My only request was that Saige not treat this like a bachelorette party. No party buses. No penis straws. No strippers. Just a nice evening with my girls, some cake, and the best champagne money can buy.
“Blow the candles! What are you waiting for?” Saige squeals into my left ear, raising her champagne glass and grinning wide. Rain slicks the dark, tinted windows behind her, and a rumble of thunder can be heard above the gentle lounge music piped from ceiling-mounted speakers. “Whoo! Fuck Nathan!”
Glancing down at the three-tiered vanilla bean cake with gold dust fondant and one flickering, sparkler candle, my eyes land on the words, “Fuck Nathan.”
“It was either ‘Fuck Nathan’ or ‘Happy Divorce,’” Saige says.
“Or you could’ve left it blank.” Our mutual friend, Tiffin, crosses her legs and leans closer, lifting her flute to her mouth and shrugging.
“What’s the fun in that?” Saige swats her away. “Blow out he damn candles, Maren. It’s over. Bye-bye, cheating asshole. Onwards and upwards.”
Brushing my dark hair off my shoulders, I pull in a deep breath and lean forward, lips pursed and blow, extinguishing the radiant light my first try. Tiffin, Lucia, Saige, Marissa, and Gia table clap and cheer and lift their glasses.
I know these women. We’ve attended birthing classes together and bake sales and PTA meetings. We’ve gone on double dates with our spouses and hosted sleepovers and backyard campouts together. Our kids are friends, and some of us are neighbors, past and present. But all that matters, in this moment, is that they’ve seen me at my best and they stuck with me through the worst.
“Thanks, girls.” I press my hands over my heart, my heart still hiccupping when I graze my left ring finger and find it bare. Too many times, I’ve caught myself thinking that I lost it. That I took it off while doing the dishes. And then I remember. A person doesn’t wear something for thirteen years and quickly adapt to the way it feels when it’s gone. It takes time to get used to things like cooking for one less person and sleeping in a bed alone and inheriting the ‘his’ side of the walk-in master closet. “It means the world to me that you’re all here.”
I pull my shoulders back and hold my head high. Tonight’s not about feeling sorry for myself. Tonight’s about moving forward. Shutting the book on a failed marriage. Welcoming the future with open arms. Embracing my new reality one day at a time.
“We love you, babe.” Gia lifts her glass again and gives me a wink. “We’re not celebrating your divorce; we’re celebrating your freedom. Remember that.”
I take a seat at the end of the half-circle booth we share. Everything in this hotel bar is dark as midnight, and ambient sconces provides just enough light for us to maneuver around. People pass by, mostly suits and businessmen, and they all look like shadows. Had I told Saige to pick the most depressing bar in downtown Seattle, she’d have nailed it.
“What’s wrong, sweets?” Saige hooks her arm around my shoulders, and I’m engulfed in a cloud of Moet and Chandon and expensive perfume.
“Nothing at all.” I force a weak smile and take a sip from my flute.
Saige squints, tilting her head. “You’re lying.”
Exhaling, I say, “I’m just tired. Dash let Beck watch a scary movie last night and Beck had nightmares and I was up all night and-“
“Sh, sh, sh.” Saige cups her hand over my mouth. “You’re not Mommy here. You’re Maren. And tonight, you’re a newly minted debutant divorcee with a killer ass and a one-track mind.”
I pull her salty palm from my lips. “I’m not sure about the one-track mind thing, but I have been doing lots of squats lately, so thanks for noticing.”
Saige rolls her eyes. “Stop being so Maren.”
“So Maren?” I echo, a single brow arched.
“Yeah,” she says. “Stop being so modest and prim and proper and perfect. Let your hair down. Get a little crazy. Have some fun.”
Saige scans the bar, though I’m not sure how she can see a thing in here because I sure as hell can’t.
“Him,” she says, leaning in and pointing to what appears to be a man sitting at the edge of the bar. I can make out a hint of a profile but that’s about it. “You should screw him tonight.”
Laughing, I take another drink. “It doesn’t work that way. I don’t work that way.”