Only papers to sign. Onlyrelief.
It felt like the whole world was resting on my chest every morning, and it was all I could do to get out of bed. The divorce was so hard, but it felt like I released a breath after it was done. The house was quiet, and yes, I missed Josiah immediately, desperately, but even in that new loneliness, there was a kind of relief to have only one thing to save. Not my marriage, but just myself.
I take a healthy gulp of my mimosa, thinking they were stingy with the prosecco, and glance up to meet Hendrix’s probing stare.
“Okay,” I tell her, setting my glass down on the table none too gently. “I know you have questions about Vashti and Josiah, but you can stop looking at me like that.”
Hendrix opens her mouth to speak, but I hold up a staying hand.
“I know what you’re thinking. That it’s natural to possibly resent your ex’s new girlfriend.”
“Well, actually—” Hen starts.
“And you’re probably thinking I need to be a mature adult about this, that it’s inevitable that a man like Josiah, strong, tall, dark, handsome, virile—”
“All that,” Soledad mumbles. “Damn.”
“Charismatic,” I continue. “Driven…for example…will attract beautiful women. I’ll have to get used to it.”
“Right, but—” Hendrix starts.
“And I will.” I wag a finger at them. “I mean, Ihave. Ihavegotten used to it already in the two days since I learned that they’re—”
“Fucking,” Hendrix offers.
“Seeing each other,” I say at the same time, frowning down at the remains of my omelet. “So I get it. You can stop looking at me like I might blow at any minute.”
“I wasn’t looking at you like that at all,” Hendrix asserts, gesturing to my face. “I was actually looking at that little mustache you got growing on your top lip.”
My index finger flies to my mouth.
“Bitch.” I laugh. “It’s just a little…stray hair.”
“Hmmph.” Hendrix cackles. “More like a five-o’clock shadow.”
“The women in my family,” I tell them, “we’re just a little hairy. My great-aunt almost had a full beard when she died.”
“Now I rebuke that in the name of Black Jesus.” Horror widens Hendrix’s eyes.
“Was it an open casket?” Soledad whispers.
“Oh, my God.” I bust out laughing. “She was hairy. Not decapitated.”
The three of us fall into a fit of giggles, leaning into each other, giddy from food and mimosas and laughter.
“Sinja, the owner of Honey Chile, recommended this honey-infused hair remover that I love,” Soledad offers. “It’s just a block up.”
“That’s perfect,” I say. “She’s doing trivia at Screen on the Green. I can make sure she’s all set.”
On the walk to Honey Chile a memory slips into my mind, so vibrant it’s as real as the jangle of wind chimes over the door when we enter the shop. Josiah and I standing at our twin sinks one morning, eyes meeting in the mirror. Him, the grooves and ridges of his bare chest and abs deliciously distracting. Pajama bottoms resting low at his waist, revealing the carved lines at his hips. He was shaving, the rugged jawline foam-coated, and teased me about the stray hairs on my lip. He’d held me down on the bed, his razor poised above like he was my barber prepared to shave my face. In those days, anytime we got near a bed, we put it to good use, so it wasn’t long before my robe was open. Before his head was between my legs. Before he was in my mouth. Before our hands were desperate and searching and everywhere.
“I hope you love it,” Sinja says, ringing up the lip wax.
“Uh, oh…yeah,” I stammer, heat crawling up my neck and over my cheeks. “Can’t wait to give this a try. Thank you.”
This is not the time to reminisce about when things were good. When they were scorchingly perfect and I couldn’t imagine them any other way because I couldn’t imagine the hows or whys of life’s irrational cruelty. I can’t go down memory lane. There are stretches of it that hurt too much, yes, but there are miles that felt too good.
“So will that be all?” Sinja asks.