the essentials when I ditched that whole messy situation a couple of weeks ago, but I wasn’t able to fit everything in the suitcase.
I know eventually I’ll have to coordinate with him to get my stuff back. Or, I could just resign myself to never seeing that portion of my wardrobe so I don’t have to face him. Option number two is sounding very appealing.
It’s seven o’clock on a rainy Thursday night, and the house is eerily quiet. My parents are at a dinner party, something I’d insisted they go to, despite my mother’s offer to stay home. It’s embarrassing enough to be living with them. I draw the line at letting them feel like they have to babysit me.
Still, I’m regretting their absence a little. I don’t want to be alone. I start to text Meghan then delete it before hitting send. I start to text another friend then delete that too. I even start to text Drew, my high school boyfriend, thinking that might be just the distraction I need.
I can’t make myself hit send on that message either.
I realize that I don’t want to be alone, but I don’t want to be with anyone other than …
Him.
I knew I’d miss Colin, but I didn’t realize I’d crave him. I didn’t realize how much I’d miss talking with him, even if it was to listen to him grumble about my cooking messes. I didn’t realize how much his rare smiles could make my entire day brighter, or how much just being in the same room as him seemed to center me.
But, of course, that’s a non-option. He’s probably picking out freaking China patterns with freaking Rebecca.
Still, even though the pain is still alive and well, I don’t regret signing those divorce papers. I really don’t. Going on like Colin and I did wasn’t good for either of us. It even occurs to me that maybe it was supposed to go down that way. Haven’t I been sensing for weeks now that it’s time for a fresh start? We all know when I want a fresh start, I go big, and well, breaking my prenup in dramatic fashion so that the love of my life can marry the love of his life feels like a suitably dramatic way to start the next phase of my life.
Resigned to the fact that I’d rather be alone than with friends tonight, I change into pajamas. As I lie back on my bed and stare up at the ceiling, I notice that my mom has replaced the light that used to look like a tit with a classier one, and I feel oddly disappointed. I used to love that boob light.
I hear a creak on the stairs and jump in surprise. I must have been zoning out for a hell of a lot longer than I realized if my parents are back from their party already.
I roll off the bed and open the door to greet them. “Hey, how was—” My question dies on my lips.
The creak on the stairs was not my parents.
“Hi.” The word comes out breathy and lame, and I try again. “Hi.”
Hmm, nope. The second attempt still sounds breathy and lame.
“Hello.” Colin’s voice, on the other hand, sounds low and confident.
Yep, that’s right, I said Colin.
As in, my husband—ex-husband?—is currently standing in the doorway of my childhood bedroom and he looks … well, he looks so good I could cry.
Though, surprisingly, he’s not in his usual suit.
Instead, he’s wearing jeans—did not know that he owned those—and a gray crew neck sweater that makes his eyes look a little bit silver. There’s a blue file folder in his hand, and my throat constricts because I can think of only one reason Colin would have brought a folder over to my parents’ house.
“Can I come in?”
Faking indifference, I shrug and move to the side to let him in.
He steps into my bedroom, which I’d always imagined as being fairly roomy by Manhattan standards, but it seems to shrink to downright tiny with him in it. Or maybe it’s that the room isn’t big enough for him and my feelings for him.
“How’d you know I was here?” I ask.
He doesn’t answer my question. Instead, he’s staring at me. Hard. All of me.
Finally, he frowns. “Are those my boxers? And my shirt?”
“Um.” I pluck nervously at the tee. “I guess I grabbed them accidentally when I was packing my bags.”
“Uh-huh. And you were planning to keep them?”
“I was thinking maybe we could call