Page 5 of Camera Chemistry
“About a threesome? I’m not drunk enough to consider it.”
“About the photo shoot,” she clarifies. “But good to know where you stand on the other topic.”
I pick up the mug of green tea I’ve been sipping steadily through the evening. The tannins stick to the inside of the porcelain as I swirl the drink around. It takes a second for me to speak, and neither of the pair hurries me along.
“I’m going to do it,” I say, hesitant excitement lacing my words. Jeremiah squeals, and Lacey pumps her fist in the air. “Why the hell not? It’s about time I put myself back out there after the divorce. It’s not a date. There’s no pressure. It’s two adults taking photos. That’s it.”
“It’ll be way more fun than what you’d find on a dating app anyway,” Jeremiah says. The reassurance helps, and the knot of tension residing between my shoulders loosens. “This could be a test run before the real thing, when you actuallyareready to get back out there.”
“The dating apps aren’t all terrible,” Lacey counters. A strong rebuttal is turning the wheels in her head. “I’ve used them and had outstanding success.”
“Yes, to sit on someone’s face. Not to actually get toknowthem,” Jer tosses back.
“Iknowwhat patterns I prefer their tongue to work in. What else is there to learn?”
“That's the thing,” I say, interrupting their crass sidebar. “I don’t want to date again.”
“Ever?” they ask in unison.
“Not for the foreseeable future. Life is fine as it is. I’m happy. Work is going well. Why should I try and undoubtedly mess it up by involving a man?”
“Well. The guy you’ll be working with seems great,” Jer says brightly.
“I know you know everyone, but how did you meet him?” I ask.
“I haven’t met him yet. His name is Aiden Wood, and he’s best friends with Shawn Holmes, the dreamy football coach I’ve shot a couple of times.” When Lacey and I stare at him blankly, he rolls his eyes. “Tattoos. Biceps for days. Athletic body with massive hands. And, if the rumors are true, an impressive dick he knows how to useverywell.”
“Ah.” I nod. “Chivalry isn’t dead. It’s merely disguised as impressively sized dicks.”
“I was tipsy last night and accidentally—okay, I purposelywent down a Facebook rabbit hole, winding up on one of Aiden’s sisters’ profiles.” There’s a gleam in his eyes, a conspiring glimmer proudly boasting he’s in possession of precious information and won’t give it up easily. “I am very excited about Saturday.”
“Is that all you’re going to share? His name?”
“Yup. I’d hate to ruin the surprise. It’ll be worth the wait.”
I grumble a string of expletives under my breath and cross my right leg over my left. He’s being elusive, and I hate the secrecy.
“Why Valentine’s Day?” Lacey asks. “It’s the worst holiday in the world.”
“Amen to that,” I agree. “Look around. There’s love-sick couples everywhere. Half of them will end up divorced. Another quarter will grow to resent each other and stick the marriage out despite being woefully unhappy. Shouldn’t we be sharing our love for our significant others year-round, and not just on a commercialized day designed to spike retail sales?”
“All good points,” Jeremiah says. “But, Mags, you’re a biased participant. You can’t, in good faith, speak on the day.”
He’s right. I resent February 14th. It hasn’t always been this way. I used to love the holiday. There would be a bouquet waiting for me in the kitchen when I woke up, complete with a hand-written love note. There would be candy and chocolate-covered strawberries on the bedside table. A nice dinner at a fancy restaurant with an expensive bottle of wine.
Four years ago, it was the day Parker, my ex-husband, told me he wanted a divorce. I came home from work and found a stack of papers waiting for me on the dining room table. Three hundred and sixty-five days later, on the very same day, my marriage officially ended. There was no discussion. No fighting. There was no pleading or problem solving. It was just… the end.
In hindsight, he wasn’t right for me. I know that now, but I’d been wearing rose-tinted glasses at the time. We met at a fundraiser. He was donating a lot of money. I was representing my former hospital. I backed into him, spilling a glass of wine on his leather shoes that cost more than my rent. He apologized profusely for being in my way. And the rest, as they say, is history. One night forever changing the course of my life.
We dated for two years and had all the deep conversations a couple in love should have. Discussions on politics and children. Finances and goals for the future. Real estate preferences and familial backgrounds. We aligned perfectly in our beliefs, and I knew I had found The One.
After our wedding, the pressure to have a family started. His parents sent us small baby gifts in the mail. A rattle here. A pacifier there. The message was clear: Put your career on hold and pop out a child. That’s all I was to them; a breeding machine. It didn’t matter how hard I’d worked at becoming an accomplished neurosurgeon. If I wasn’t a mother, I hadn’t succeeded.
Parker and I tried. We tried, and we tried, and we tried. Nothing worked. IVF treatments didn’t work. Acupuncture didn’t work. After extensive tests and lab work, we found out I was infertile, through no fault of my own. Just another mystery of life, and I drew the short straw.
Grappling with the discovery was difficult. We went to couples counseling, and I started individual therapy. I threw out other options: Adoption. Surrogacy. My confidence was throttled. Intimacy became nonexistent. Every time Parker looked at me, I saw the disappointment and resentment in his eyes. I was a failure, and nothing I ever did in life would make up for my shortcomings.
I don’t miss the person who never looked at me like he was a starving man and I was his key to survival. I don’t miss the woman I turned into, the lack of compliments and affection building a mountain of self-loathing. Therapy has been a god-send. I’ve compartmentalized the past. I’ve grieved it and made peace with it. Parker wasn’t my person, and even if the nights get lonely, they’re infinitely better than being with someone who isn’t head over heels in love with me.
