, bright green eyes, about my height but super slender and muscular. Even with the baby bump she’s breathtaking. The bitch.

  I choke on my own saliva when I try to swallow, and start coughing hysterically. Justin reaches toward me to pat my back and she grabs his arm, pulling back on him.

  “Are you okay, Ell?” he asks quickly.

  I continue to cough longer than necessary, trying to wrap my mind around this wreck that’s happening in front of me. Justin does not look happy.

  After I get myself under control, I turn to her. “My name is Ellie, not Ell. And you are?” I ask without taking the hand she’s offering.

  “I’m Julia, of course,” she replies like I should know who she is, before continuing, “Ya know, Justin’s girlfriend.”

  I look from her to Justin, who still looks upset, and then back to her. The fact that Justin is not saying anything is pissing me off.

  “Well, Julia, why are you on my front porch with your arm around my husband?” I bite out. She starts to answer but Justin pulls her into his side to stop her.

  “Ell, we need to talk to you,” Justin jumps in. The sheer fact that he is so uncomfortable is the only thing that is making me not lose my shit right now. I’m loving that this is bothering him so much. Selfish bastard.

  “I don’t think there is much to talk about, do you, Justin?” I smirk. “It’s obvious what’s going on here. You’ve shacked up with Teen Barbie Baby Mama over here and you’ve come to tell me you want a divorce.” I shake my head and laugh humorlessly. Julia huffs at my assessment and starts to reply, but Justin grabs her wrist and shakes his head to stop her.

  “Please, Ell, I need to explain,” he starts but I just shake my head and chuckle. Digging my fingers into my palms, I need the pain to keep me pissed and stop the emotional breakdown I know is lurking just under the surface.

  “Nah, I’m good. I don’t need a sex ed course. In case you forgot, we have three children, I know how it happens,” I say to him, turning my body toward Julia. “So how far along are you?”

  “Five months. We just found out we’re having a little girl,” she says while rubbing her belly and smiling up at Justin, who looks horrified that she just told me that. My heart hurts so bad in this moment, I wonder if I’m actually having a heart attack. I reach my hand up and rub the painful spot, trying to soothe the pain. Justin has always wanted a little girl. He even tried to talk me into trying for another baby when Destry was about ten. “And I’m twenty-five years old, by the way. I’m not a teenager.”

  I snort, completely unashamed of the sound. “Oh, that’s much better.”

  “I wanted to tell you sooner, but we were just getting back to speaking terms and I didn’t want to ruin that. We are in a good place, Ell, and I don’t want that to change,” Justin says quickly, pulling his arm from Julia’s grasp, although she’s trying like hell to hold on. “Can we just come in so I can talk to you about this?”

  “Jesus, Justin. Can you for one second think of someone other than yourself? Once again, your concern is how all of this shitshow affects your life,” I scoff. The tears are going to start soon and I know I need to get them out of here. “Have your attorney send me the papers. I’ll sign them. All I ask is that you keep paying the mortgage until Destry leaves in a few months for college, and then you can do whatever you want with it. The twins can put in to live on campus next semester or they can get their own apartment.”

  I shake my head in annoyance when he stands there, mouth open like he’s surprised I’m not melting down. I did that six months ago. I sure as shit ain’t doing it again, at least not in front of him. Fuck him.

  “We don’t have to do anything with the house. I’ll give it to you,” he says and Julia squeaks.

  “Justin, you said you’d buy us a house. You can’t do that if you’re giving her this beautiful house,” Julia screeches, and it’s then that I see her game. She wants my house.

  “We’ll talk about that later Jules,” he murmurs under his breath.

  “I’ll tell you what, Destry will be leaving for college in June. That’s three months away. When he leaves, I’ll move out. The twins will have to stay until they can get into the dorms or an apartment in the fall. Then you can do whatever you want with the house,” I snarl and start to slam the door, but Justin stops it with his hand.

  “No, Ell. This is your house. Our boys grew up in this house,” he barks, looking both heartbroken and pissed that I would give it up so easily.

  “Yeah, well, as much as I once loved this house, it doesn’t hold the happiness it once did. Plus, it’s time for me to move on with my life too,” I retort, watching Julia’s face light up. It is a beautiful house. I love this house. Justin’s face is ashen and he looks like he’s going to cry. I almost feel sorry for him, but then I remember he got himself into this.

  “Just send me the divorce paperwork, Justin. I’ll sign them so we can both move on with our lives. Goodbye,” I say as I shut the door gently. Turning, I slide my body down the door and hit the ground with a thud. I hear their footsteps leaving the porch, and when I hear a car start and pull away, I let go of the scream that’s been working its way up my throat.

  I peel myself off the floor and make my way upstairs. I just want to climb into bed and pull the covers over my head forever. The moment I walk into our room, I know I can’t sleep in that bed anymore. It was our bed. I’d actually believed in my heart, up until today, that he would come back. That he’d get whatever he needed to out of his system, and then he’d come back to me.

  I pull the comforter off the bed, lay it on the ground, and then wrap myself up like a cocoon.

  And I cry.

  And cry.<
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  And cry.

  My marriage is officially over.

  As I wipe at the tears blurring my vision, I spot the flip-flop hiding under my bed. I knew that damn thing was around here somewhere; I’d been looking everywhere for it yesterday. The one place I hadn’t looked was under the bed so, of course, that’s where it’s at. I lift my head from the carpet, vaguely noticing how damn bad it smells. I really should hire someone to come shampoo it soon. I’ll have to sit down this afternoon and pay bills to see if I can afford it this month.

  Pushing myself up to a sitting position, I take a look around our room. It’s full of pictures of our family—family vacations, family BBQs, and family hiking trips. I stand on shaky legs and walk toward the closest wall. The first picture is of us on the beach a few summers ago in Hawaii. The second one is of all of us at the top of Rendezvous Mountain in Wyoming, which is one of my favorite hikes ever. I stop when I get to the third one. It’s of just Justin and me, both smiling at each other, on the beach in Aruba. It was the only vacation we’d taken without our boys, and it was last year when we went away for our twentieth wedding anniversary and renewed our vows on the beach; renewed our vows to love each other forever. I hurl the picture across the room, where it shatters against the wall near the bathroom. That’ll be fun to clean up later. Damn it.

  I feel the tears start to surface again and it pisses me off. I refuse to be this broken person anymore. When Justin told me he “needed more,” I thought I’d never recover. I was pathetic. But I pulled myself up, got a job, and am going to school to do something I enjoy. Yes, I’d been hoping he’d come back, but I lost him six months ago. I already know I can live life without him because I’ve been doing it for the past six months.

  Walking into the bathroom, trying to avoid the mess I made with the picture frame, I turn the faucet on to run a hot bath. Seeing how nothing goes better with a long hot soak in the tub than a glass of wine, I trot downstairs to fill a glass. I don’t even care that it’s only 10 a.m. As I walk back toward the stairs, wine glass in one hand, iPad in the other, I hear my phone chime from the kitchen. I guess I should check that in case it’s one of the boys.

  Justin: I’m sorry, Ell. I had hoped to have that conversation with you alone, but Jules insisted on coming.

  Me: Stop texting me, Justin. Have your lawyer send me the divorce papers. We have nothing else to discuss. If something comes up with one of the boys, I’ll let you know.

  Justin: Please don’t be this way. I said I’m sorry.

  Me: I don’t need or want your apologies. You need to tell the boys about the baby before they hear it from someone else. They’ll be even more pissed if they hear it from anyone but you. And stop texting me.

  Justin: That’s another thing I was going to talk to you about earlier. I was hoping you’d tell them. They’re going to be mad no matter who tells them and I am just starting to rebuild my relationship with them. They’ll take it better from you.

  I resist the urge to throw the phone across the room because that will just mean I have to fork out the money to replace it. He’s doing it again, acting like it’s me he’s worried about when it’s just the boys, and once again, I feel like a selfish asshole for being jealous.

  Me: You can’t be serious.

  Justin: Please, Ell.

  Me: Hell no. Be a fucking man, Justin! At the very least, it will teach the boys a life lesson about having unprotected sex with someone who’s not their wife.

  Justin: Not funny.

  Me: Not kidding. Stop texting me. Turning my phone off.

  And I do. Returning to the bathroom with my lovely glass of wine, I strip my clothes and step into the heat waiting for me. I soak until my skin begins to prune, pondering my life away.

  I step out of the tub, reaching for a towel across from me on the vanity, but stop when I look up into the mirror when my eyes catch my reflection. Standing up straight, I assess my nakedness. It’s daunting and a lump forms in my throat.

  Although they have faded with time, I have stretch marks all over my stomach and boobs. I mean, that was inevitable since I was pregnant with eight pound twins; that’s sixteen pounds of babies. I was huge and, even though I was only nineteen when they were born, my skin had not been happy. Because of my young age, I’d lost the weight fast, but less than two years later, I got pregnant with Destry and gained a bunch of weight again. My weight had yo-yoed since then.

  I take the time to really look at my body. I’m a little bit chubby. My skin is starting to show its age. My muscles are losing their youthful tone. Droops here, sun spots there. The beginning of wrinkles in places I didn’t know you could get wrinkles. My boobs are still fairly perky, but they aren’t really all that big, so there isn’t much to sag. My ass and thighs could definitely use some work. My blue eyes seem sad and red and my light-brown hair is dull with a small section in the front that is slowly coming in grey. I don’t even remember the last time I got my hair cut and colored. It’s almost to my butt. I don’t usually wear makeup unless I’m going somewhere special, which is next to never. Justin has always been too busy with work to take me out very often. Or maybe this is why he didn’t take me out. Maybe I embarrass him.

  Maybe this is why Justin stopped touching me. I’ve let myself go. Our sex life the few years before he left was sporadic. When we were having sex, it was mechanical and, more times than not, unfulfilling. Shit, I don’t even remember the last time he gave me an orgasm. He usually rolled over after he’d gotten off and went to sleep, leaving me to take care of myself, if I even had the energy for that. But our relationship had never been about the sex. Yes, we’d had good sex when we were younger, but with having the kids so young and so close together, we were exhausted all the time. Eventually, sex just wasn’t a priority. Maybe he just wasn’t interested because I’d let myself go. Lord knows it wasn’t because he’d let himself go. Justin was and still is one of the most gorgeous men I’ve ever seen. He’s tall and muscular, which would be expected for someone who worked in the fitness industry.

  I’ll sign up for the gym. Hire a personal trainer.

  As soon as I win the lottery.

  Saying a little prayer of thanks that I don’t have to work today, I feel a good wine drunk coming on. I throw my hair up into a big knot on top of my head, put on a pair of jeans, a t-shirt, and my now complete pair of flip-flops and head downstairs to get on with my day.

  It’s been an hour since Justin’s last text, so I turn my cell back on. I hate the idea of the boys not being able to get a hold of me if they need to. As soon as it powers up, it chimes like ten times. Shaking my head, I pull up my texts.

  Justin: Did you just tell me to act like a man?

  Justin: Maybe if you treated me like a man instead of one of your kids we wouldn’t be in this predicament.

  I feel my face burn in anger, and once again, I feel myself clenching my phone hard, trying to refrain from heaving it across the room. Fucking bastard.

  Justin: Sorry. I didn’t mean that.

  Justin: Okay, you’re right. I’ll tell them.

  Justin: Stop ignoring me, Ell. I know you never turn off your phone.

  Justin: Ell?

  Justin: And now I’m worried. Please just let me know you’re okay, babe.

  And the last one.

  Justin: If you don’t respond in the next 10 minutes, I’m coming back over. You’re scaring me.

  That was twelve minutes ago.

  Me: I’m fine. Do NOT come over here.

  Almost instantly.

  Justin: What the fuck, Ell? Why were you not responding!?

  Me: Jesus, Justin. Leave me alone. I turned my phone off just like I said I was going to do. WE ARE GETTING DIVORCED. WE ARE NOT FRIENDS. STOP TEXTING ME!

  I set the phone down and start to get my daily routine done.

  Never-ending piles of laundry.

  Bathrooms wiped down.

  Mop kitchen floor.

  Vacuum living room.

  Two hours l
ater, I’m done with the daily grind and head to my computer to check in on all my friends on Facebook. I need the distraction. I should text my friend Claire and see if she wants to go out for drinks tonight. I could definitely use a night out.

  Me: Wine and appetizers at Louie’s tonight?

  Claire: YES! What time?

  Me: 6?

  Claire: See you there!

  Claire and I met in high school but weren’t really friends, just acquaintances. We’d hang out when we saw each other at parties and stuff, but I had been attached to Justin like a Grade A clinger, so I didn’t have many girlfriends. After we graduated, Claire went off to the east coast to go to college and didn’t come back to town until years later. She started dating Justin’s best friend, Derrick, shortly after she got back to town and we reconnected during their short relationship. Claire is gorgeous but has never been overly excited about serious relationships. Don’t get me wrong, she dates, but the relationships are usually casual and don’t last long. She’s never been a fan of Justin, even back in high school. We go through spurts where we see each other all the time and go out often, and then we’ll go weeks without talking when we—mainly she—is busy. With Claire’s job as an ad executive, she does travel sometimes. However, through all the years of our friendship, she has never been too busy when I needed her most. The day Justin told me was leaving, I spent an hour on the phone with her. She just listened to me sob and call him every name in the book. At the time, she’d been in Boston working and she’d booked the next flight home. Plus, I live vicariously through her amazing sex life, which she shares with me often.