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  “No? Are you for real?”

  “Yes.”

  “Oh my god.”

  “Living together.” My stomach churns at the mere thought of it. “I might throw up everything I just consumed.”

  “Please don’t, not over that idiot. We need to digest this wonderful cake.”

  “Fine…yes. I wouldn’t want to do that to the cake.” Anne can always bring a smile out of me, even when she’s not really trying to.

  I couldn’t care less, but He’s living with someone, and I haven’t even caught a man’s attention yet. Guess She’s better than me, or in a few years he’ll be poking someone else. You know, once a cheater, always a cheater and all that jazz. What has me all balled up is he’s moving on like our lives never even mattered. All the years we were a team, grant it, not a great team, but still something.

  “The worst part is,” I say fast, maybe she won’t catch on to what I’m saying.

  “Oh god,” she moans, “she’s pregnant!” she yells in the next instant. We both stop at this and bust out laughing. “That would be karma biting him right in the ass. In his forties with a baby on the way. We could sit on the sidelines and watch that circus play out.”

  All you need in life is a good friend to help you tackle ex-husbands, kids, and plain old life.

  “Hell yeah, we would watch, eat popcorn, and drink wine. I think she has a few illegitimate kids of her own.”

  “GINNY!” she yells, laughing at my ridiculous words. Neither of us can stay in our seats now with how hard we are laughing.

  “Sorry.” I can feel the Cheshire smile on my face. My father would be so proud of my dig. Must remember to tell him the next time we talk. It would drive my mother crazy though. “Those actions are not ladylike, especially at forty-two,” she would tell me. The rebel in me has me smiling even more. “Seriously though,” my hands are flying around, “they want a big family Christmas and other holidays.”

  Anne stops laughing and pulls her chair right up to the table. “Got any wine or liquor? Shit just got real, and coffee ain’t cutting it anymore.”

  “I should have something.” I quickly get up to search for a bottle of wine. This also gives me a chance to take some deep breaths. Anne will want to yell about this holiday crap and be angry. Me? I’m still numb over the thought of eating Christmas ham together, like we all get along. Plus, Christmas is my holiday, and I refuse to have it taken away from me.

  The boys must have been listening because sitting on my island are two wine glasses and an uncorked big wine bottle. Lou will forever be my baby, and no we don’t have that kind of relationship. Lou is not a mama’s boy. He has always seemed to be in tune with his feelings when times get tough. Another subject we don’t talk about, but it’s true. When MaryAnn or I need something, it’s always Lou a step or two ahead of us. He'll make a good husband once he lets love in. The Ex and I didn’t really show them what true love and happiness look like, and that’s the one thing I regret the most.

  “Here we go, and it’s a big bottle.” Whoever buys small bottles of wine is not living their best life. I don’t say “living my best life,” out loud too often. Feels like it’s a little out of my age bracket.

  “Sweet,” she says. “Now let’s get buzzed, and tell me how you really feel.”

  “I’m not sure how I feel,” I say, and it’s not a lie. Life is confusing; feelings are confusing, and relationships are confusing. I went to college solely to find a husband. How my parents found each in a similar fashion and have lasted fifty plus years is mind-boggling. I was born into old money, but somehow the males on my dad’s side found love and held on to it until their last breaths.

  Fake is a common factor in the community of wealth. Literally everyone is fake. I swear some came out of the womb with the ability to be and act fake. Sure, I had friends, but never a best friend. There wasn’t one girl I grew up with I felt comfortable with my secrets and dreams. Don't even get me started with the boys—it’s even worse. But I was brought up to be a stay-at-home mom and find a good, bread-winning husband.

  My dad wanted to kill him when he cheated. “A good man, husband doesn’t do that to their wife and family.” My dad yelled into the phone when he found out the truth behind the separation. I tried my hardest to keep that away from his ears. No one messes with my dad when it comes to my mom, me, and my aunties.

  I know my real problem with all of this but am ashamed of myself at the same time. “I think my biggest issue is feeling like MaryAnn betrayed me. I could hear the hope and pleading in her voice, so of course I told her it was fine.” I roll my eyes some more. “That I would try.” I might have been crossing my fingers the whole time, but that’s our little secret.

  “Of course, it is her dad, who through it all has been good to his kids. She wants her parents to be able to be civil around each other and not have a million different holidays.”

  “Exactly right, but having to go and do holidays? Seriously? I want to strangle her. Like if we weren’t on the phone, it seriously might have happened.”

  “I don’t know what MaryAnn was thinking. I kind of want to strangle her too,” she finally says, throwing her hands up in the air. “It’s all too much to process. I never saw this coming. We might have to reconvene for my input.”

  “Sounds good. With more cake?” I plead. Might not help my pants fit any looser, but it’ll prove again how much more satisfying eating cake is than my Ex.

  “Absolutely with the cake. Wait,” she puts her hands on the tabletop, “what does Lou think?”

  “I’m not quite sure. I think he’s known but isn't happy or mad. He seems to keep his distance from them but isn’t hostile. He’s doing what he loves, so if he doesn’t want to be around them, then he doesn’t come around. MaryAnn is the one who is stuck, at least for now. She wants everyone to get along.” I shake my head thinking about how much hope she always has. MaryAnn finds the positives in everything. Gives forgiveness like candy and is a happy person ninety percent of the time. We have no idea who and where she’s gotten this from.

  “Very true. Has Louis always been supportive of Lou?” she asks.

  This is the part I'm at least proud of when talking about my Ex. “Yes, we all saw Lou’s gift early, and Louis bought him supplies whenever Lou needed them. When we realized how serious he was, the price tag on the supplies went up. Louis never batted an eye. Plus, Lou has tatted him, so all are very happy for our boy and his gift.”

  “Good dad then? Like, a really good dad.”

  “Unfortunately, yes, but yes—which is why all of this is harder on them. I think Lou wishes he could hate him and move on. I try to keep the good dad and bad husband separate because I don’t want them to hate him. If he’s maintaining good relationships with them, then how can I be mad at that?”

  “I’m going to blame this on the few sips of wine, but you are a better woman than I could ever be.” We both burst into a fit of giggles.

  “Trust me, I would say the same thing.”

  The breeze around us has picked up, and the trees are now telling us a story. The foliage is so dense over my porch, when it drizzles, I barely notice. When I look up at times, I swear they’ve grown so much taller and fuller in the few years I've been here. I like to think they’ve built a natural cocoon for me, my peaceful place because I didn’t build here because of the trees. I’m going to say it was divine intervention, and someone seeing that I finally deserve some peacefulness.

  I was sitting in this exact spot when MaryAnn broke the news, and, I swear on my life, these trees started moving around. The light sounds helped me calm down then and are helping me calm down now. The rustling talks to me and whispers, “This part of your life is going to be so much better. Don’t let him bring you down.”

  I can start to feel the wine going straight to my head, and I want to let out what is really bothering me. My daily struggle of whether to keep my thoughts to myself or let them out can be draining. When I drink, it makes the thoughts star
t pounding to get out and be heard.

  “What really bothers me is what if I end up liking her? And I’m pretty sure I'll have to wear my new glasses, ugh.” I wipe my hands over my face to hide from her sympathy glare.

  “Again, I think I need time to process, but if you handle being around her for your kids, you are the better person. You are going to look hot in those glasses, and he’s going to see you and think ‘what have I done?’”

  “Not sure about all that, but the words are sweet.”

  “Before we drink all of this, I'm going to head out. Save it for the middle of the week, and I'll have more opinions for you.”

  Slowly we clean up our mess and head inside. “Let me know when you want to finish it off, and we’ll talk dinner. I’m at the bookstore Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, so maybe Wednesday night, if it’s good for you?”

  “Sure, you know me, my schedule is open until the day arrives. Nothing is set in stone.”

  “I know, I know, but I love the bookstore,” I say, pushing her out the door. “Don’t hate that I like to work and go out into the world.”

  “Yeah, yeah, love ya girl.”

  The house is silent once Anne is gone, and it’s lovely. I peek out the front window and notice Lou’s car is gone too. Who knows why those boys stopped here and left with no goodbye? Probably checking up on lonely mom and raiding my cupboards. Well, more like the fridge with the endless supply of homemade cookies. They’re nothing special, but I've always made cookies, and now they go to the bookstore with me.

  I do have to work tomorrow, but I fill up my wine glass one more time. Might as well enjoy the calm cool evening a little while longer. I grab my laptop on my way out to figure out these glasses. I'm not exactly sure why I'm so bothered by all of this, but the thought is lingering in the back of my head. The doc said I wouldn’t have to wear them all the time, and they have progressive lenses now, but what guy would want an older woman who can’t see?

  Dramatic? Yes, but when I signed my divorce papers, I told myself right then and there, I was going to reinvent myself. I did and still am, but this is a cement brick taking me down to the bottom of the lake…to never return.

  Chapter Two

  Remind me to never pass out in my lounge chair again. Everything on me today hurts, especially my back. For a moment, when I woke up this morning, I thought I was going to have to call someone to help me get out of the damn thing. Way to start off the week, having to send out an SOS because my dumbass passed out. My children would be so proud. I could do one of those commercials: “Help me, I fell asleep in my chair, and I can’t get up.” And now I'm even grumpier.

  I never had an actual job. One afternoon I was searching the aisles, looking for some new reads and decorative ones for my new home at this eclectic bookstore down the road from my house. I've always loved reading, but He would give me a hard time about my reading interfering with taking care of my family. I was so dumb not to see all the controlling, demeaning signs early on, but I try not to dwell on those thoughts.

  Any who, Claire asked if I needed any help during my perusal, and our relationship formed. The next time I stopped in, which was two days later, she asked if I wanted a job. She tells everyone our friendship started at “hello.” Jerry Maguire is her favorite movie, too. Claire loves Tom Cruise, and I think she is crazy. It’s our biggest fight during work.

  The store sells new and used books, records, and she also has a little DVD section. You'd be surprised how many we sell in a month and the people who browse those shelves. Claire named the store Second Chance because everything deserves a second chance. If the name doesn’t suit me, I don’t know what does.

  At least once a month we hit up garage sales, farmers’ markets, and flea markets for new and used books and music. When Claire first suggested these outings, I must have given a look of bewilderment. Those kinds of outings were never even mentioned in my house growing up. Honestly, I didn’t even know what a garage sale was until Claire dragged me to one.

  “Ginny, what are you doing back here?” Claire yells from the back door.

  I’m moving slowly around the store, trying to set up for book club night. Claire wants to keep books and reading relevant, so one day a woman was bitching about not having a permanent spot for her book club. Claire swooped in, and now they meet here. The woman is definitely on a crusade to keep people reading paperback books. I will tell a little secret though, she has a Paperwhite in her purse.

  When I caught her reading it, the look of guilt made me laugh so hard. Her look reminded me of Him and Her and his guilty look. I promised not to tell anyone as long as she kept me employed. She agreed, and then we laughed for hours.

  “What do you mean? I'm getting the table and everything ready for book club tonight,” I yell toward her voice.

  This is the other reason why she hired me: I love setting up and breaking down tables and displays. Claire sits back and barks out the orders while I move the furniture around.

  “Oh, right,” she yells back. How we have customers is beyond me? “But can you come out here a second and move a box for me?”

  Seriously? She's asking me to move a box when I'm trying to unbury the extra table? The box must be in the way or needs to be moved a mile. She can be very unpredictable when it comes to the store and where the displays are set up. One mood change and the whole store will look different.

  I dust myself off because somehow the back room collects dust quicker than books. We are back here weekly moving stuff around, and every damn time we are coated in dust.

  Trudging out toward the front of the store I ask, “Where is this box? I wanted to get that table set up before the readers start coming in.” It becomes very chaotic when the book clubbers come in and the table isn’t ready. The store isn’t huge, and these clubbers are serious. Bags, notebooks, pens, and their own mugs are carted in monthly. How do they transport all of their essentials? Big bags! Big bags take up so much room; we really could use another room for the bags.

  I'm looking everywhere for this big box, and I'm starting to get more annoyed. Claire knows I’m a little neurotic over scheduling, and it’s super stressful with a cramped store while trying to take the table out.

  Sweat is starting to bead in between my shoulder blades, forming a nice little puddle. The front of the store is empty and still no box. I start fanning my shirt out to get a breeze up my back. A sweaty, sticky back is only attractive after a workout in the gym or the bedroom.

  “Oh, hey, Ginny, can you come over here?” Claire’s voice is behind me now, sounding obnoxiously chipper. Proceed with caution flashes in my mind. Her tone means she is up to something, definitely proceed with caution.

  “Where is this box?” is all I get out before I'm struck dumbfounded at the sight before me.

  “Funny story, my friend Silver moved it.”

  Silver? I knew of only one boy growing up called Silver. We didn’t go to school together, but my mother bought all of her flowers from Silver’s mom’s flower shop. Standing not ten feet from Claire is a man. Handsome doesn’t even begin to describe the fine specimen my lonely eyes land on. He is the silver fox, the man who only gets better looking as he ages. Strong, wide shoulders, thick thighs, and a head of hair women would be jealous of. Different shades of silver streak through his luscious locks. My hands instantly itch to feel and run my fingers through it.

  “Ginny, honey, you okay? Ginny?”

  My eyes snap to her, completely forgetting where I am and even who I am. “Uh,” is the only sound to leave my dry mouth. God, I pray my mouth wasn’t hanging open as I was shamelessly checking him—Silver—out.

  “Ginny?” His eyes are shockingly huge staring back at me. Neither one of us has moved an inch, but I can feel my breathing become choppy. “Gin…Ginny Wellington?” My name comes out of his mouth quietly, barely leaving his impeccable lips. My legal name rolls off his tongue, instantly taking me back to a hot summer night, fairgrounds, and one of the best moments of my life.
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  “SO…this is interesting,” Claire says with a sly look on her face. I can already see the wheels turning in that head of hers, trying to figure this puzzle out. The shellshock on both our faces screams there’s a story here, come find out what it is.

  What you don’t know about Claire is she is an endless flirt. When she finally became free, she became free with every aspect of her life. As long as the guy is old enough to drink and doesn’t live at home, it’s game on for her. Not for a second is she ashamed of it and couldn’t care less what other people think.

  Her number one goal since we’ve been friends is to get me out and having fun. My life, to her, is quite boring. She can’t fathom any of it. This is drama gold for her.

  “Uh,” is again the only sound I let out. Never in all of my years have I reacted so quickly to a man. Clenching stomach, sweaty hands, and dry mouth are all the signs pointing toward instant lust—same reactions I had toward him what now seems like a million years ago.

  “Will you at least get over here? If you guys know each other, no reason to be all the way over there.” Claire’s voice cuts through the tension, breaking up our silent stare down.

  My steps are hesitant, almost wobbly, but somehow, I make it to them without falling. Where is my damn applause for keeping myself upright? How can I be divorced, with two grown kids, and still feel like an awkward teenager around this man? I wouldn’t call Silver a dirty secret, but absolutely no one knows about that night or how often I would try to catch a glimpse of him. There is no way in hell Silver is single. He had all the right qualities a woman wanted back then with hardly any effort. I doubt those qualities ever went away, and I'm sure they only intensified over the years.

  “Stop.” I can feel the million questions Claire has bouncing off my body one at a time. They obviously know each other and are probably friends. Irritation skyrockets from my belly, but my brain is saying “relax, you can’t be jealous.” Claire is always on the hunt, and if, by the grace of god, this man is single, I would bet my life she has at least tried to take his pants off. If Claire is ready to go—watch out.