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Who’s to say that anyone stays with anyone anymore?

Goddamn Kim. And her baby daughter. And her new man.

Screw Kim. Screw Lance. Screw everyone.

****

I really want to see Liz tonight. I want her to wrap me in her scent and her softness and tell me everything will be all right.

But it’s not fair. It wouldn’t be fair.

I’m spinning.

I can’t stop spinning.

****

I know people don’t get to have closure.

I gave up a lot after breaking up with Kim. She got to keep the city we lived in and all our friends. I started anew, but that marriage of ours still looms large in my past, and apparently in my present.

I do something I hadn’t done since last year, since the last time I received Kim-related news from Lance.

I pull up Kim’s Facepalm profile. There are new pictures of her with her guy. Random vacation spots—sunsets, fruity cocktails, and navy-striped cardigans over sunburnt shoulders. Some pictures on a boat. Kim looks good. Happy.

What I’m waiting for is a pang of jealousy. Some feeling for the woman in the pictures. But there is nothing. She feels like a stranger.

I realize that whatever feeling it was that floored me when Lance told me the news isn’t really about Kim. Not anymore. Not in any real way.

Relief washes over me.

It’s really—finally—completely over. Kim is in the past.

The realization makes me feel better. Much, much better.

But not all the way better.

So I breathe. And I breathe some more.

I need to get my shit together before I can see Liz again. Completely together.

So I call Simone, my therapist. I’m not due to see her for another week, but I email to ask if there’s any chance she could squeeze me in tomorrow. She emails back surprisingly quickly and says I’m very lucky, she just got a cancellation ten minutes ago.

I take it as a sign.

??

Chapter Twenty-One

Liz

I see a note at the door from the landlord, letting me know that the lease renewal is up. The lease isn’t up until August, but they want to know a few months early whether we’ll be leaving or not.

The lease isn’t even mine, but I wouldn’t mind staying. I contact Melanie to ask how she wants to do it. If she’s okay with me taking over, what happens with the furniture. She writes back quickly, saying that she’s happy to have me take over and that I can have all the furniture at a nominal price since she’s not going to use it anymore. She’s already moved all of her personal items to her new home in a small town near Madison.

This place, such as it is, is mine if I want it. My place. My furniture. Mine to decorate as I see fit.

Well, Bobby’s and mine, I suppose.