Page 101 of Not You Again

I fold Kit’s drawing and tuck it into my skirt pocket. “I’m a mess, honestly.”

“One hundred percent understandable,” Cassidy nods, her curls bobbing without headphones to get in the way. She looks more rested than I’ve ever seen her.

“I’ll be okay,” I shrug, “with time.” It took me the better part of a decade to get over Kit the last time. I’m worried this time may ruin me for life. But I don’t want any of these people to know that. Not when they’re all so happy with how their own lives turned out.

“You’re going to turn your pain into art and take over the world.” Jamie stands and wraps me in a firm hug.

Leslie joins in, hugging us both. Soon Kendra and Cassidy are part of the pile. Steve gives me a huge grin and wraps his arms around us all.

“I know we’re not here to make friends,” I sniff, “but I’m really glad I met all of you.”

“Maybe the real prize was the friendship we found along the way,” Jamie says in a sing-song voice, his cheek pressed against mine.

Everyone groans collectively before squeezing tighter. When we finally break apart, I feel a little lighter. A small piece of my heart snaps back into place, and I smile. We hold our plastic coffee cups up in a toast to the journey of a lifetime. And when I fall asleep in an empty bed in my loft that night, I feel a little less alone.

OCTOBER

CHAPTER FORTY-THREEKIT

“Have you heard from the doctors yet?” I ask Mom as I bring her another cup of coffee in the living room. I’ve been crashing at her place for the last couple of weeks because I can’t stand to go back to that giant empty suite at the Colonnade. My left hand already feels too light without the wedding band on it.

I still have it, of course.

It sits on my nightstand in my childhood bedroom, wrapped in one of Andie’s pocket squares, mocking me.

Mom shakes her head as she takes the mug from me. “Some mail came for you.”

I let the change in subject go and follow her gesture to the cream, calligraphed envelope on the dining table. Despite not living at home for over a decade, I always list it as my permanent place of residence. I figure I’ll change it when I finally have a place of my own, even though that’s not in my near future.

There’s no return address. I pop open the flap at the top.

All the air in my lungs whooshes out when I read more calligraphy on cardstock. It requests my presence at Atlanta Fashion Week. Scrawled on the bottom in Andie’s harried handwriting is the message: I don’t know the perfect words, but perhaps I can show you.

“What is it?” Mom asks with a grunt.

When I see she’s trying to get up to investigate for herself, I return to the living room, envelope clutched in my hand. “An invitation to a business event,” I tell her. It’s not exactly a lie, but it’s definitely not the truth.

I take a seat in the recliner in the corner and toss the invite on top of the divorce papers I received a few days ago, collecting dust on the side table. I don’t know what to do with them. When I got to the first page Andie had already signed, it felt like a fist to the gut. It had only been a couple weeks. Her signature was confident and straightforward on the page, ready to be done with me and our relationship.

I can’t blame her. It’s not like I gave her an option or left the door open for further communication or … any of it. With a frustrated sigh, I turn my attention to a short stack of romance novels. I nudge the one on top with my index finger.

I clear my throat. “I’m sorry I couldn’t make things work with Andie.”

“Why are you sorry?” She calmly takes a sip of coffee.

I sigh. “Because you want to see me settled, and I can’t seem to make that happen.”

Mom chuckles. She shakes her head and asks me with a smile, “Did you want it to work for yourself, too? Or just for me?”

I scratch the stubble appearing on my jaw after a few days without shaving. I’ve been calling in to work while I lick my wounds, so I haven’t been pulling myself together like I normally do. Hell, I’m still in sweatpants and a T-shirt and it’s almost noon. Patrick invited me out for a beer with Jamie, but I don’t know if I can fake a smile, even for them.

Had I wanted it to work for myself? I want to say yes, but I’m not sure that’s true. I went into it thinking I could give Mom some peace of mind. Then my wife was Andie, and I thought I could make it right after hurting her all those years ago. I spent our eight weeks trying to show her all the ways I could be a good husband.

Quietly, I answer, “I’m not sure.”

“What do you mean, you’re not sure?”

“I mean …” I look at the romance novels on the table. “I originally signed up for you, and then I spent eight weeks trying to be perfect. For her.”

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