J.P.
Five years. It was a long time to be married to the wrong person.
I’d met my soon-to-be ex-wife at a swinger’s club, and yeah, apparently, we had different ideas about commitment. But we’d had fun, while it lasted, and really, I didn’t hate her. Not even after finding the condom wrappers she “accidentally on purpose” left on the floor of her car when I took it for a wash. The only thing we ever truly had in common was how much we liked sex and our enthusiasm for swinging. It wasn’t something to build a life on. People wonder what the difference is between swinging and cheating. Lies, baby. Swinging is honest. Cheating...is the end.
I scribbled my signature one last time and pushed the pile of divorce papers back across the conference table. “There. It’s done.”
Yvette’s lawyer packed the papers in his shiny brown briefcase, adjusted his round glasses, and shot me a tight-lipped smile.
We all stood up. Yvette bit her lip and shrugged. “Good luck,” she said simply.
I probably should have felt more in that moment, something other than just empty. “Yeah, you too.” It was as if we’d crashed into each other one day and it had taken all this time to untangle ourselves. The freedom felt good, even if we were both a little bruised from the process. My phone vibrated against my chest just as I was leaving. I pulled it from my breast pocket.
“Jared Parks,” I answered in my best upbeat voice.
“Good morning, J.P.,” my admin said with her sweet Midwestern accent. “I’m calling to let you know Kyle would like to move up your meeting to noon instead of one.” She paused a moment. “Will...that work for you?” The tender way she asked communicated everything she knew about the reason I’d yet to arrive at the office. Janie had been with me since my first days at Hunter when she had a lot less gray hair, and I didn’t have any.
“Please let Kyle know that’ll be fine. I’m heading over from Hoboken now.”
“And how are you? I went ahead and ordered you lunch in case you wouldn’t take the time to stop...or have you lost your appetite?”
I sighed. “You know me too well, Janie. But thank you anyway.”
“I’m here for you, J.P.”
And she was probably the only one who was. “You always are.”
Next, my phone beeped with a text from Rick Stein, the Sr. Project Manager on my team. Kyle just left my office. He’s bringing in some outside consultants. BTW meeting is at twelve now.
I know about the switch. I texted back. I did not know about the consultants. Who are they?
Social media experts to help us reach a new demographic.
Only a pencil neck like Rick would spell out the word demographic in a text. I shook my head and smiled. Let me guess. the data shows luxury train cars are big with the IG crowd.
Something like that.
I cleared my throat and the dread about my upcoming meeting was still lodged there.
When was the last time luxury train travel was a thing? Pretty sure it was before Gone With The Wind had been colorized. And whoever was still into it probably saw that movie in the theatres. Why Hunter Railways didn’t just stick to hauling freight, commuters, and grandparents who hated to fly was beyond me. Those things are a hell-of-a-lot easier to explain in an advertisement than this new division Kyle Hunter had such a hard-on for. But he was Chairman, it was his company, his family name was on the top of the building, his decision.
All I knew, if I couldn’t come up with a stellar campaign to sell this supposedly “amazing idea that will revolutionize travel,” I could kiss my cozy corner office goodbye. Maybe not today, but just like with my marriage, the writing was on the wall.
I ran my fingers through the length of my salt-and-pepper hair when I reached my silver Audi waiting in the back of the lot and took a moment to admire the Manhattan cityscape across the river.
No matter how bad things are, this view never gets old.
A quick check of my vintage Rolex when I arrived at Hunter Railways’ headquarters told me it was 11:45. Just in time. The elevator doors sprung open just as I pressed the twentieth floor. The guy who stepped in was more good-looking than any dude has the right to be. I purposely averted my eyes, intending to fight the instant impulse to stare at him the entire ride. A woman stepped in directly after him, her nose buried in her phone.
She glanced up at him. “The hotel is trying to locate a second room right now.”
The man nodded stiffly.
“Would it really be so bad, Cole? It’s just for a night.”
The man, Cole, shot her a look as if someone had nailed his foot to the floor. Hurt, surprise, and disappointment pinched his chiseled features all at once.
“It isn’t just for a night, Kara. That’s the point. This is our life.”
Kara turned to him, the wince evident on her profile. Only couples had the power to wound with so little said. Towards the end with Yvette, she needed so little from our marriage, from me, she couldn’t even be bothered to have an argument. Call it a hunch—these two had history, a meaningful one. I cleared my throat, hoping to signal I had no interest in this front-row seat to their little spat. I had my own problems.
The woman, Kara, took a moment to acknowledge my presence behind her with a quick glance over her shoulder. She took a breath. “Let’s not do this here, okay?” she murmured to Cole. They stood side-by-side, staring up at the numbers marking each floor we ascended, but Kara brushed his hand with her pinky finger, and he linked his with hers automatically. I thought it was a sweet gesture. Whatever was off between these two hadn’t yet ruined them completely. Maybe it was the crash and burn of my own marriage that had me rooting for them, but I was. Good luck, I thought. Didn’t we all need it.