Page 22 of Ewan

Not only did I have to renovate it again and make it look like a new place so I could live there, but I had lots of lousy memories scattered all around, and there was nothing I could do about them. Domestic life snippets clinging to the air like moths to lamps.

Our life together wasn’t the greatest.

Once we put our less than stellar honeymoon behind us, it became apparent we weren’t a good fit.

I was still working from dawn to dusk to make ends meet, and he was mostly taciturn and not involved when he was home.

The straw that broke the camel’s back was his accumulating credit card debt before compelling me to take out a loan with him to buy another car, only to find out the new ride was for his girlfriend.

Yup.

My very married husband got a girlfriend.

The ending was swift and painful with unpleasant financial consequences.

My divorce was finalized a couple of months back.

I had to hire a lawyer because he became difficult and started making claims about things that weren’t his.

He kept the car, credit card debt, and girlfriend.

I had to make my house livable––I won’t sell it in this absurd market and then go and live where exactly?––and put my finances in order.

In the meantime, prices have shot up to an all time high, and my teacher’s salary barely covers the necessities, my mortgage, and the student loan I keep around like it’s a pet.

All in all, I’ve been high strung for a while.

“Please tell me,” I say in the voice of someone teetering on the edge of crazy desperation. “What am I walking into?”

She rubs my skin sympathetically.

“Chill. Don’t be so dramatic.”

“Dramatic? Who me? You’ve been all dramatic, acting like our new Santa is a monster,” I take a stab at joking, trying to conceal my nerves. “Is he drunk? Using drugs?”

“I wouldn’t know. Probably not.”

“Probably not??” I get more freaked out by the second. “Let me see him.”

I move and she walks with me without talking or trying to stop me.

“Is he in the other room?”

“He probably is,” she says. “He was outside when I came looking for you.”

I stop abruptly, and she almost stumbles into me.

“How did you know something was off if you didn’t even see him?”

“The woman who saw him told her kid Santa was here, and he was this big muscular guy, which was creepy if you ask me. I thought we were waiting for a teen.”

“A nineteen-year-old.”

“That’s still a teen.”

“I’ve seen nineteen-year-olds who look like men. Let’s go,” I say panicked and irritated.

We begin moving again.

---