Page 78 of Merry Little Midlife Matchmaker

I thought about nothing except the camera in my hands and the world I wanted to capture. For the first time in years—at least since my kids were born—I didn’t worry about what anyone else needed. I breathed in crisp, fresh air and I took photos. Most of them were bad, and it didn’t matter.

When my stomach rumbled, I realized it had been hours since I’d eaten. I made my way back to the car and drove down the coast until I found a town I’d never stopped in, and I chose a restaurant at random. I ate by myself at a table by the window, and I watched people walk and drive by. I drank a leisurely coffee and went through the photos I’d taken.

I thought of nothing and no one except myself. When I left the restaurant, I walked by a bakery that had gleaming, sugar-encrusted pastries. I bought three and ate them all while I sat ina small park by myself, listening to the movements of the town around me.

When the cold began to seep through my jacket, I stood. A snowflake landed on my outstretched hand, and I glanced up at the sky. Not a drizzle, after all.

I drove home and drew myself a bath, then filled it with dried rose petals and bath oil that had come in a gift set that I’d been saving for a special occasion. The water loosened my stiff muscles, and I leaned against the edge of the tub and closed my eyes.

This was a special occasion. It was the moment that I realized it was okay to take care of myself.

When I got out of the bath, I reached for my old pink robe, and hesitated. It was more gray than pink now, and it had turned so rough with hundreds of washes that I wondered why I even kept it around at all. Huffing, I stomped, stark naked, to the linen closet and grabbed myself one of the nice towels—the ones I’d always saved for guests. Why? Why did I give myself the worst of everything?

Wrapped up in soft, nearly new terrycloth, I marched back to the bathroom, grabbed the ratty old robe, and walked it down to the kitchen garbage so I could toss it out. The cabinet door slammed when I closed it, and I stood there, hair dripping wet, fluffy towel clasping me in its soft fabric, feeling three feet taller than usual.

And I smiled.

Glancing at the time, I figured it was about time I turned my phone back on so I could talk to the kids. Messages popped up on the screen—mostly from my mother, but there was one from Aaron and another from Laurel. I ignored them all and let my ex-husband know that I was available to talk to the kids if they wanted.

Then I went upstairs, opened my closet, and stared at all the old rags with which I’d dressed myself for years.

Not anymore.

I wasn’t a martyr. I was a mother. They weren’t the same thing.

With a kind of feverish intensity, I grabbed all the hangers from the rails and dumped the clothes on the bed. Every drawer got ripped open and dumped out. I stared at the mound of clothing and got to work.

All but four pairs of underwear were either stained, ripped, or so stretched out they sagged in the butt when I put them on. They had to go. Old T-shirts with baggy collars got tossed in the same pile. I found dresses that no longer fit—they went too. I was done feeling bad about myself every time I opened my closet. Done dressing myself in worn-out, ill-fitting clothing because I thought it was all I deserved.

The only items I kept were ones that actually fit me and ones that made me feel good. That pile was pathetically small.

Halfway through my manic Marie Kondo-ing, my phone rang. I picked it up and swiped when I saw Laurel’s name on the screen.

“Merry Christmas,” she said, sounding amused. “I heard rumors about the Butler Christmas dinner that I was hoping you’d confirm or deny.”

My bedroom was a disaster, and I was still naked. I glanced around the room, then perched myself on the edge of my bed. “Shoot.”

“You were caught kissing Sean Hardy.”

“True.”

Laurel gasped. “And your brother went bonkers.”

“Pretty much.”

“He attacked Sean.”

I glanced down at my toes. It was time to book a pedicure. “Maybe. I left.”

“You left?”

“Seemed like the right thing to do.”

“And Sean?”

“What about him?”

“Are the two of you together, or what? What happened with the kiss?”

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