The Woman in 3B - Eliza Lentzski Page 0,86

my eyes. I couldn’t get out the words, so I responded with a watery nod.

My sister’s arms surrounded me, and I leaned into the embrace. People continued to pour out of the school gymnasium into the parking lot, but for a rare moment I didn’t care who might be staring at us. I needed that hug.

When we pulled apart, I noticed the tears in my sister’s eyes as well.

“Are you okay?” I ventured to ask.

“I’m getting a divorce.”

“You’re what?” I exclaimed.

She wiped at her eyes with the back of her hands. “Nothing’s official yet. I haven’t said anything to David, and I definitely haven’t said anything to the kids, but I think it’s only a matter of time.”

“What happened?”

“Nothing—not like one isolated incident, at least,” she said. “But he’s never around anymore, and I didn’t sign up to be a single parent.”

“Work or something else?” I was afraid to ask.

“He says work, but who can tell anymore,” she shrugged. “His phone rings or he gets a text and then he’s out the door with barely a goodbye. That’s probably why I’ve been so hard on you lately. You not being available and putting your job before your family—.” She held up her hand, anticipating my protest. I decided to let her finish her thought before defending myself. “I wasn’t really mad at you; I was frustrated with David.”

I nodded in understanding. “Have you talked to him about it?”

“He’d have to be home long enough for that to happen,” she complained.

“Talk to him,” I insisted. “Even if you have to stalk him at the hospital.”

Tracking Anissa down at baggage claim hadn’t worked out in my favor, but we also didn’t have the relationship history that Dawn and David had.

Dawn nodded, looking serious instead of dismissive. “I should get these two back home. Peter’s taekwondo uniform gets a little ripe after these things.”

“What kind of competition do the kids have next week?” I asked. “Youth soccer? Hip-hop dance troupe? Competitive hot dog eating?”

Dawn laughed. “It’s actually a rare, activity-free weekend for us.”

“Maybe I could come over to your house next Sunday,” I proposed. “Play some boardgames with you and the kids?”

Dawn’s normally pinched features softened. “That sounds perfect.” She touched a comforting hand against my forearm. “And if Anissa decides to forgive you between now and then, tell her I’m making a pineapple pizza just for her.”

Her suggestion and offer nearly had me crying in the parking lot for a second time. I swallowed back the overwhelming emotions.

“I will.”

I returned home later that evening to Honey and an empty apartment. I was no longer on call, and I had the next day off, which meant I could drink as many cocktails, glasses of wine, or bottles of beer as I could handle, but I settled on a seltzer water instead. I made myself a quick dinner and spent the rest of the night lying in bed.

I flipped through the photos and videos I’d recorded on my phone of the day’s activities. Multiple selfies with June, each of us making funny faces; videos of Peter walking through a few of his poses, punches, and kicks; and images of the moment Peter’s taekwondo instructor handed him the coveted yellow belt.

I tried not to overthink my impulse to share Peter’s accomplishments with Anissa. I was proud of him and wanted to share his accomplishment with someone. I sent her a short video of Peter attempting to kick through a thin, wooden board.

I could have left it at that, but I kept going: I saw Peter get his yellow belt today, I texted her. You were right – I should make more of an effort to see them.

I stared at my phone’s screen and chewed on my lower lip. I didn’t have alcohol to blame for my next actions. I typed out one, final text: I miss you.

I continued to stare at my phone and silently willed for something to happen.

My chest tightened and I sat up in bed when three little dots appeared on my text thread. After so much dismissal and rejection and avoidance, something was finally happening. Anissa was writing me back.

I sat in bed, clutching my phone, my heart in my throat, as I waited. What was she going to write back? Had she accepted my apology? Did she miss me, too?

My mind leapt ahead to the following day. Maybe she wasn’t working, and we could spend the day together. Maybe we could take a picnic lunch to a local park. Maybe