Page 80 of The Husband Diet
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Hours later, the dreaded Christmas dinner with the four of us was quiet but for Madeleine chatting happily, seating herself – like she used to when she was a toddler and things were very different – on Ira’s leg, giggling shyly and unaware of the tragedy that was about to strike her. I swallowed back the tears as I watched my little angel rest her head on his chest. The place I’d rested against so many times when I was younger. I hated him for being unable to keep our family together.
If Ira had given me that extra time, I’d have come up with a way to soften the blow. I’d have somehow suggested that this was going to be their last Christmas with both parents. I don’t know what I’d have done. Whatever it was, I hadn’t done it and now it was too late.
As we sat around the fire, I sensed the moment was dangerously near.No. Please, not yet, I pleaded with him silently with my eyes, but, as always, he wasn’t looking at me.
I jumped up to get my camera. These would be the last pictures of us all together. Ira pulled Maddy and Warren close as I sat next to them, grinning – or rather squinting, to keep from crying – into the lens as the auto-shoot clicked, blinding me.
‘We’ll frame that one and put it on the mantel,’ I said cheerfully, when all I wanted was to hang Ira instead – hang him upside by his big toes from the highest branch of our Christmas tree, for all to see what a useless piece of shit he was.
Warren kept stealing Ira and me glances as if he knew what was coming.
‘Stay until tomorrow morning. You can tell the kids then,’ I whispered when I caught him alone in the kitchen, my heart in my mouth, knowing it was imminent. I couldn’t bear it.
Ira stared at me and for a moment he seemed to give in, like someone under hypnosis.
He ran his hands over his face and looked at me. ‘I’m sorry, Erica. I’ve made up my mind. One more night isn’t going to change anything. I’m sorry. I don’t love you.’
‘But it’s not aboutus, you idiot!’ I insisted to his back as he turned and left me there.
You can imagine what happened at the stroke of eleven, after Warren and Maddy opened their presents. I won’t even bother putting you through it. Suffice to say that when he sat them down to tell them their parents were splitting up, Maddy started to cry, I mean really bawl, and begged him to stay.
‘I can’t,’ he answered, biting his lip.
Apparently, he’d promised Maxine he’d be there by the stroke of midnight. That was his only explanation.
Warren sat quietly, eyeing me, then him. ‘You’re nothing but an asshole!’ he bellowed suddenly, knocking his chair over as he shot to his feet. ‘We’re sooo much better off without you!’ he continued, breathing hard, his face flushed. ‘So go! You’re nothing but a loser anyway!’
‘Warren…’ I said, thinking how similar my kid was to me. I was, to be honest and horrible, so proud of him.
‘Dead weight!’ Warren finished. ‘We don’t need you! Mom is a perfect motherandfather!’
Before Ira could react, Warren scooped up Maddy and said, ‘We’re going to bed. This is the last time I want to see you. Ever again.’ And up he went, his sobbing little sister’s legs wrapped around his waist.
Having packed his clothes, there was nothing left for Ira – or me – to do or say.
‘My lawyer will be in contact with yours,’ he said.
‘Yep,ciao,’ I said without looking at him and closed the door after him, catching his heel in my haste to close that chapter.
I tiptoed to the kids’ rooms, but they were pretending to be asleep. I wasn’t worried. I could deal with that tomorrow. The important thing was that Ira was gone for good. Everything else would be easy from now on.
I went to the kitchen, poured myself a very large glass ofinzoliawine and then sank into a nice warm bubble bath, breathing deeply – deeper than I had in years.
On Christmas morning, Warren and a sniffling, listless Maddy got up to set the table for me without my even having to ask. It was going to be tough on them, but I knew in the end we were going to be just fine.
After we’d all opened our presents, Paul handed me a big box with a card that read:
Something to look forward to. It’s never too late for anything, sunshine. Merry Christmas.
Love Paul.
I tore at the packaging and gasped at the sight of the pale burgundy chiffon. I hadn’t seen this dress in years. And even if I had to appreciate the irony of how that dress had marked the beginning and the end of my marriage, that wasn’t why it meant so much to me. It was important because Paul had remembered our youth and our lifelong friendship. And he’d recognized that I’d made so many efforts to fit back into a similar dress. I never thought he’d get it back for me. Paul. My best friend. My only friend.If you didn’t count my lover, Julian.
30
New Year’s Revolution
