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seventy-nine f

Surprise, Surprise

K atie welcomed me to Blissful and did what she could to make me feel at home. “Ava, meet Suzi, our other nail tech. I think you two will hit it off.”

“Let me show you the ropes.” Suzi smiled and led me to the mani-pedi area.

Katie was right. Suzi and I clicked immediately. She even looked like me—thin and blond—but with a huge smile and a great sense of humor.

Our schedules were staggered most days, but on Wednesdays we both got off at five o’clock.

“Hey, Ava, how’d you like to go for a drink after work?”

I’d shared some of my life with Suzi, but not my sobriety story. “Sorry, I don’t drink. Believe it or not, today is my ninth anniversary of sobriety.”

“Then we definitely need to celebrate. No alcohol necessary.”

“I like the way you think!”

We left our cars at the salon and walked to Pitch Perfect Café, a favorite spot for non-drinkers. The coffee house served light meals and light jazz and allowed patrons to linger long after their plates and cups were empty.

“Don’t you want to get home to Nick?” Suzi glanced at her watch. “It’s after nine.”

I snorted. “I’ll be lucky if I see him before midnight.”

“What kind of marriage is that?”

“I’ve been asking myself the same question.”

On my way home, I thought about the past nine years. For the most part, life was good. I was secure in my sobriety and my career. I had my AA friends, friends from work, and now Suzi. Nick wasn’t perfect but had always been there for me. We were a team, even though one player was absent most of the time.

To my surprise, my husband was home waiting for me.

“Where’ve you been?” Nick was sprawled on the couch watching CNN.

“Suzi and I went out to celebrate my ninth anniversary.”

“Huh?”

“Of sobriety.”

Was that a look of guilt passing across his face?

“Right, sorry I forgot. Congratulations!” He hugged me.

I swore I smelled alcohol on his breath before he turned away.

“Be right back, then we can celebrate for real.” Nick went into the bathroom. When he returned to the living room, he’d brushed his teeth, used mouthwash, and washed his face.

I pretended to ignore his deception.

Two weeks later, on a Friday evening, I waited for Nick to come home, I relaxed on our recliner and thought about a move to Arizona. I’d turned fifty-one in March. Nick’s sixty-fourth birthday was around the corner. How many years did we have left? Didn’t we deserve to spend them in the Southwest, not in some glorified New Jersey living room?

The real estate market was still in a slump, but what was more important—our happiness or our wallets? I promised myself I’d talk to Nick that night.

Nick arrived home long after I fell asleep.

“Wake up, hon. I’ve got a surprise.” A faint odor of alcohol nudged me awake. “Hmm—” I struggled to wake up. “I want to talk, too.”

He ignored me. “Guess what! I booked a trip to Cozumel!”

Nick’s impulsiveness continued to surprise me. “Seriously? We just started new jobs. I can’t take off work, and neither can you.”

“I told my boss we had the trip booked before I started at the paper. Tell your boss the same thing.”

“I can’t lie.”

“Then tell her the truth,” he said. “Tell her I surprised you for our anniversary.”

I shrugged. “If I lose my job over this, I’ll never forgive you.”

“You won’t. Now, what were you going to tell me?”

“Nothing.” I knew better than to bring up Arizona.

Katie couldn’t have been more supportive. “Go, Ava, have a blast. We’ll be closed over the Fourth of July holiday, and it’ll be a morgue in here the rest of the week.”

“Thanks, Katie. You’re the best.”

“I know,” she smiled.

Nick and I had a fantastic time in Cozumel. Our room overlooked the ocean. We ate breakfast in bed each morning, then left for a day of sightseeing or the beach. I never once suspected him of drinking or drugging. The trip was exactly what our relationship needed.

Once we returned home, my husband became distant and irritable. I began smelling alcohol on his breath again and pot on his clothing. I knew he was stressed and tried to coax him back to AA.

“I’m fine,” was his usual response.

Pressuring him would only make him angry, which could lead to more substance abuse, so I let it drop.

w

Early one evening two weeks after our trip, my phone rang.

“Hello?”

“It’s me.” Nick never called from work.

“Are you okay?”

“I’m fine. Just wondering if you’ll be home later. We need to talk.” Nick’s voice sounded artificially cheery.

“What’s up?”

“We’ll talk when I get home.”

A knot formed in my gut. “Okay. Love you.”

“Right.” The line went dead.

I assumed he wanted to talk about getting back to sobriety. I’d never confronted him about his recent lapses. Or maybe he, like me, was ready to move to a warmer climate. All I could do was wait.

Nick was ready to move on, but not to Arizona. He stumbled in around ten o’clock, righted himself, and headed for the bathroom. He wasn’t smiling when he joined me in the living room.

He looked at me, then turned his gaze to the opposite wall. “I want a divorce.”

Once the shock wore off, I turned to him. “ What? ”

Calmly, he repeated, “I want a divorce.”

“Can we talk about it? Is it something I’ve done?”

“No, and no. I don’t want to be married anymore.”

“We can work things out. Maybe go for counseling?”

“Nope.”

Timidly, I asked, “Is there someone else?”

He answered without hesitation. “The office manager at the Times .”

A deluge of emotions passed through my head and into my heart: hurt, jealousy, loss, but most of all, confusion. I knew things hadn’t been great between us, but how could I have missed the signs?

“But we just had a blast in Cozumel. We talked about moving to Scottsdale.”

“Cozumel was Cozumel. Scottsdale was your dream.”

For a moment, I doubted my sanity. It was Nick who planned our vacation. It was Nick who shared my Arizona dream.

“I’ll get a few things and get out of your hair,” he said.

“Nick, please—”

“Don’t make this any harder than it needs to be. I’ll be back for the rest of my stuff in a few days.”

I couldn’t bear to see him leave, so I went into the kitchen to make a cup of tea. I clenched my teeth to hold back my tears and waited for the slam of the front door. All I heard was a gentle click of the lock. Seconds later the tea kettle whistled, signaling the end of my third marriage.