I’m in my art studio applying a final coat of protective sealant to a commissioned painting when my phone chimes, reminding me I have a lunch date today. Perfect timing! I skipped breakfast this morning, and my stomach’s been growling for the past half-hour.
After cleaning my paint brushes, I grab my coat and head to the front of my shop to hang up the OUT TO LUNCH sign. It’s been a slow morning, probably thanks to the frigid weather, so there haven’t been many customers coming into my art gallery.
I lock the door behind me and head toward the neighborhood sandwich shop, which is only two blocks away. The sidewalk foot traffic might be lighter than usual today, but the street is bumper-to-bumper vehicles, as usual. Cars, taxis, Ubers, buses, delivery trucks… the street is a slushy, hot mess of folks in a hurry.
The restaurant isn’t as crowded today as it normally is, perhaps thanks to the season’s first snowfall last night. This late in November, the temperatures are really starting to drop at night, and the wind can be downright frigid.
Stepping inside the restaurant, thankfully out of the cold and the blowing wisps of snow, I scan the small dining area for my friend Chloe, but I don’t see her yet.
“Just one today?” says the cheerful young woman standing behind the host’s podium.
“Two,” I tell her, holding up the same number of fingers. “Thanks.”
Miss Cheerful hands two menus to another young woman who shows me to a table in the center of the room.
“Here you go,” she says, laying one menu in front of me and the other at the seat across from mine. “Your server will be by soon to take your drink order.”
While I’m waiting for Chloe, I scan my menu. It’s completely unnecessary, as I practically have the menu memorized, but it gives me something to do and helps take my mind off the significance of today.
It’s not long before the bell hanging over the door jingles, and I glance up just as Chloe walks in. She flashes me a brilliant smile as she waves off the hostess and makes her way to our table.
“God, I hate snow,” she says, whipping off her oversized parka and hanging it on the back of her chair. She unwraps the black knitted scarf from around her neck and tucks it into the hood of her coat. “Please tell me it’ll be spring soon,” she says, settling into her chair.
She pulls back her long, wavy hair, which is the color of the finest dark chocolate, exposing an impressive collection of ear piercings. Every time I see her, she has a new piercing. Some of them I can see, but some of them aren’t visible to the general public. I never knew the human body could be pierced in so many places.
I laugh. “It’s not even officially winter yet. I’m afraid it’ll be awhile until spring gets here.”
“Ugh!” She shudders as she picks up her menu. “I hate this cold. I’m moving back home to Miami.”
“No, you’re not. I need you here. Thanks for braving the snow flurries and coming out to meet me. I feel honored.”
Chloe rolls her exotically dark eyes at me as she gives me her best duh face. “Molly, please, I know what today is. Of course, I’m here. Where else would I be?”
When I texted Chloe last night, asking her to meet me today for lunch, she didn’t hesitate to say yes. Yeah, she knows what today is.
A young woman buzzes by our table just long enough to leave two glasses of ice water and two straws. “I’ll be right back to get your orders,” she says, hurrying off.
Chloe raises her glass in a toast. “Happy anniversary! How does it feel to be divorced for a whole year?”
I touch my glass to hers. “It feels pretty good actually.”
Has it really been a year? It sure doesn’t feel like it. Exactly one year ago, my divorce from my husband of ten years became final. It’s been a rough year, to say the least. Learning to be on my own for the first time in my life, running my own business, learning how to deal with Todd post-divorce… yeah, it’s been rough. Rougher than I ever imagined it would be. Not the living on my own part – that part I actually enjoy. It’s the dealing with my ex that’s the problem. My ex, who seems to have lost his mind.
Our server returns to take our orders. “Sorry, we’re short-handed today. What can I get you?”
“I’ll have the Power Greens Salad with Strawberries and Walnuts,” Chloe says. “Baked sweet potato fries, coffee, because it’s cold as hell outside, and a brownie. But wrap up the brownie to go, please.”
“That sounds good,” I say. “I’ll have the same salad and the fries, but Mango Green Tea to drink. And skip the brownie.”
Chloe scowls at me as our server walks away. “Party pooper.” She shakes her head. “I’m not going to feel bad about eating a brownie, so don’t even try to guilt me.”
I laugh. “I’m not. You go right ahead and enjoy your brownie.”
Chloe can eat like a horse and still retain her willowy figure. Me, on the other hand… if I even look at sweets, five pounds magically appear on my hips. Life is so unfair.
“Oooh, look at these!” she says, pulling back the sleeve of her bulky, knitted sweater. A trail of dainty little paw prints meanders the length of her forearm, from inside her elbow to her wrist, then turns to travel up the back of her hand. The skin surrounding the tattoos is still pink, so I know the tats must be new.
“Cute. What kind of prints are those?”
She wrinkles her nose. “Wolf. I’m going with wolf. Do you like them?”
I smile. “Yes. Very nice.”
I happen to know she’s got tattoos on various places on her body. She has a sunflower tramp stamp, a tiny heart tattoo behind her left ear, and a little tattoo of a butterfly just above her mons – which you can only see if she waxes. Yes, I’ve seen it. Chloe’s not shy. Right above the butterfly tattoo is a naval piercing featuring a pink butterfly charm.
I met Chloe right after I moved to Wicker Park a year ago. In fact, we met right here in this café. We were both waiting for a table one afternoon and got to chatting, and we ended up eating together. We’ve been friends ever since. I honestly don’t know where I’d be without Chloe’s unwavering support. These days, it feels like she’s my only friend.
I lost half of my friends after the divorce. To be honest, they were Todd’s friends first, and when we split up, they went with him. I guess that’s only natural. Todd’s pretty charismatic on the surface, at least he used to be. His friends probably thought I was crazy for divorcing him. Too bad they don’t know him like I do. In the past couple years, he’s changed. He’s no longer the considerate, carefree guy I first met. Now he’s angry and aggressive all the time, borderline paranoid, and very narcissistic.
I did have a few college friends of my own before coming into the marriage, but I’ve intentionally distanced myself from them, for their own good. Being around me, and subsequently finding yourself on Todd’s radar screen, is a risky prospect these days. He’s irrationally jealous of everyone I spend time with – even Chloe.
Chloe Montoya is the only one who knows what’s really going on – well, Chloe, my attorney, and the judge who issued a restraining order against Todd six months ago. The only reason Chloe’s still hanging around is because she’s fearless and has absolutely no sense of self-preservation. She refuses to abandon me, even for her own sake.
No one else knows what Todd’s been doing lately. I certainly can’t burden my parents with this. It would only distress them, and their health can’t take it. Telling them I’d filed for divorce was hard enough on them. They don’t need to know their ex-son-in-law, whom they’d adored, has turned into a violent stalker.
After our server brings our beverages, Chloe tears open two packets of organic cane sugar and slowly pours the fine crystals into her coffee and stirs. “Has the douchebag reared his ugly head today?”
“No.” Thank God for small favors. And then, out of sheer habit, I surreptitiously scan the café just to be sure.
“Maybe he forgot what today is.” Chloe opens a little package of creamer and pours it into her coffee, stirs, then blows on the steaming mug.
I shake my head. “Todd doesn’t forget anything.” Except for the wedding vows he made to me ten years ago, and then proceeded to break. He didn’t just break our wedding vows; he pulverized them in glorious, full-frontal nudity with his pretty college intern on our living room sofa. If I hadn’t come home unexpectedly for lunch that day and interrupted their nooner mid-progress, I might never have known my husband was having an affair.
Chloe shakes her head in disgust. “Men are such pigs.” She takes a tentative sip of her coffee, frowns, then adds one more packet of sugar and stirs briskly. “I think lesbians have it right. Women are so much easier to deal with.”
I laugh. “I don’t know. I’ve known some pretty difficult women in my life.”
Our server arrives with our orders, and the two of us eat in companionable silence as Chloe responds to a minor emergency text message from the tattoo parlor.
Despite how hungry I was earlier, I find myself picking at my food. It’s not the food that’s the problem, though. It’s me. My mood isn’t the best. My marriage may be over, but the nightmare continues.
When Todd was carrying on with his assistant, Mindy, he really didn’t pay much attention to what I was doing. I filed for a dissolution and got through the process relatively unchallenged because Todd was focused on screwing his new girlfriend. But once their liaison soured and she broke up with him, he suddenly refocused his attention on me. Lucky me.
Right after the divorce was finalized, Todd started showing up everywhere I was, at my new apartment, at my art studio, at restaurants and bars where I happened to be hanging out with the few friends I had left. He told me repeatedly that the divorce had been a mistake and that he wanted me back.
“I fucked up, Molly,” he’d said. “In a moment of weakness, I made the worst mistake of my life.”
Later, I found out that his “moment of weakness” had been going on right under my nose for six months. His infidelity wasn’t a mistake; it was a lifestyle.
Of course, he didn’t see it that way. When I refused to even discuss reconciliation, he’d grown angry and defensive. “You have no one to blame but yourself, Molly. All of this is your fault!”
It’s so ironic. Todd’s the one who had the affair, and yet he blamed me for our marriage falling apart. Maybe he’s right, I don’t know.
He put the blame for his affair squarely on me. Yet another irony because in the beginning he supported my decision to have the surgery. If he’d balked at my choice of treatment in the beginning, I might have considered other options, but he hadn’t. He told me he was behind me all the way. It wasn’t until later – when reality hit him – when the consequences of my choice were staring him in the face that he changed his tune.
When he eventually realized I had no intention of coming back to him, he became increasingly erratic and aggressive. Before long, I found myself filing a restraining order in an effort to keep him away.
Every time the café door opens, I automatically glance over to see who’s coming in. It’s become a habit now, second nature. I feel like I’m always watching my back and peering into dark corners, just waiting for the boogie man to jump out at me. This time, when the little bell over the door jingles, I look up to see a familiar face walk into the restaurant… my new neighbor. This is the first time I’ve seen him since he moved in. He’s got a gorgeous young blonde on his arm and a dog with him, a Yellow Lab.
I nudge Chloe’s foot with mine. “Don’t look now, but the guy who just walked in – the one with the cute blonde – that’s my new neighbor.”
It’s the first time since my divorce that I’ve given a guy a second look. And this one – he inspires all kinds of feels and reminds me what I’m missing out on. He’s beautiful – tall, with broad shoulders and a lean waist; beautiful, thick chestnut-colored hair and a trim beard and mustache. His dark aviator sunglasses – the kind worn by movie stars and FBI agents – make him look sexy and mysterious.
He plays the role of the gallant gentleman as he helps his blonde lunch companion take off her coat and drapes it over the back of her chair. Then he pulls her chair out for her to sit. His lunch date, who is considerably younger than he is, reminds me of an elfin princess with her long, pale blonde hair and lovely, oval face. Wearing a pale blue dress with a white lacey sweater, she’s elegant and graceful… everything I’m not. I’m about the same height as she – five-eight – but I’m more of the solid and sturdy type, with good child-bearing hips, as my ex-mother-in-law liked to say.
When the blonde happens to look in my direction, I glance down at my fingernails and busy myself chipping off a bit of blue acrylic paint. I’ll bet she doesn’t have splatters of paint on her hands and clothes.
I hate her already.
I’d told Chloe all about my new neighbor. That day had brought a pure overload of attractive men into my building. Between my new neighbor and his buddy, I didn’t think our little apartment building could handle so much testosterone. Poor old Mrs. Powell on the first floor might have had a heart attack if she’d seen the two of them coming into the building.
After waiting a respectable five seconds, Chloe casually turns her head toward the front of the restaurant to sneak a peek. Her eyes widen. “Damn. He’s fine.” She sticks a sweet potato fry in her mouth and chews. “That girl he’s with, though… she looks barely legal, and he’s got to be at least thirty, maybe thirty-five.”
I shrug. “Hey, when you look as good as he does, you can have your pick of beautiful women.”
Chloe rolls her eyes, looking disgusted, which is kind of funny considering Chloe is drop-dead gorgeous in her own right. With her perfect café-au-lait complexion, sinfully pouty lips, and gorgeous waterfall of dark, lustrous hair, she turns heads wherever she goes.
I give the couple seated by the window one last glance. When the blonde laughs at something he said, my chest constricts painfully. Yeah, I’m starting to realize what I’m missing in my life.