Posts Tagged ‘marriage’

“What are you smiling about?!”

What am I smiling about, Dom? No matter what’s happened, no matter the outbursts you’ve subjected me to in court, I’m fine. I’m achieving my goal in the next few minutes in this aerie that’s my lawyer’s office: Liberation.

You’ve said a lot of shit about me to the media. Why anyone was willing to believe such a classic case of projection, I don’t know, but never mind. I’ve gotten a clean bill of health and soon, I’ll never have to see you again.  Ever.

What a shame you convinced yourself – and me – that you were the marrying kind or that libel would get rid of your guilt about cheating (and cheating and cheating and cheating). Tatum’s said I’ve been too merciful, that I should sue. No,  the world sees you for what you are, and that’s enough. An inadvertent public service, really. Oh, here comes Tatum with the papers! I’m giddy! I’ve got my own pen, thank you!

I’m with someone else – not in the business, bless. Hardly anyone has friends out here, but Marc’s my friend. He’s read a book or two. He’s been by my side the entire time. He treats me with real loving care. He’s an actual adult. I’ve heard he’s been compared to “a young David Gilmore” too, which I didn’t notice before, but, woohoo!

And look at you, Dom. An immature, creepy sex addict. ‘Get my revenge’? When you already have to live with yourself? Completely unnecessary.


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Despite the odds, we’ve made it. It wasn’t exactly a shotgun wedding, but we decided for the sake of the baby, we’d get married. I know my friends thought I was stupid, but I was already 21, Evie was 18 and Max was almost a year old, and, it just wasn’t right to me and Evie that we weren’t a family. So we became one. Our parents were relieved. They couldn’t hide that.

Then a year later we had Jess, so we were in it to win it. For a while we struggled, sure. Though the only time I ever seriously considered cheating was when I lost my job 10 years ago; the kids were almost out the door and my ego wanted massaging. One of the managers at the old office wanted to massage it, but I passed before things got to the point of no return. I also wanted to be able to look at myself in the mirror.

Max? He’s 27, a carpenter. Jess is 25 and a stand-up. She’s pretty good, once I got over hearing her swear. You never want to think of your little girl swearing. Our friends have little kids and teens, and you can feel the envy when they’re at the house, except for Trina; Trina met a friend of Max’s at our house and they’re together now. Trina’s 42. Will’s 30. They really hit it off.

I look strange? Yeah, well… Evie told me yesterday we’re pregnant. Jesus. Pregnant. I’m 47. Evie’s 44. I’ll be 65 with an 18 year old kid. 65!

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“Mmmm. Your hair smells terrific.”

“Nice try, but we’re having this talk. Don’t pull that face.  I didn’t shoot a puppy.”

“C’mon, now?”

“Yes, now. When are we getting married?”

“Aw, Marcy…!”

“’Aw, Darren!’ Married. When?”


“That’s great. We’ve been dating for 3 years. I’ve never hidden that I want to be married.”


“’Dammit’, what?”

“If I get married, then there’s kids, right? A house. In-laws.  All that stuff, day in, day out, closer to oblivion. I gotta be free!”

“Hate to break it to you, oblivion is coming regardless. Youth fades regardless. No amount of ‘freedom’ will stave that off.”

“Yeah, thanks for that.”

“Go ahead, then, go out and act like you’re 20 for the rest of your life. But you aren’t going to waste any more of my time if you’re too much of a coward to grow up.”

“Why can’t you just have fun and enjoy the moment?”

“Why can’t you just face the fact that you’re selfish?”

“If I marry you, then it’s not just losing my freedom, it’s multiple options I’m leaving off – forever!”

“Avoiding choosing is a choice.”

“Then I make my choice. I’m not marrying you.”

“That’s your choice.”


“Then I wasted all this time!”

“…Since all I mean to you is a check off the list.”

“No, I…! I… That’s not true!”

“I can love you and not want to be married!”

“Then I need to find someone whose definition of love is the same as mine.”

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Mom and Dad… it’s not right, not right at all. There’s some invisible screen in front of me and I can’t touch them. I have to wait.

“Please pass the salt.”


They’re hardly looking at each other. The hell? Wait, where did that streak of grey in her hair come from all of a sudden?

“So, Fiona, you learn anything interesting in your classes today?”

“Sure, Dad, we…”

“Huh. ‘Dad’.”

“Bradley, please. You said tomorrow!”

What’s wrong with him?  Lines, my god, there’s at least three Grand Canyon-deep gorges where it used to be baby-bottom smooth across his forehead. Why have I not noticed this before? What else have I missed?

“You take biology, right? Talk about DNA?”


“Don’t you ‘honey’ me, Hannah. Called my lawyer this afternoon.”

Frozen. She flew out of here like a bat out of hell, but I can’t move. I don’t want to know what he’s talking about, do I? Why is he looking at me like that?

“Aunt Tam wanted to do the family tree, remember? Got your saliva two months ago?”


“Your mother balked. I found out why.”

No. No way.

“You want to know who he is?”

Can’t see! TearsNO!pleaserushingswingsshoulderstickleshugsyearsstoriesallliesNO!

“You’re Vincent’s. Only three weeks after the wedding.”

If looks could kill I’d be dead right now. He’s glaring at me like this? I’ve done nothing!

“I’ve been tricked!”

Insane! Nineteen years – and love for me – vanished for him, just like that? Really? How could that be?! How?

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“Of course I read the papers, Lacey; I’m not some vaporous twit from a Dickens novel… I saw the photos, yes… Why wouldn’t I be all right? I don’t care that he’s with her now… How are you going to believe that I actually ‘burst into tears at A.O.C.’? How could I, if I haven’t been in public for over a week? You saw my face! …  ‘What the fans will think’? I didn’t leave him to provide soap opera for people; I left him because when I called him out for cheating on me with that girl – in my house – he hit me in the face! With his fist! OK? He was so angry that he got caught, he hit me; did you forget that part? I’m wondering if you even know the fucking difference between press and real life! … Isn’t it enough that I didn’t file charges? I left my own house! … No interviews! No comment whatsoever! … I asked you not relay his messages to me. Did he hire you? No? Then he can cry to my lawyer about how sorry he is. And he’s not sorry, not if he’s making out with her in public! Stupid, yes. Sorry? Not hardly.  I was stupid for ever being with him, I’ll say that much.  So glad I bought the house before I married him… No, it’s through… Divorce, yes… I’d be stupid for staying! One punch in the face is enough, thank you! He is leaving my house…  That’s final.”

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“It’s 1:30! In the morning! Why else would you be calling? Good night, Taylor!”

Melanie hung up and lay looking at the ceiling. One date and make-out session later and this is what Taylor thought of her, only worth calling for a drunken hook-up. She sighed, turned over and tried to go back to sleep.

What did you want Taylor for?  Was it his personality? His money? Did you want to be doing what he wanted to do at 1:30 in the morning? What do you want a relationship for anyway?

Melanie was confused. She liked her life just fine. She enjoyed her work as an editor at a small publishing house, she loved her family. She had great friends, exciting hobbies she pursued and a lovely home, including cat. But when it came to sharing her life with someone, things would start off promisingly and then … he’d be gone. She was almost 35. She wanted a child. She wanted someone who had her back when things weren’t so great, and who’d hold her at night. She wanted someone she could be there for, as well.

Hadn’t she been open? Caring? Real? Honest? Fun? What was she doing wrong, because at this point, she knew it was her. Dating for 20 years, and while she hadn’t been looking to marry at 15 or 22, now it was getting to be the same, awful rigmarole, like buying a ticket for the same ride over and over again.

How long am I supposed to keep doing this?

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“Get rid of that one. That’s not the way it should look.”

“You mean that’s not how you want it to look. It looks how it looks.”

“Just get it off my table. Gnarled produce isn’t how I wish to represent my restaurant to people.  And you can save the epistemology lessons for later.”

“Ha! All right. Wait, that’s not epistemology.”

“What do you want? I only took 101 to fulfill the damn requirement –  now where are those table cloths? Where’s the vases? We’re missing three!”

“Hey. We’re taking care of it. Why don’t you go check on the ragú?”

Damian placed his large hands gently on Bianca’s shoulders.

“Or better yet, take a walk in the park for 10 minutes. You’re going to drive yourself crazy.”

“My head, I’m just, everything’s rushing…”

“I know, yes. We’re doing the job. Finding the table cloths, setting the places, the vases. There will be flowers in the vases. There will be flowers.” Damian chuckled. “There you go, take a break and have a milkshake!”

Bianca couldn’t help but giggle back.

“Look at all this! If I closed my eyes for a second and opened them again, I wouldn’t believe this wasn’t just a dream. I did this.”

“Why not?”

“A year and a half ago, I was only a secretary who liked to cook.”

He wrapped his arms around and leaned close to her ear.

“You believed in your dream so much, that now there’s this.”


“You’re gonna be all right, kid.”

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