A couple of weeks later, my husband serves me with divorce papers. I open the FedEx envelope in front of Lupe.

“Are you okay? Do you need to sit down?” she asks, concerned.

I shake my head no. “I’m okay.” I smile to reassure her. I had more than a couple days to get used to the idea. I’d heard from my attorney that the documents were being routed to me.

I’m not hyperventilating anymore like I was a few days ago, when my reaction gave her a scare.

I pull the documents out of the envelope and stare at them. I run my fingers across the words “petition” and “marriage" and I scan until I see the checked box for “divorce.” My eyes fall on my ring finger, which is now naked. I took my engagement and wedding rings off my finger after I talked to Brad on the phone and it was clear—at least to me—that we weren’t going to find common ground. There’s a white line on my finger, where the two rings had been for the last seven years.

“It really is for the best,” I tell her. “I think my brain is still trying to get used to the idea.”

After the initial call with Brad the day after I moved in, I was hoping we could find common ground. Instead, things took a sour turn, as most separations and divorces do. He didn’t accept my decision and was determined to fight me about everything. He was threatening to sue on grounds of abandonment, because according to him, I’d left him.

Richard, Lily’s father and my attorney, suggested I should maybe agree to come back to LA, but I was reluctant.

I didn’t want to return to our home in LA. The thought of having to give in because he wouldn’t accept that there was no hope for us made me want to puke. We didn’t talk on the phone anymore. We only communicated via email or text.

After days and days of unpleasant exchanges, it was evident there was no sign or hope for reconciliation. He continued to dish out guilt in his usual way, and I was over it.

Arguing for days via text had taken a toll on me, and I felt claustrophobic in my nest of an apartment, so I rushed downstairs to the courtyard. I sat on a bench in the shade, occasionally pacing, waiting for his next message. I dreaded a phone call from him, even though he hadn’t called in over a week, because I knew it wouldn’t be pretty. He wasn’t sorry, even after that first call, when he was trying to lure me back in with puppy dog eyes. He was still angry at me, and I felt drained.

While I argued with him through texting, I kept pacing in the courtyard, hoping no one would notice me. I knew this wasn’t the life I wanted or deserved, and I prayed the day would come that I didn’t have to put up with this anymore.

We weren’t right for each other. Or maybe he wasn’t right for me. My fingers became slippery around the phone as I got more and more overheated.

I collapsed again on the bench when I got everything off my chest and when I told him I was done. I placed the phone next to me, waiting for his reply.

Like I said, we’d been down this path many times before; fighting was always followed up by kissing and making up.

But not this time.

 

Brad: Tell me where I should overnight the papers. I’m ready to be fucking done with you.

 

My lips trembled, and I whimpered before my throat tightened up and tears ran down my cheeks. My nose started running and I tried to clean up the best I could with my hand before someone saw the state I was in.

I kept telling myself I needed to peel myself off the bench and go upstairs, but I couldn’t move. My sobs became louder, and I started heaving. I couldn’t breathe. I was having a full-on panic attack.

Lupe found me in tears, beside myself, and took me upstairs.

“I’m so sorry for the other day.” Her concern for me is rolling off in waves. “I must have given you quite the scare.”

She frowns and lets out a breath. “I mean…I wasn’t sure how you were going to react, but I expected that sooner or later the reality of what was happening would sink in. I didn’t want you to be alone for that.”

“Thank you for being here for me,” I tell her. She nods, pursing her red lips, her eyes wary. I’m not sure if she’s still worried about me, or there’s something she wants to say.

“Do you have an attorney yet? I know you said you don’t want to leave, but you’ll have to hire someone to represent you.”

“My friend Lily’s father is a divorce attorney. He’s representing me. Lily and I have been friends since we were kids and he’s been like a second father growing up. Lucky me.” I raise my eyebrows.

“Did you tell your parents?”

It’s my turn to purse my lips. I let out a breath before saying the words I always say in this situation. And brace for the apologetic expression.

“My parents passed away years ago. My father had a stroke when I was a teenager, and my mother had one of those ugly, aggressive types of lung cancer right after I graduated college. She never even smoked. I’m an only child and I don’t really have any family.” There, my entire history was out. Now she had the rundown of my situation. I was on my own with the exception of Lily and a few friends. Brad had been the only constant in the last decade of my life. Maybe that was why we decided to get married so young.

No. Loneliness wasn’t the reason. You loved him, I tell myself. It’s true. I did love him. Is it possible that it’s truly over?

I search my heart for any feelings of remorse, but I come up empty.

Lupe circles around the counter and wraps her arms around me. She’s a few inches shorter than me. Her arms hold me tight and her embrace warms my chest, but the knot in my throat renders me speechless. I reciprocate her embrace, relishing the closeness with another human being. I’ve been okay, mostly, but I can’t deny that I’ve felt a little lonely from time to time.

“Ines, I’m so sorry to hear that. I can’t imagine what that’s like. Please know that I’m here for you, whenever. I want us to become great friends, okay?” She sounds so earnest. I can’t help it. I start tearing up.

“I would love that.” I smile. Genuinely. I know Lupe and I will become good friends. I can see it. She’s someone who loves with her whole heart. I miss her warm embrace after she pulls away. “I’m going upstairs, so I can fill these out and send them back to him.”

“Ines,” she calls after me. “You don’t have to do it right now. You can give yourself some time, you know?”

I smile at her words. I know she’s right. I know I should slow down, but there’s a part of me itching to get the rest of my life started, and that can’t happen if I don’t close this chapter first. The more I ask myself if I’m doing the right thing, the more I feel it in my blood. This is what I’m supposed to do.

“I know. Thank you, Lupe.” I hold the documents tight to my chest and race up the stairs to my apartment.

 

A few weeks go by, and slowly, as communications and nasty jabs from Brad diminish, I regain a handle on my life.

Lily and I chat daily, and I update her on my divorce proceedings. I don’t know if it’s because Richard Austin is a top-notch, badass divorce attorney, but so far my future ex-husband hasn’t tried to rip me off. We have a prenup in place, like most responsible Californians, and while I’m not expecting to get any kind of alimony, he’s buying me out of our house.

The house. The place I worked so hard to make ours. Guilt assails me as I realize I’ll miss the house and what it represented more than I’ll miss Brad. It was the very first grown-up place I’ve lived. Before moving in with Brad in a modest apartment, when he was still in law school, I’d always had roommates.

I tell myself that one day I will have another place to call home, a place where I belong. As of right now, I don’t feel any urge to rush back to California. Sure, I will have to go back for my hearing, but I don’t feel the need to go back now.

I’m getting used to my life here in Albuquerque just fine, and each day I love it a little more. After a few days of using the rental bikes, I got my own. It’s my mode of transportation for now. It feels silly trying to get a car when I own one in LA that I’m not using. I’m giving myself until after the divorce to decide what to do and where to move. Car or no car, there is nothing quite like bicycling around sleepy Old Town early in the morning. Some mornings, I hit up nearby breakfast spots and chat with the locals. My favorite spot, Church Street Café, is a restaurant in one of the oldest homes in Old Town, built during the founding of Albuquerque sometime after 1706. My favorite spot is at any of the tables outside in the garden. They have umbrellas and lots of plants and wooden statues of saints and a Madonna. When it isn’t too hot in the morning, I like opening up my laptop and working, responding to clients’ emails. Other times, I run by the nearest market and stock up on a few things. Sometimes I work all day, or I venture out for lunch. I’ve been keeping myself busy binging shows on Netflix and riding my bike all over the place, so I never sit on my ass all day.

My personal life might be falling apart, but my professional life is just fine, somehow. Work keeps me focused, and after a few weeks in Albuquerque, I’m able to complete all the jobs I had scheduled before coming here on vacation.

On top of that, I have been filling up my calendar with new projects.

Most of them are for my clients in California or New York, but Lupe has gotten me some local customers as well.

She really is vying for the role of BFF. I better not tell Lily.

 

 

It didn’t take long at all to start loving my life here, but if there’s one thing I miss about my house in the hills it’s the pool. It’s getting hotter by the day here in Albuquerque and I wish I could take a dip in the pool, especially on days like this, when the weather shows the first signs of what summer is going to be like here.

Today is dry and very hot. So much so that I regret not putting on sunscreen and I feel the sun burn my shoulders as I ride my bike through town. To beat the heat, I enrolled at the closest YMCA so that I can swim and unwind a little after work. I plan to go there three or four times a week and swim a solid thirty minutes of laps.

It’s part of the new self-care regimen I’ve adopted, and it turns out that it’s just what I need. My tiny apartment is lovely, but it’s too cramped to spend all day there. Once I’m done with work, I have to get out and breathe some fresh air. I’m glad that I don’t have that much room, because it has forced me to explore the city more and visit places I hadn’t been able to check out before.

Swimming relaxes me and makes me feel better after a long day sitting at my desk or trying to work with the laptop on my bed. I don’t always keep the best posture while I’m working and it’s easy to get stiff and sore.

I’ve just finished my laps and I take my goggles off gently, since my hair is tucked underneath a swimming cap to protect it from the chlorine.

I hear some giggling behind me and notice two young girls who don’t look a day over twenty, wrapped in their towels.

“Oh, God. There he is,” says one. They’re staring toward the opposite side of the pool, where a tall, tanned man is fixing his swimming cap. His tiny swimsuit, a Speedo, is black, as are his swimming cap and goggles. I let out a laugh, wondering what is up with the handsome man in black the girls are fawning over, and I turn around again, trying to dry off before heading to the dressing room. Slowly, I peel the swimming cap off my head.

“He’s so damn hot. He’s way older than us, but I wouldn’t mind it at all. Look at those abs.”

“Look at those arms. Yeah, you wouldn’t mind it, but your parents sure would.”

“Shut up.”

“Damn. I wish we could zoom in on that black Speedo.”

I let out another small laugh, covering my mouth with my towel.

“The only person I’ve seen wear a Speedo like that is Ryan Lochte,” adds one of the girls.

“Michael Phelps isn’t bad either, but Esteban Garcia is way hotter.”

At the mention of his name, I turn around, just as he’s leaping into the pool behind me. I should have known. He totally has a swimmer’s physique, lean and powerful, with muscles in all the right places. I’m sure working around the restaurant doesn’t hurt, either. My arms were in fabulous shape when I waitressed because I had to lift heavy trays all the time.

He gets to the end of the pool and turns around. He does it over and over again. I feel like a creep for staring at him, but I can’t seem to avert my eyes. I realize I haven’t seen him in weeks, not even in passing at Lupe’s store. I sigh, a little disappointed with myself when a dull ache spreads in my chest. So what if he hasn’t been coming around? Why is that any of my business?

The girls’ chatter distracts me.

“He completely shut me down when I tried flirting with him,” one of the girls says.

“You were barely eighteen then, Bailey. Do you think he would have agreed to go out with you the minute you turned legal?”

“Why not?” Bailey teases.

“He has a business to run and a reputation to protect,” the wiser friend says.

“Whatever. He just needs to say when, and I’ll drop my panties for him.”

I purse my lips together to stop myself from guffawing. I can’t blame her. If I knew someone like Esteban at that age, I suspect I would have been infatuated with him just as much. I can’t deny that as I watch him do his laps, I do feel slightly infatuated with him. I haven’t seen him around, but I keep thinking of him, and how protective he was that night. I instinctively inch closer to the border of the pool to get a better look. I feel the girls’ eyes on me.

One of the girls mumbles something and the other laughs, and I suspect they are laughing at my expense, but I don’t care. I just can’t look away. There are other people getting either in or out of the pool, but thankfully, no one seems to be paying attention to me. Not like the girls, who are eyeing me up and down as they leave the pool.

I see him emerge from the other side, and his back expands even more as he gets out of the pool. Even from a distance, I see rivulets of water cascading down his sculpted back. He grabs a towel and starts drying off.

The girls were right.

He’s fiiiiiine. Not that I didn’t notice it the first time I saw him. Or the second. But this is the first time I’ve seen him…in his full glory. He takes off his swimming cap and runs a hand through his hair. He adjusts his towel around his waist and walks through the doors on the opposite side. My heart is racing in my chest at the thought of saying hello, the thudding noise louder in my head as I fix the towel on me and put on my flip-flops. I’m about to walk after him, running a hand through my messy, disheveled hair. I’m a few feet from the doors when I see through the glass a guy approaching him in the hallway and shaking his hand. They hug, and Esteban pats him on the arm. 

His smile stretches big across his face, and it mirrors his friend’s.  They chat animatedly, like old friends catching up.

I decide to abandon my plan and retreat to the dressing room, pushing the thought of him aside, but my skin prickles with need. It’s not a big deal if I don’t say hello to him right now, but there’s something inside of me that pushes me toward him like a magnet.

I know I’ll run into him again, eventually. It's not that big of a deal if I don't say hi to him now.

I run a hand over my heart, wishing it would stop beating so fast for a stranger.