had happened so quickly since they’d ended things. A talk on Friday night, another on Saturday morning, during which Scott had enquired whether the night he’d spent in the office/spare room had changed her mind. When she said it hadn’t, it took just three short car trips for him to remove all that was his from the apartment they were sharing. He’d graciously suggested that she should keep the apartment, since it was close to the subway line, and she had no car.
In the whirl, she had managed to avoid having to think beyond the break-up. But on this holiday Monday, with everything neatly and more or less equitably divided (she’d let him have the coffee table), she had nothing but time to think.
What was she supposed to do now that she was back on the market? Was she back on the market? How long was she supposed to stay in mourning? One month, three months. Oh God, was she going to be alone at Christmas?
Would it be bitchy to go out on the town? Was it all her fault? Which friends should she tell first? The whole thing had her thrown. She’d never broken up with someone before. How upset was she expected, entitled, to be here? At the moment, all she felt was a mild ache in her temple and a sense of relief.
The phone rang, and Megan’s number popped up on the call display. It sounded like salvation. Megan would know what to do. Megan would understand. She was Kate’s smart friend, the lawyer.
“You’d better be calling with a plan and a pocket full of money,” Kate said in lieu of hello, sounding almost giddy.
“What? Honey, how are you? Are you drunk?”
“No, I’m not drunk. But I’m single.”
“Holy shit. You did it? How are you?”
“I’m not very sorry that he left, and I’m not super-glad he’s gone, and I think I would like to be drunk. Oh, and how are you?”
“Not nearly as conflicted,” said Megan. “I’m on my way over, I guess, but the liquor store is closed today, so I’ll have to make a stop at my parents’ to raid the liquor cabinet, and I’ll have to stay for a coffee. I’ll be at least an hour. Are you okay till then?”
“Yeah. I think there’s still some frozen beer here to keep me company.”
“Lovely. Should we call your sister?”
Kate didn’t even have to think about it. “Hell, no. Not yet. I want people who are going to be nice to me this evening; people who actually liked me more than they liked Scottie. I’m guessing that boils down to about you.”
“Oh, Katie…hang in. I’ll be there soon.”
“I did the right thing here, huh, Meg?”
“I have no idea.”
“I didn’t love him.”
“Well then, at least you did him a favour.”
“I guess.”
“So what am I bringing over?”
“Wine. Red. A big bottle, if they’ve got it.”
“Jesus, Kate, I know that. What do think I am, an amateur?” Meg said. “But merlot, shiraz, what do you want.”
“Merlot.”
“’kay, I’ll be there soon.”
Kate listened as Megan hung up, keeping the phone to her ear until she heard the dial tone. Setting the receiver in its cradle, she realized she’d just made her first post-break-up decision, and it hadn’t been so hard. Smiling, she wandered into the kitchen, opening the drawer next to the sink to pull out a spoon before setting her sights on the freezer.
October
There are at least half a dozen very good rock songs that offer convincing arguments that it is better to go down swinging than to be simply swept away, but at this hour of the morning, Kate was hard pressed to remember any of them. At this time of day, it seemed inconceivable that she could muster up the effort necessary to defend herself from this verbal onslaught.
It was much easier just to wait it out, glassy-eyed, and take it.
So she sat silently as she was fired. Again. Ending her stint at the fourth accountancy firm she’d been dismissed from this year.
The first time she’d been tearful, the second put out. By round three, a sense of déjà vu had left her feeling only mild amusement. Now, staring down the barrel of number four, her general attitude could be best described as resigned.
Until this one, Kate had told herself that it was the slow-growing cancer of her relationship with Scott that had made her so unhappy at work, that had made her barely competent. But now she realized she just didn’t like accounting.
In all cases, she’d have been happy to scream “I quit!” but had remained silent until her total lack of enthusiasm and work ethic said it for her. This time was no different.
With her newly old boss still leaning over his desk, one pudgy, accusatory finger still wagging, the saliva still glistening at the corners of his mouth, she stood, exited the room, grabbed her purse and ficus plant from the desk and saw herself out.
It was just after nine o’clock in the morning, and her time was once again her own. It didn’t feel too bad. It was sort of like sliding on shoes you haven’t worn in a while. Perhaps a little uncomfortable, but so familiar in a way, you don’t mind it.
After the events of last month, she hardly noticed. The break-up hadn’t been too traumatic, quite civilized really. But the adjustment to a life on her own had left her exhausted. His leaving in the abstract had seemed cut and dry. The problem had been that they were two separate people, whole entities that would simply head off in two different directions.
It was while clearing out the apartment that she began to realize this was untrue. It seemed there was a bit of both of them in every object in the place. There were many things he’d brought into her life that she’d never thought she’d have to part with, never thought she’d have to miss. Not the big things, the TV or the stereo. It was when he’d come back the week after he moved out to pick up his magazine rack that she’d felt her heart sink. She didn’t even like it, but it had been there. It had been theirs. She hadn’t known that she could cry over something like that.
His old high-school hockey jersey had been another example. She’d slept in it off and on in the weeks after he’d left. He saw it on the top of a hamper of clean laundry set out to be folded and grabbed for it without even asking. She bit her tongue in her effort not to ask his permission to keep it. That’s not just a figure of speech. People really do it. Sometimes they’ll even bite right through, trying so hard to stop themselves from being found out for who they are, when they are trying to do what’s right, or what’s expected. She had ended this, and she was in no position to be sentimental or selfish or angry or sad. All she could be was dry-eyed and apologetic. She didn’t protest one thing that he packed in the boxes. There weren’t so many; he wasn’t trying to ruin her. He was taking only the things he’d need to set up his own place, the things she’d always said she didn’t care for, and he was being wonderful about it.
The worst, though, was that he took all of the pictures they’d had in the place, photos of the two of them together. He didn’t ask, because he didn’t think he needed to. When she grabbed the last one sitting out in the living room, he was genuinely surprised, saying that he hadn’t thought she’d want them and didn’t want to think of them being thrown out in the trash. She tasted blood as she placed it on the top of the box he was holding. As she pushed the door for his final exit, she was impressed at his timing, waiting until this moment to break her heart as well.
Once it was over, Kate had then faced the utter nightmare of telling her parents and her older sister Tracy what she’d done. And now she’d have to add getting sacked to the list of disappointments.
Her family loved Scott, possibly more than they loved Kate.