Page 8 of Any Second Now
“Do you have a?—”
“Yes, I organized everything in a spreadsheet,Mom.” I might have said that sarcastically, but it’s true. As soon as I got the incredibleand satisfyingly petty idea to buy an RV, I opened a new Excel file and researched costs of buying versus leasing, maintenance needed, pros and cons of different manufacturers, all the things.
“Good. Because I wouldn’t want you to make a rash decision. You should be?—”
“I don’t want to be told what I should be doing right now. What I want is for both of you to get out of here so I can finalize the sale and go pick it up. Then come home and pack.”
I cross my arms again and tuck my hands into my armpits. I’m sweating. Panicking.
I’m really doing this plan, huh.
“Have you ever driven an RV before?” Mom crosses her own arms right back at me.
“As a matter of fact, I have.” I don’t need to tell her the only time I’ve driven one is when I test drove the RV I purchased, pulled behind the current owner’s car. “And now it’s time for you to go.” I turn to my front door and push it open all the way, shooing my mother and my ex-husband out. I don’t make eye contact as Jacob walks by, but I don’t miss the hurt look on his face.
“Call me, honey, okay?” Mom touches my cheek and follows Jacob down the steps. I hear them start talking—arguing—again but I shut the door before I give in to the urge to shout down after them.
I need room to think. Space to figure out who I really am without the pressures of marriage, work, family, the spreadsheet. I need to not come home to this house, the one Jacob and I bought together five years ago.
I need a way out. At least for a while.
Guess I’m really going.
CHAPTER 2
Hello, One Third Life Crisis
ATTICUS
Saturday, June 28
Ididn’t get a phone call from my father to wish me a happy thirtieth birthday or to check on my recovery from the groin injury I sustained in the last game of the season.
But I did get a text message.
Richard
No need to reply, but I wanted to inform you that Carrie and I are getting divorced.
I didn’t expect him to remember it’s my birthday, nor to check on me.
And the fact that my asshole of a father is getting divorced from wife number four will be a surprise to absolutely no one. He’s been married to her for six years, and my sister Lucy and I talked about the possibility at Thanksgiving last year when the wife didn’t show up to dinner.
I guess being team owner of a Major League Soccer team—DC FC in Washington D.C.—means he has the money and resources to go through wives like they’re new cars.
Me
congratulations
I enjoy doing exactly the opposite of what my father wants. Much like when I chose to play hockey instead of soccer starting in middle school.
Drove that man crazy.
Especially since I had been a fucking good soccer player.
Richard
Have you heard from Lucy? I texted her yesterday but she hasn’t responded.
