Page 23 of Ella Gets the D
I smile. “Wear sneakers.”
Chapter 9
Ella
Thwack.
Our small group breaks out into a cheer at my bull’s-eye, or whatever you call it when the axe hits the target dead center. I grin at my handiwork in hopes it will manifest a man-bunned Viking. One who’s faithful and wields a thick sword.
“Ella is on fire tonight,” says our coach, a burly, middle-aged man in red-and-black plaid and jeans that have seen better days. What he lacks in a man bun he makes up for with a trimmed wheat beard. He’s serving mountain man and well.
I take a bow, careful not to let the tiara nestled in my messy updo fall. My black T-shirt, which is knotted in the back and readsI called the lawyer, inches up my spine. In jeans and high-tops, I’m in my superhero outfit, ready to fight crime and take on future ex-husbands.
Erica cheers with a beer in one hand and her phone on camera mode in the other.
Morgan stands between her and another friend who came out to celebrate in DC. Her aim tonight is shit, but she wins the fashion award with her silk crop top and ankle pants. Her longstrands are gathered into the perfect top knot, a direct contrast to the thick, unruly mane plopped on my head. Amy, a fellow mom with the enthusiasm of a kindergarten class strung out on sugar, whistles like I won the Super Bowl.
Tonight, we laid to rest Ella Hudson and resurrected Ella Greene. It’s been a minute since she and I have seen each other, and I embraced her with open arms.
Morgan and I compromised on the evening’s shenanigans. We’re at a spot with axe throwing to release my pent-up rage and cabanas and handcrafted cocktails to satisfy her inner bougie. She decked out our tented black-and-white space with gold foil balloons that spellDivorced AF. There’s no dick cake, but we do have naked cakes with different divorce toppers, likeBoy, ByeandFinally Done.
There are also divorce candles, mini cacti withLittle Pricktags, and wine with custom divorce labels, because Morgan. If it wasn’t clear before, now I’m sure she missed her calling as an event planner. But she makes up for it in the best way she knows how: doing the most.
“Having fun?” my soon-to-be-ex-housemate asks with a soft check to my shoulder. Perspiration dots the side of her face but doesn’t dare smear her makeup. Her breath is heavy after throwing axes, a form of exercise she clearly loathes.
I’m in heaven, reenacting summers with Pap-Pap riding tractors and camping. He and I may have thrown the occasional hatchet between fishing, which is why I picked this place.
“Yeah,” I say between sips of whatever this blue concoction is. I’m sure I broke some drinking code mixing my alcohol in the wrong order.
“You sure you don’t want me to stay with you tonight?”
I’m spending the night in my new home for the first time while the kids are with their grandmother. Charles’s father is in Palm Beach for his fifth business trip this year. Sounds like somebullshit, but it’s none of my business. As for Charles, he had another work conflict. Shocker.
“I’ll be fine.” I pat Morgan’s leg and laugh at how fast she swapped sneakers for heels now that we’re back at the cabana. “Erica and I are sharing a car back. I’ll be okay.”
Tonight has been the break I needed.
Keeping up with two kids’ schedules is no joke. I’m on from the time they wake up until the time they sleep. Haile is with me all day, and unless she takes a nap, there’s rarely a chance to exhale, let alone pee in peace.
The thought of divorcing Charles scared me at first because of all the weight that would fall on my shoulders. But the truth is, I’ve been carrying it for years.
I’m not new to this, I’m true to this.
Reality will slap me in the face tomorrow—that bitch is relentless. For now, I raise my glass to the friends around the table who’ve stayed in my corner and allow myself to enjoy the moment.
Morgan’s family property is a godsend, it truly is. But I still don’t have a job, and time is running out. I can cower in a corner to the fear waiting to consume me or stay in the present with the people rooting for me. I choose door number two.
“I know I already said this, but thank you.” The edges of Morgan’s mouth curl.Here she goes. “You were right.” I roll my eyes and sigh. “This divorce party is amazing.”
Morgan pulls me in for a hug. “Of course it is. I planned it.” She laughs and dodges the pillow I toss at her.
“Well!” Amy claps her hands together like she’s waiting to do a cheer. “It’s time for our next activity.” She flips her golden-brown hair over her shoulder, reaches for her oversized purse, and pulls out a binder.
I frown at the pending homework assignment. Amy is the room parent chair of the PTA. Her idea of a good time ismapping out decorations and supplies for classroom parties months in advance. School is almost out for summer, and I refuse to do a group project during my divorce party.
My buzz toes the line between a happy place and tomorrow’s reminder almost-forty isnotthe new twenty.
Erica catches me glancing at the artificial hedges that encase our tent. An Olympic high jump is still on the table if that binder is. I stand when Amy pulls an arsenal of colored gel pens from her bag.
