Page 134 of Someone Like You

‘Like Jon is not good for you. He’s only happy when he’s big noting himself or putting you down. And I hate what that does to you, Is. We all do – me, Mom, Dad…’

‘Then why didn’t you say something?’ she asks, her voice small and hoarse.

‘Because you love him. And it would have hurt you.’

She sniffs and wipes under her nose with the back of her fingers. ‘I get it. But I don’t love him any more. I can’t remember the last time I felt anything evenresemblinglove towards that man.’

Referring to Jon as ‘that man’… Even someone like me, without a long romantic history to point to, knows it’s a marital death knell.

‘You know why he didn’t want to come up for Monica’s wedding or have Christmas with Mom and Dad this year?’

I shake my head.

‘One of his clients offered him the use of their condo in the Bahamas over the holidays and for him, that was a no-brainer. Why would we come to dreary old Seattle with my boring family when we could “vacay in paradise”?’

‘Did he really say “vacay”?’

‘What do you think?’

‘And we’re not boring! That Jenga tournament was intense.’

This teases out a weak smile that vanishes almost instantly.

‘You’re right, you know,’ she continues. ‘He does put me down –constantly. I’m boring and I never want to go anywhere. I’m stupid because I don’t understand crypto, even though he doesn’t either – not really. Oh, and I’m fat and unfashionable, which means I don’t fit in with his real estate buddies or their perfect, Californian wiv?—’

Her words give way to sobs and I reach for her, enfolding her ina tight embrace, and rocking her gently as I whisper that it will be okay.

Inside, I’m seething. If I ever see that man again, every ounce of hate I have for him for making my sister feel worthless – my beautiful, funny, kind, smart sister – will manifest in violence.

I can’t say how long we stay like that, but eventually Issy stops crying and gets out of bed. ‘I need to pee,’ she says, disappearing into the bathroom. I hear the toilet flush, then the sink run.

If I know Issy, she’s splashing water on her face, then looking in the mirror and telling herself to get a grip. She always was hard on herself, but when you add a verbally abusive husband into the mix, it must be impossible not to see yourself as ‘less than’.

I sit up, tucking my knees into my chest, waiting for her to come back. Then something occurs to me.

She scuttles across the bedroom floor – it’s chilly out from under the covers – and jumps back into bed, pulling the comforter up around her chin. I wait for her to snuggle in before telling her my idea.

‘Hey, so you know Dad’s friend, Dave?’

‘Dave who drove us to Aunt Christine’s and Uncle Marv’s? Yeah. I mean, a little.’

‘He’s a divorce attorney – one of the most respected in Washington.’

‘The guy in who looks like Dave Grohl, who ran the underground Uber network for the wedding?’

‘Yeah. Don’t get hung up on how he looks… He’s adivorceattorney.’

Finally, she gets it. ‘Oh.Oh. I don’t know that… And I’m not saying I want…’ Her eyes have gone wide –andwild.

‘Issy, you’ve been the big sister all my life. Let me be the big sister now.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Imeanyou left Jon days before Christmas, you’re not taking his calls… You know you’re not going back to him, so isn’t a divorce the next logical step?’

‘No, you’re right. It’s just…divorce– that word.’ She shudders.

‘Yeah. But you’ve got me and you’ve got Mom and Dad. We’re here for you.’

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