I gaze at my splotchy reflection in the mirror. I'd gotten IPL laser treatments three months ago and it had done wonders for my skin. I'd followed up by also changing my hair from the sun-kissed highlights I'd always worn to a light brown and let it grow out to the pre-kids length that I used to wear my hair, when I actually had time to style it.
I'd never "let myself go" after kids in the way some people are comfortable with years into marriage and multiple kids later. The extra twenty pounds I'd finally shed that I'd struggled to lose after Weston hadn't looked terrible on me. The hair falling out was another story. Thankfully, with my youngest being two years old now it had grown back in.
Through it all though, the kids, the busy schedules, the body changes, Logan and I had maintained our status quo in the bed and out of it. He had been my best friend, my confidant, my lover. I had been completely blindsided by his infidelity. And now I've been completely blindsided again. A betrayal I know I'll never get past.
The tears stream down my face and I let them fall as I take in my bloodshot hazel eyes. I hate that I'm crying again. I've cried so much over the last five months.
When will it end? And how does this all still hurt SO bad?
My heart feels like a recently stitched up wound that's just been pried back open by jagged fingernails. Leading me to believe that my pondering for an end to the pain is as futile as trying to save my marriage turned out to be.
Whatever Clarissa's intentions were by showing up at my house, the resulting conversation between the three of us had me free-falling back into a dark place of loneliness and heartache. A place of wondering how and why I wasn't enough, hadn't been enough, for my husband not to make the decisions he'd made.
"Elora!" Logan calls loudly through the door over toddler cries.
I snap back to reality. I don't know how long I've stood at the vanity, but clearly, Weston has woken up from his nap. Turning on the tap, I splash cold water on my face before drying it with a hand towel. Then I take a deep breath and open the door.
"It's okay baby, mommy's here. I'm so sorry." I step forward to take Weston from Logan and move past him, out of the bedroom and down the stairs.
"Elora," Logan calls after me.
How many fucking times is he going to say my name like that today?
Ignoring him, I glide through the kitchen to the playroom where I put Weston down and sit beside him on the Nugget couch. He stands there for a second before wandering off to find Lightning McQueen just as Logan appears in the open space between the play area and Kitchen.
"I need you to go, so I can get things done. Namely, call my lawyer." Pausing before I finally add, "It's over, Logan."
"I know." Tears bloom in his eyes at his own words. "I'm so sorry Elora. I'll do whatever you want, you and the kids will be taken care of."
The room is silent for a moment as my eyes follow the tiled patterns of the floor and a lone tear betrays me. We might be financially taken care of, but at what cost emotionally for both of my kids? I feel anger start to simmer in my gut.
"You were right." A hysterical laugh escapes me. "You are literally going to pay for this for the rest of your life... or at least the next eighteen years of it, but I don't have to."
He blanches.
"Anyways, I really do need you to go." I sigh and rub the center of my forehead where a throb is starting.
"Elora, I'm..."
"Just go," I whisper.
He walks over and bends down to give Weston a hug, "Hey squirt, daddy's going to go now, but I'll see you soon. Okay? I love you."
His voice is shaky as he finishes. I close my eyes as Weston hugs him back and responds, "Okay Daddy. I wuv vu."
All I ever wanted for my kids was a stable home environment. Maybe that's where I went wrong. I thought Logan and I had the same goals, I thought we loved each other enough that even if the flame burnt out, we'd still somehow make it work for them. I didn't want them to know the kind of broken home I knew as a kid and I still don't. I don't know how, but Logan and I will continue to co-parent the best we can.
Although the current arrangement of keeping the kids in the house and us spending so much time together with them and with each other, or one of us staying at the condo when it's the other parents' turn for one-on-one time with them is no longer going to work. He'll have to move from a two bedroom to a three bedroom and get rooms set up for them. This is no longer a temporary situation, it's a permanent one.
"Okay?"
"Huh?" I ask, opening my eyes.
"I'll have my lawyer work with yours to draft up the divorce paperwork by the end of the week so it's not something hanging over you during your girls' trip."
Fuck.
My trip.
I'd completely forgotten about that.
"I'm not going," I state and stand up heading for the pantry.
"Don't be silly El."
It's been so long since he's called me that I freeze, hand on the pantry door knob.
"You've been planning this trip for seven months. You haven't gone on a girls' trip in two years. I know there's a lot going on, but I still think you should still go. My mom's flight is already booked for her to come help." He sighs.
I open the door and grab a water bottle before turning around. He's right, I haven't been on a solo trip since before Weston was born and I'd only been on one since Emily's birth over four years ago. He took trips all the time for sporting events, namely basketball, but I always felt like life and kids got too far in the way for me to get away. I didn't prioritize myself enough and it was a resolution I'd sought to change in the past year, but it hadn't worked out until now.
"You think I'm going to sign divorce papers and then turn around and get on a plane and go live high on life with my girlfriends for six days and actually enjoy myself?" I ask sarcastically as I rip the top off the water bottle and splash it across the white marble countertop in my haste.
He has the audacity to look ashamed and embarrassed.
"Half of them don't even know we're separated," I mumble as I turn to yank a paper towel free from its holder and wipe the counter.
Half of them had never even physically met me, though the other half knew me quite well. We'd actually known each other longer than Logan and I had been together.
"What?" He asks.
"It's an online Book Club, Logan. I didn't know what was going to happen with us, so I barely told anyone." I shrug as I finish wiping away the mess and finally take a swig of water, hardly registering that I just inadvertently admitted I was considering giving him another chance.
Truth is, the book club always thought I had the romance novel life and I'm embarrassed for them to learn I'm a fraud.
"Only Jana, Gale and Milly know," I say.
We'd been part of the original group that had met on a website called Netbooks after falling in love with a couple of fanfictions written after some of our favorite works. In that time, eight of the ten novels we'd followed had become published, six of which became best sellers and had their books picked up by major motion studios.
A number of us from TheCoffeeClub discussed a girls trip for this most recently optioned book after learning the premiere was in New York City, where the book takes place. After thirteen of us were chosen to attend through an online giveaway and drawing, our wistful ideas of a girls getaway became a reality. And with the trip also coinciding with the Tribeca Film Festival, there was a promise of endless activities and events happening around the city to keep us entertained for days.
"I still think you should go." He says quietly.
I look at him and look back to Weston. I don't really want to leave my kids. Not right now and not like this. Not with everything that's happening.
"I'll think about it." I settle on and grab the laundry basket I'd left on the counter earlier to take back to the dryer to fluff again. "You should go though," I repeat heading off to the mud room behind the kitchen.
After putting the laundry back in the dryer and turning it on, I lean against it and take a deep breath. When I finally walk back into the kitchen, Logan is gone. Stopping for a moment to listen, I hear the faint click of the front door closing and then the sound of it locking. Peering over to see Weston playing, I grab the remote off the counter to turn on the TV. Cocomelon immediately starts singing Wheels on the Bus as I back up to the pantry and sink to the floor. Finally allowing myself to really, truly cry.
Word count: 1622