Page 78 of The Home Grown
Jess is the best sort of friend. Low maintenance—we can go weeks without actively talking, but we just pick up where we left off. It’s drama free and ideal for both of us.
“I know—I couldn’t believe it either,” I say.
I’ve just finished her treatment and I’ve been steadily filling her in since she got here and saw the bouquet from the street, still dominating the window of the salon.
I’ve told her all about the mystery document, the visit I paid Greg, the trip I made to Mike’s apartment and the stuff online—minus the part about me starting a ‘#justiceforBettsy’ campaign and him spending the night. I’ve just finished telling her the bit about Mike asking me if I can pretend to be his wife.
“And you said no?” she says, pulling on an old pair of leggings out of a small holdall she brought with her.
“Of course I did,” I say.
Jess straightens up and shakes them out before stepping into them.
“But why? I don’t understand.”
“You don’t understand why I would turn down the offer of pretending to be married to someone?”
“It’s not pretending though if you may actuallybemarried,” she says.
I scowl. “That’s not what this is about. He’s using me for his image.”
She scoffs. “Take that as a compliment. Where is your sense of fun? I’m just saying—you wouldn’t even think about it? Hell, I’ll do it!”
“You’re married,” I say.
“Well, yeah…” but Jess looks down at her pedicure as if it’s the most interesting thing in the world and when she lingers for longer than ten seconds, I know something’s up.
“Jess? What’s going on?” I ask.
She sighs, then tentatively raises her head to meet my eyes.
“I’m separated, but it’s … whatever.”
She says it in such a nonchalant tone, I wonder if I heard correctly.
“Excuse me?”
“Yeah, Phil and I are getting a divorce … but it’s no big deal. It’s clear that some things aren’t meant to be.”
“What happened?” I slump down on the tub chair in the corner of the treatment room while Jess works on the leggings.
“He’s a lazy ass who wants a mother, not a wife. I’m just annoyed I didn’t work it out until after we were married.”
“And that’s it?” I ask. “You’re done?”
“Yes. He tried begging. And he even cooked me a lasagne—from scratch. But I think I must have mentally checked out a long time ago because it made me feel sorry for him more than anything else. Too little, too late.”
I feel like a rock has been dropped in the pit of my stomach. From the outside looking in, Jess and Phil were the epitome of a couple, happy and in love, much like my sister and Greg. They were everything I was hoping for myself, because I’m a romantic at heart and I’m stuck on the idea that someday, someone will come and sweep me away. Just like Phil did to Jess—or so I thought.
“Are you?—”
“I won’t change my mind. And now it’s awkward as hell because we’re still having to live together. He won’t move out and I have nowhere to go, so … until we can plan a way forward and sell up or something, we’re stuck there. The only good thing is that there’s a spare room, so we don’t have to share a bed—oh, and we don’t have children to consider.”
Jess pulls on a hoodie and stuffs her work clothes into her bag while I stare at her, completely flabbergasted.
“But—”
Jess waves her hand, dismissing that part of the conversation.
