Page 9 of Just Friends Forever
It would hurt Curtis a lot more than it would hurt me. Anxious as I am for this to all be over, I don’t want to hurt him.
A text pops up at the top of my screen, and my heart skitters.
TROY
I see your swinging skills have improved since the Great Tumble of ’18.
My mouth stretches wide, and my eyes crinkle at the memory. He must have seen Curtis’s post too.
STEVIE
You mean when you catapulted me out of the swing and nearly killed me?
TROY
It was a perfectly average underdog.
I passed by the elementary school earlier today and considered taking a little commemorative swing for old times’ sake, but I was running late for an open house up north. Maybe I’ll stop by on my way home.
STEVIE
Up north—as in LA?
It’s been a while, but IthinkTroy still lives in Irvine, not far from where we grew up. I like the thought of him passing by all our old haunts. It wouldn’t feel like home without him nearby.
It’s a moot point, though. It doesn’t matter where Troy is. I couldn’t meet up with him even if he was walking on the sidewalk at the bottom of my building. No one can know the truth about Curtis and me yet. Not even my mom knows—not that that’s shocking. Curtis was never a big fan of hers, and since she’s on her fourth marriage and has plenty of stepchildren to fill the void, it’s been easy to keep things superficial with her on the rare occasions wedotext.
They call it a gag order, but it’s not just my ability to talk in any meaningful way about my life that’s been taken away. I also can’t really take solid steps to plan my future—like finding a house or deciding what I want to do with my life—when no one is supposed to know things aren’t hunky-dory between Curtis and me.
Another text pops up at the top of my screen, and I immediately tap on it, just like I always do when it’s from my lawyer.
JOHN BARRET
It’s final. The decree just came through. Congratulations and condolences, Stephanie. I’ll be filing your name change paperwork tomorrow.
I stare at his text until the words blur.
It’s final.
I’m officially divorced.
I use the slow, measured breathing I’ve learned from my meditation apps as I try to process the news. No one ever thinks they’ll end up divorced. Maybe I should have, though. My parents split when I was little, so I guess it’s in my genes.
In one of my college writing classes, we had to learn to format a resume properly. I guess I hadn’t really anticipated that six years later, I’d find mine sayingtwenty-six years old, divorced, owner of over sixty virtual pets. Pretty impressive, right?
It might sound reductive, but it’s pathetically true. For the last four and a half years, my life has revolved around Curtis’s career. The public ate up our romance right from the start, and his PR team loved what it did for his image, so my job description might as well have read: trophy wife.
I’ve been waiting for this moment for months, wanting it to be done and dusted, wanting the metaphorical duct tape over my mouth ripped off. But now that it is, I don’t knowhowto feel—or which feeling to focus on. Relief? Humiliation? Defeat? Hope? They’re all there, pushing and pulling at me like schoolchildren playing tug-of-war.
I stare at the floor-to-ceiling windows offering up a massive view of twilight falling over West Hollywood. Cars are cruising down the street and people are finishing up their shopping while I sit above, looking down on the bustle. It’s surreal. And crushingly lonely.
In the hustle and bustle of marriage to an A-list actor, I neglected everyone and everything in my own life. I feel it keenly right now.
JOHN BARRET
We can talk logistics tomorrow. Curtis’s team managed to keep things private until now, but the decree is public record. Best to brace yourself.
I shut my eyes and sigh as my phone pings yet again. It’s not John, though, and I eagerly tap Troy’s text, the most welcome distraction.
