My Husband Brought His Mistress Home for the Weekend

by

Chapter 18

THEME:
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Emily helped me hang photographs.

I found a secondhand armchair at an estate sale and had it reupholstered.

I planted herbs on the balcony and killed the basil almost immediately.

I learned the name of the woman across the hall, Mrs. Alvarez, who was seventy-two and believed everybody under fifty needed more soup.

I began walking to a neighborhood coffee shop on Saturday mornings.

I started taking watercolor classes at a community art studio even though I was terrible.

For years, my adult life had been organized around being part of a pair.

Our friends.

Our vacations.

Our finances.

Our restaurants.

Our traditions.

There was grief in becoming singular again.

There was also discovery.

One night, six months after I left, Emily came over and found me assembling a bookshelf.

She leaned against the door.

"You're happy."

I looked up.

"I have six screws left and no idea where they go."

"I'm serious."

I sat back on my heels.

Was I happy?

Not constantly.

I still cried sometimes.

Certain songs hurt.

Wedding photographs remained buried in a box.

I avoided the marina neighborhood unless I had a reason to be there.

But I slept.

I laughed without thinking about whether Adrian was watching his phone.

I spent entire evenings without analyzing another person's tone.

"I think I'm becoming happy," I said.

Emily smiled.

"That's probably better."

The divorce was moving slowly but peacefully.

The biggest question was Unit 2304.

Neither of us wanted to keep it.

That surprised Adrian.

He assumed I would eventually ask to buy him out.

"Why wouldn't you?" he asked during mediation.

"Because I don't want it."

"You love that place."

"I loved our life there."

The mediator looked between us.

Adrian understood.

We agreed to sell.

The decision meant I would eventually have to return one last time.

I dreaded it.

Not because I feared Adrian.

Because I knew every room contained a version of us I had once believed would last.

The condo went on the market in early spring.

Two days before the first showing, Adrian texted.

I'm packing the rest of my things tomorrow. There are several boxes of yours in the storage closet. Do you want to come by, or should I send them?

I looked out at the maple outside my apartment.

Tiny leaves were beginning to appear.

I typed:

I'll come by.

For the first time since I left, I was ready to walk back into Unit 2304 while Adrian was there.

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