Page 36 of June: Jess' Story

“Of course you can’t!” She says indignantly in my defense. “Does heevenknow you?!” She’s bewildered at the idiocy of men, always. It makes me chuckle because I can just picture her standing in her office now, pacing the small carpet, waving her hands in the air.

“Exactly!” I exclaim.

“J, if that’s not what you want, that is one hundred percent, A-OK. Fuck Tommy DiAngelo!”

“Yes! Fuck him!” I say back, feeling slightly more resolved in all of this.

“Good. That’s good, Jessica!”

“Yes, I-I don’t need him.” I say, not entirely convincingly.

“Of course you don’t. You are the daughter of Jules and Robert and May, and no woman I’ve raised would ever need a man. Do you hear me?” I can hear the absolute confidence in her voice. It’s almost enough to instill some confidence in me.

“I hear you.”

“Good. Now listen close, baby, because I know that was the pep talk, but now it’s time for the real talk.” My entire body falls slightly.

“Okay,” I say quietly.

“Let him go,” she says softly. I cry silently, placing my hand over my mouth in hopes May doesn’t hear me. “Don’t hang on for his sake, but especially not for yours.” She delivers this so exceptionally well and so compassionately, my heart splits right down the middle.

I think perhaps I’ve been in a smidge of denial. I’ve been using avoidance, keeping busy, but the second I stopped moving, the second I was alone, there was no escaping it. And now? Now, we moveinto the anger phase of grief. This anger feels less reactionary and more deep-seated.

“Let him go?” I practically sob, then scoff, “So what? He can live happily ever after? And me and Eden, we’re just what? Collateral damage?!”

“Never. And how dare you see yourself that way!” May scolds me. It just makes me angrier.

“I have to go, I’ll call you later.” I hang up without waiting for her response. I’m not mad at May. I’m just…mad. So completely consumed by a rage I’ve been keeping at bay because if I let myself feel it, it feels like there’ll never be an end.

The air gets sucked from my lungs, and I bow over, because remaining upright no longer seems feasible. I drop the monitor and my phone on the concrete floor and remain bowed over with my hands resting on my thighs, fighting for breath.

Finding out how little control I have over my own life is earth shattering. (Fine, maybe just life shattering.) I’ve always seen myself as a strong, confident, independent woman. But I’m not. I’ve become dependent on Tommy. As my partner, my friend, my co-parent, my confidant.

I put my career (my life) on hold so we could have a child and now, I’m left with…what the fuck am I left with? (Thanks to Tommy’s prenup) it’s simple: not much.

I was just a pawn. I was just a placeholder. My stomach rolls.

Jess

You know what, fuck you, Tommy. For making me an interloper in my own life. Fuck you for even asking something of me that you know I’d never be okay with. I watched my father DIE of a broken heart loving someone who could never be his. And you’re asking me to stick around and do the same? FUCK YOU.

Tommy gets to look like the good guy, doesn’t he? Because he wanted us to stay together, right? That’s fine. Let me be the villain. I’ve been here before, this time I’ll be the villain intheirrendition of life.

Fuck, maybe I’ll always be the bad guy. Maybe that’s just my cross to bear.

After a couple dips in a bowl full of ice water, the swelling around my eyes starts to come down. No one will ever know I’ve been crying.

Yet, I still brace myself at the gentle knock on my bedroom door. It’s all a lot right now. Britain’s life is Messy. (Yeah, with a capital M.) And right now, I'm her safe harbor, her dumping ground, and I’m happy to do it. It’s just a lot on top of what I already have. Doesn’t help that she’s also so helplessly in love, and it’s so fucking obvious, but she just can’t accept and move past and forgive. (But I also don’t blame her one bit.)

I open the door and she peeks her head in. “Hi, is the babe awake?” she whispers.

“Yeah, come in.” I pull her into the room while I finish toweling off my face.

“What are you using on your skin? It looks amazing.” I want to tell her it's a concoction of the tears of my enemies and the plus side of having a heart of ice.

Instead, all I say is, “La Mer.” She nods.

“There’s, um, something I want to show you. Think you can come take a look?” she asks so innocently and sweetly.