There’s Beauty in the Breakdown

Driving out of the gym lot that night, I had to make myself not feel sorry for him. His parting words and the look on his face were pathetic. Like he really might have been feeling some of the rejection and shock and sadness that I felt two months ago.

I reminded myself that he was there because he was bored. He was hungry. The world series was over and he wasn’t really in the mood to go home to an empty house. He misses being the center of someone’s world. But he didn’t say he was there, leaning on my car, because he fucked up, he was wrong, he was stupid, he missed me. Nope. He wondered why I haven’t gotten over it yet, why I can’t get past this, why I’m so bent on holding him to a few stupid things he said in those first days.

I reminded him that it was a little different than when I maybe brooded too long over arguments we’d had in the past. He broke marriage vows, questioned my worth, didn’t feel like talking about it because he was too busy chasing someone else and he offered me money to take my name off of the deed to our condo.

He said it again. Jess, I said some stupid stuff that first week. Don’t hold me to them. I miss you. I know what I have with you. you’re my wife and you can’t decide to end this. give me a chance. If not tonight, how about tomorrow. Or the next day. Lunch, dinner, a drink, breakfast. Please. Please.

He said something about Christmas. His mom. She’d like to see me. he asked me how my apartment is. How’s my car. He can’t believe I’m functioning without him. Wow. I changed my oil all by myself?!

My shoulder hurt from holding my gym bag at an angle to block him from moving closer to me.

20 minutes later, I walked into my bar. Instead of sitting at a table, like I usually do, I marched up to the bar and took a stool. My bartender said he’s been waiting for that. His friends came in: an ex-girlfriend with blond hair and black streaks. A loud drunk stock trader. And a really sweet medical researcher, going to school in hyde park. He introduced me like this: this is her. She’s by far the most interesting girl you can imagine. Tell them about your job. Tell them where you’re going next week.

I didn’t tell them I was married to a man who wonders what I bring to the table.

The ex-girlfriend left in a huff. The sweet medical student told me he’s heard all about me and we talked about high school girls; his sister is 17. when he left, he gave me his phone number and said: Don’t tell the bartender. He’ll kill me.

I stayed while the bartender closed, cleaned up the bar, and thanked him for inviting me to meet his friends. He winked, asked if I’d come back on Sunday.

Today, the possibilities continued to multiply. Scoping an open house in my neighborhood, I told a developer I moved to an apartment down the street so I could spend some time watching real estate in the neighborhood. He gave me his card, and said to call him any time. He walked me back to my car and told me to call him. Maybe we could talk some more.

I didn’t tell him I moved to the neighborhood because my husband asked me to leave the two-bedroom condo we bought together.

At trader joes, checking out, the teller’s nametag said: The Wine Guy. He told me he plays a game to see who’s got the best grocery cart and I was the winner for the day. Maybe the week. I told him the chardonnay in my basket was one he’d recommended last week, based on what I’d said about not liking anything too sweet. Oh. Yeah. This is a good one, he said. They cut back on the oak and……I checked out after that. He knows about wine. That’s hot.

He said something witty as I was leaving, that next time I come in he’ll let me taste one I’ll like even better.

At home with my prize-winning groceries put away and a glass of non-oaky chardonnay, a sex and the city rerun on tv, I’m relishing the cliché of a woman on her own on a Saturday night.