Page 16 of Midlife Woes (Ex)

I don’t want anyone to misunderstand. I like Anne fine; I have no regrets about what we have, it’s just…. I thought I could have them both. That would’ve been best for everyone. Like I said before, some men do it, and it works out fine for everyone, so why couldn’t it happen for me?

Is what Sheila said the other day right? Is Jolene relying on her future inheritance, and that’s why she finds it so easy to throw me away? But that doesn’t make sense. She’s always known she stood to inherit because she’s their only grandchild, and she always had a better relationship with them than they did with her mom.

So what is it? What had made her so willing to just give up on us and what we’d spent the last quarter of a century building together? Why was she so hellbent on moving on and not forgiving me? If she’d asked, I would’ve ended things with Anne. I would’ve missed the fun we had together, but now that things have come this far, I realize that I would’ve chosen the life I had over anything else.

JOLENE

Sometime between stepping into the bathroom and getting out again after a long hot shower, I changed my mind about going out on the town. Suddenly, the thought of being around people wasn’t so appealing, and I felt even worse when I stood in front of the mirror and took stock of myself.

Beneath all the bravado and my seemingly new insight on life and things and deciding to move on, I realized that I hadn’t really mourned the end of my past life the way I should. I’d basically just tossed all those feelings in a drawer and locked it, never to be revisited again, and who could blame me?

Exactly what is it that I’m supposed to dwell on here? The fact that perimenopause has been kicking my ass for the better part of the last couple of years, or that my childhood sweetheart, the man who had promised me forever, had imploded our lives for someone less than half his age?

I barely recognized the woman in the mirror looking back at me. That woman wanted to be strong and stay the course of disinterest in this life that was coming to an end soon with the divorce, but inside, I couldn’t help but feel those human pangs of loss.

It's not that I’m pretending to be fine; I think I genuinely am in a strange way because, well, I have to be. It’s not like I can change any of those things now, can I? And I’ve never been one to throw myself to the floor and kick up a fuss over things that were pretty much out of my control because I hate wasting my time.

But I also think that maybe I need to go through the process now before it creeps up on me later, as things have been known to in the past. I shouldn’t swallow my feelings and fears just to appear tough to the people around me. I could care less what my stupid ex thinks at this point, but my children and friends need to see the reality of what all these new changes are really doing to me.

My daughter, especially, should know that it is okay to have moments of self-reflection and weakness when going through something like this. I want her and my sons to know that it’s okay to have feelings of weakness while being as strong as they can be in any given situation, but was I going about this the right way?

Funnily enough, I worry more about the impression I’m giving my kids and the example I’m setting for them with my actions than I do about the end of my marriage. It’s true that once I learned of the affair, that part of me died, and I buried it before it could rear its ugly head ever again.

I knew there was no coming back from such a betrayal, no matter what my soon-to-be ex might say; for me, the moment he stuck his pecker in someone else was the last moment he was anything meaningful to me. I mean, the man has known me practically half my life, and other than Sheila, he knows better than anyone that adultery is a very hard no for me.

If, knowing how I felt about that, he could still do what he did, why should I waste my time trying to hold onto something that obviously meant nothing to him? I have too much pride and self-love to stoop as low as fighting over him with that child whom he seems to prefer.

But I’ve come to realize with time that that was just one side of the matter. Anger had led me to make the precise cut I had in the beginning, but the girl who’d gotten married amidst dreams of happily ever after was still in there somewhere, and that poor child was going to suffer if I didn’t at least acknowledge some hard truths.

Like the fact that everything about my life was about to change, I’m no longer going to be someone’s wife with all the responsibilities that entails. I’ll no longer be half of a couple and no longer have to look after someone else’s wants and needs. From here on out, with the kids gone, it’s just going to be me. What the hell am I supposed to do to fill that void?

Right now, I feel as if I’m in limbo, and that’s probably part of the reason for my feelings of melancholy at this stage in the game. Because until my divorce is final by law, I’m still married to that dick, and as such, I want to carry myself with as much dignity as I possibly can until I can see the back of Kevin the snake and the life he’d shit all over.

Now, you might ask yourself, since that’s the case, why didn’t I just give him the house? But I have a perfectly good answer to that, maybe two or three. One, I’m the one that made this place a home for us and our kids.

Two, this is where I’ve always imagined having my kids and grandkids when they came for the big family events that I’d been planning since they were little, and last but not least, because I know how much this house means to my asshole ex.

The house was always a sign of prestige for him. It sits in one of the best neighborhoods in our city and carries a bit of class stigma with it. And if all that isn’t enough, the way I see it, he’s the one who’d crapped all over everything we’d built here together, so why should he reap any kind of reward for that. Low key, though, I just like sticking it to him and taking him for everything I can get my grubby little hands on.

I’ve been reading some of those self-help books for women my age in my position, and I’ve got to say, the people who write that shit have either never been married or they were born with dicks. I’ll be double damned if I’m going to walk around here being the bigger person all the time. The hell with that. Let someone else wear the big girl panties for a change.

Since I can’t inflict the same pain on him as he did me because I have morals, after all, I’ll hit him where I know it will hurt, and for him, that’s his pocket and his good name. To that point, whenever anyone asks about the divorce, I’ll be sure to give them all the details. This is the South, a place where time forgot.

So, while the rest of the country is heading hard for hell in a handbasket, we’re still stuck somewhere a good fifty years behind. Meaning we still believe in handshakes to seal the deal, and men who screw around on their wives with younger women are still shunned in certain circles.

You see, contrary to popular opinion, in these parts, it’s the women who run shit, even if we do it from behind the scenes. All it would take is one-afternoon tea with a select group of women to get the ball rolling, and Kevin the hump won’t have a leg to stand on.

There would be no more golfing buddies and no old pals to go fishing with on the weekend. Because once I put the bug in their wives’ ears, he’d be ostracized like he had the bubonic plague. And yes, you can bet your ass my vengeful butt is gonna do just that just as soon as I get him out of my house.

I was just getting myself in a dither again, so I walked away from the mirror and went to find something to wear to bed since I didn’t really feel like getting dressed again that day, but I did feel a lot better, all things considered. I hadn’t given any thought to that girl or who attacked her, and I didn’t plan to. That part of my life was decidedly over, and besides, it had nothing to do with me.

* * *

KEVIN

* * *

“Why did you do that?Why did you give the cops Jolene’s name? Jo would never do something like this.”

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