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H
enry Horowitz was my dentist. He was recently divorced, and when I say recently, I mean like four weeks recently. Henry’s union had officially ended a month earlier, and in celebration of his newly single status, he decided to throw himself a big, huge, extravagant divorce party.
I had received the invitation a couple weeks earlier, and when I showed it to Laura we both cracked up. On the front of the card was a picture of a donkey. Below the animal it read, “The divorce was a pain in the ass…” The inside read, “…but it wasn’t half as bad as the one I was living with!”
“This guy seems hilarious,” Laura commented.
The invite continued, “Please come celebrate my status change on Thursday, August 20
th
at 7:30 p.m.—Claudia’s Bistro.” Henry had handwritten a note below that read, “No happily married people allowed. Also, everyone attending is required to bring a single friend, male or female.”
“So will you go with me?” I had asked my sister.
At the time, I didn’t know I would be extremely pre-occupied with the recent discovery that I was carrying Preston’s child, so I wholeheartedly accepted, and actually thought going to the party would be a riot. Now, at this moment, walking into the shindig, I felt physically sick to my stomach. And no, I was not experiencing morning sickness.
I still hadn’t told Laura about the baby and by no means was I telling her tonight. I mean, why ruin a good time? Honestly, I was dreading telling her, certain she’d be irate that I even got pregnant in the first place, not to mention furious if I told her I was considering having the baby. Laura would without a doubt try to talk me out of it. So, I was stalling.
We walked into Henry’s bash, which was packed. I would have guessed there were about fifty people in attendance, mingling, nibbling on passed hors d’oeuvres and sipping wine.
“Which one is Henry?” Laura asked me.
I pointed to him. Then I looked at my sister and judging by her expression, I felt the need to say, “No, he’s not gay.”
“Really?” Laura asked, “Are you sure? Maybe that’s why he got divorced.” She added, “Not that that’s a bad thing. I’m not judging.”
I smiled as we watched my very effeminate dentist talk to some girl and admire her outfit. It was when I heard Henry demand that she spin around so he could have the full view of her new
Rock and Republic
jeans that I realized just how metro sexual Henry was. And possibly gay. Truly good-natured, though.
I went on to tell my sister that Henry didn’t get divorced because of his female demeanor, but because his wife went to law school a few years earlier, fell in love with one of her professors, and was currently planning her second wedding.
“Ouch,” was Laura’s response to the story, “I can relate, I guess.”
“No, you can’t!” I scolded, “It’s a completely different situation.”
“How do I look?” she asked, “Does this top make my boobs look too saggy?”
My beautiful sister, once again blind to her outer beauty.
I felt sorry for her. That is, until her cell phone rang. This time it was Beyonce’s “Irreplaceable” that was Laura’s ring tone de jour.
I burst out laughing and Laura did too. But her laugh turned serious when she looked at caller-ID.
“What’s wrong?” I asked.
“It’s Ari again,” she said with a frown, “This is the sixth time he’s called me today.”
“Stalker?”
“Yup. It’s horrible. We had one date, and it was nice, but now he won’t leave me alone. He calls every hour. And he texts too.”
She proceeded to show me several texts from Ari, who now seemed more like a desperate psycho than a nice-looking Israeli doctor.
“Every single one of his messages starts out with ‘Sweetie,’ ‘Honey,’ or ‘Baby!’” she exclaimed.
“Yuck!” I said, nausea creeping up again when she said the word baby.
“I just got separated! I don’t want to be anyone’s sweetie or honey or…”
“I know, I know…” I said, trying to avoid hearing the “B” word again.
“How do I get him to leave me alone?” she asked.
“Really want to know?”
“Yes! Help me!”
I grabbed the phone out of her hand and texted Ari. “Please don’t call or text me again. I’m getting back together with my husband.”
When I gave Laura back her phone and she looked at the text, she was exasperated. “Why did you do that?!”
“Now he’ll leave you alone.”
Laura gave me a big grin and replied, “Okay, then.”
We headed to the bar. On our way, several people approached us and introduced themselves. I felt like we were thrown into a pack of wolves, divorced women eager to get a glimpse of the competition. As for the men, they seemed to be trying to decipher whether we were viable candidates for their love lives or not.
The first person we spent a decent amount of time talking to was a girl named Georgia McBride, who had been brought to the party by Henry’s divorced cousin, who was her personal trainer. Georgia was one of those women who didn’t have a particularly pretty face, but her body spoke volumes. It was possible Georgia’s was the most perfect figure I’d ever seen, complete with big round flawless breasts (which I suspected were fake but who cared), a teeny tiny waist, and muscular (but not too big) thighs that were sculpted, yet not bulky looking.
“So how long have you been single?” I asked Georgia.
“Three months,” she replied, “Well, the bastard moved out three months ago.”
Bastard? So here it was. I guess when you go to a divorce party, you’re bound to meet some cynical and bitter people. “I’m sorry,” both Laura and I said.
“It’s okay,” she smiled, sourness in her voice. “I obviously wasn’t good enough for him, so he had to go out and sleep with half of Illinois.”
We listened wide-eyed for the next few minutes while Georgia explained to us how her husband had been having an affair with a woman he worked with. Apparently, the woman was really into swinging with other couples, and had somehow talked him into joining her in her trysts.
As Georgia went on about the dozens of women her husband had slept with while his girlfriend watched, all I could think about was how the father of my unborn child had wanted to do something similar with me. I suddenly felt sick to my stomach standing here with this poor woman, who had probably perfected her body so her husband would be attracted to her, when in fact he was a closet sexual deviant.
Was Preston the same? Did having group sex make someone a freak? What if you only did it one time? Was that different? I wasn’t sure, and I was conflicted beyond belief. I took a deep breath and realized I needed a drink.
Wait a minute. I can’t have a drink! I told myself.
“Are you okay?” Laura asked me.
“Actually, would you excuse me?”
Laura continued to talk to Georgia while I made a b-line for the bar, which was just a few feet away. When I got there I ordered a Diet Coke.
“I’ll have the same,” said a guy who appeared out of nowhere.
I looked over at him, startled because I hadn’t seen him come up next to me.
“Hi,” he simply said to me, “I’m Tony.” Then he offered his hand.
“Emma…” I said during the hand shake. Tony was tall and somewhat attractive, with jet black hair and a fit physique. His eyes had this very kind, gentle look to them, almost as if he’d been through a lot, which I guessed was probably the case if he was at this party.
“How are you connected here?” he asked.
“Henry’s my dentist. How about you?”
“Henry and I went to college together. I got divorced about two years ago. I brought this girl with me, who I met on E-harmony. We’re just friends,” he explained, as he handed me my drink and took his, “Anyhow, she just left because see that guy over there?” Tony pointed to a guy who was now talking to Laura.
“Yeah.”
“That’s her ex-husband. Dan, I think his name is. He coincidentally ended up here with some girl, and my friend refuses to be in the same room with the guy. And they’ve been divorced for like four years!”
“Wow.”
“I know,” Tony replied, “At some point, don’t you think people should just let it go?”
“I guess,” I said with a sad smile, “But we don’t know the whole story.”
“Are you divorced?” asked Tony.
I looked directly at him, and like I always did with people (except for Luke), I lied. “Yes. How about you?”
Tony’s answer was shocking. “No. I’m not divorced. Actually, my wife died.”
I’m pretty sure I gasped. “I’m so sorry.”
“Thank you.”
“If you don’t mind me asking, how did she die?”
“Heart attack.”
Another gasp. “Really?”
Tony nodded sadly and then said, “The thing that’s so hard about it for me is, we didn’t really have the best marriage. We fought all the time. And now, I feel guilty about her death.”
“What a coincidence,” I wanted to add. I didn’t though.
“Why do you feel guilty?” I asked him, “You didn’t want her to die, did you?” It was strange. I was asking the questions to Tony, but wasn’t I sort of asking those same questions to myself?
Tony smiled sadly, “No, but let’s be honest. We’d probably be divorced if she was alive.”
It was weird. That was exactly how I would have answered. I suddenly felt as if Tony was placed here next to me to help me.
“How about you?” he asked, “What happened with
your
marriage?”
“Long story.”
Tony gave me a really kind smile and said, “Sorry. Didn’t mean to pry. Then again, we’re at a divorce party. What else are we supposed to talk about?”
I couldn’t help but laugh, and something at this moment made me feel like Tony and I were about to become friends.
Tony pulled out a business card. “Listen, if you ever want to talk,” he said, handing it to me, “If you ever want to get together, I’d like that.”
“I’d love that, actually,” I smiled. And I meant it. Tony wasn’t hitting on me. He wasn’t even asking me out on a date. He was just a nice guy, probably a little bit lonely, and wanted a friend. And there was something so likeable about his demeanor that made it all very acceptable, refreshing, in fact.
We put each other’s numbers into our cells, and then Tony said, “Somebody told me once that eventually everyone learns how to deal with their baggage. Do you think that’s true?”
I gave him a wide grin, “I don’t know. My baggage is pretty heavy.”
“Then put it down!” he exclaimed.
All I could do was grin. He was right. I wanted to put my baggage down so badly. I’d told my late husband a million times how sorry I was. I’d told God a million times how sorry I was. My baggage was still so heavy, though, to the point where it was making my biceps sore. And until recently, I hadn’t had even the slightest clue about how to let it go. But now, between Preston and Luke and my unborn child, and seeing my sister suffer, and seeing my mother suffer, and now, meeting Tony, a guy in my exact situation, I was starting to figure out how to forgive myself. And it was liberating beyond belief.
I think I’m going to leave,” said Tony, “But hey, before I do, I saw you talking to that girl over there.” He motioned to Georgia, “She’s cute. What’s her deal?”
I walked Tony over to Georgia, introduced them, and left them alone to get to know each other. As I walked away, Georgia gave me a wink and I knew instinctively that I had just made a love connection.
My next order of business was to check on Laura, who was still in deep conversation with Dan, Tony’s date’s ex-husband. It was nice to see my sister smiling from ear to ear and show some interest in a guy, even though the guy’s character was in question, based on the bad reference I’d gotten indirectly from Tony’s date.
Then came the shock. Just as I was about to go talk to Henry, who was standing by the door, something made me turn around and look back into the crowd. Standing there smiling and waving to me was none other than Luke. Why I was so surprised I wasn’t sure. Luke was single. This was a party for single people in a small suburban fish tank. Wouldn’t it make sense that he would be here?
He was dressed in jeans and a light blue pullover. Tonight was the first time I’d ever seen him in anything other than running attire, and I had to say, he looked utterly adorable. I waved back and saw him heading toward me. And then something even more shocking happened. A cute, little brunette took his hand and began walking with him. I panicked. Was Luke on a date? Is
she
the reason Luke was keeping our relationship platonic?
“Emma!” he said happily when he reached me, “How are you?”
“I’m fine,” I responded, trying to look happy to see him and not jealous of the woman who seemed extremely territorial.
“Emma, this is Patty,” said Luke, “Patty, this is Emma Bloom, my running partner.”
Patty was really short, but really pretty.
“Hi,” she said with a sugary smile.
“Hi, nice to meet you,” I managed.
Patty then felt the need to declare ownership of her man, because she turned to Luke. “Hey Hun, I want you to meet Henry. Come with me.” Then she looked at me, “So great meeting you, Emma!” she gushed. Then she turned and walked away, practically pulling Luke with her.
Luke turned around and gave me a dashing grin and a big wink, and at this moment, I wanted to run after them. I wanted to shout, “Hands off, Shorty!” But how could I? Luke and I weren’t dating. We were acquaintances at best. He’d just introduced me as “his running partner!” The bottom line was, we’d gone for a few runs together on the path, and we’d had some nice talks. That was it. He wasn’t mine.
Plus, hello! I was knocked up with someone else’s baby. Someone who was giving me strong signals that he wanted to be a part of the child’s life, and maybe mine, too. I was with Preston. Luke was obviously with Patty. And that’s the way it was.
I realized right then, I didn’t want to wait another second to tell Laura what was going on. I walked over to her and Dan, who were now in a seemingly cozy conversation. It was so strange to see Laura in a situation like this and witness her acting flirtatious. After all, I’d never really seen her with any man other than Alan, and that relationship had always seemed so domestic and non-romantic. For the first time, perhaps, I was seeing my sister in a whole new light. It was refreshing in a way.