Page 35 of Casita Casanova
Hedidn’t cast me aside for anyone.
Eddiedid.
Cas struck a nerve, unbeknownst to him.
A raw, painful nerve that I didn’t even know existed. It tightens a fist around my heart.
We reach the other side of the street and he lets me speed up a bit, keeping pace behind me while I stew in this irrational, painful feeling. When we reach the house, he steps in front of me to open the gate, his eyes on me pointedly.
Thankfully, he remains quiet.
Smart man.
I head to the front porch of the main house and unlock the door, then slip inside without saying another word to him. He can order delivery tonight. I’m not making him dinner and I’m not letting him use my kitchen. He’ll just have to get over it.
As soon as I lock the door behind me, the tears start to fall.
Fucking Eddie!
I press my hands to my face as a sob escapes my lips. This divorce hits me at the worst possible times. My new tenant probably thinks I’m a lunatic, and rightfully so! I feel like one. I’m in here sobbing when I should be celebrating my new job!
Shoot, I should probably even be celebrating with the handsome young man renting my casita, whoalsogot a new job today, butnoooo. I’m in here sobbing because Eddie creeps in around the edges and ruins even the most innocent of things.
“Ahh,” I roar as I make my way to the master bedroom. That man broke pieces inside of me I’m still discovering. When will the discoveries end? When will I just be able to exist without the memories of his affairs, the pain of his countless betrayals?
I clutch my chest as a rush of agony surges out from my heart, stopping in my doorway to grip the wall for support.
Eddie left scars on me, marks that haven’t healed. Left me insecure and broken.
And it fuckinghurtsto realize this now, three days into my new, Eddie-free life. He’s still here. He’s still in this house, in everything he ever touched.
Including me.
No. Not anymore.
That realization straightens my back.
Eddie doesn’t get to live inside ofmeany longer. He doesn’t get to leave his mark on my soul like a brand. I strip out of my blouse and drop it on the floor, then peel my black jeans off my legs and step out of them. It’s only Spring and already too hot for skinny jeans. I pass the mirror above the dresser and pause to look at my reflection.
Take away the black trails of mascara streaking my cheeks, and what do you have?
Not one, but two younger men have flirted with me today. From the one renting my casita to the one who just hired me, the flirt knob was cranked up to ten. I may have been with the same man for twenty years, but I can still register when I’m desired.
But what do they see when they look at me?
An old, tired woman.
I bark out a laugh, shaking my head. My brain is a cruel bitch, but she’s not wrong.
Time to shower and get back into the garden so I can clear some dirt to clear my mind. There’s nothing better for a weary soul than connecting with the earth.
I close my eyes on a long blink. I really am old, aren’t I?
With a laugh, I swipe at my cheeks and head for the shower.
Whatever. You’re only as old as you feel, right?
This divorce has made me feel a hundred and then some.
