Page 61 of Filthy Little Midlife Fling

Caroline is a beautiful woman in her early thirties. She greets me at the door with a wide smile, as if we’re old friends and not on two sides of the same scumbag man. She’s wearing a glamorous yet casual diaphanous dress that flutters gently around her calves. I almost turn around and leave again, but I remember the medical bills and the money I owe Remy for the van, so I square my shoulders and exchange a few pleasantries before getting down to business.

“Let’s have a look at your kitchen,” I say, matching her smile with one of my own. “Once I know what the job entails, I can get you scheduled in with one of our teams.”

“Fantastic,” Caroline says, sweeping down the hallway while I scurry after her.

As part of the divorce settlement, Terry and I sold the house we shared and split the profits. I used my share to start my business. By the looks of it, Terry used his to upgrade his home.

A twinge pinches my heart as we walk into the open-plan kitchen/living area. On the opposite wall is a big painting of a New England fishing town Terry and I visited on one of the first trips we took together after we got married. He bought that painting from an up-and-coming artist. It used to hang in our foyer.

There’s a magnetic strip on the kitchen wall, and I recognize the big chef’s knife as Terry’s.

I shouldn’t have come here.

Seeing Terry in person made me feel nothing, but seeing the remnants of the home we shared is an assault on my psyche. The ghosts of the dreams I had for us haunt these items.

It’s not that I want that life back, nor do I want the man. But being his wife was a big part of my identity for the decade we were married. I tried so hard to be exactly what he needed me to be, and I failed.

My emotions aren’t rational, but I can’t change them.

“Here we are,” Caroline says, indicating the kitchen with a sweep of her hand. The fabric of her sleeve trails below her wrist, lending more drama to the movement. “The room is big and bright, but I can never keep it tidy.”

I unlock my jaws. “I can help you with that,” I tell her, my words on autopilot. “Tidying is mostly about having a system that works.”

“I’ve watched so many of your videos,” she says, opening the pantry to show me her work. “I tried getting these shelf organizers and a spice rack, but things never seem to get replaced back where they go.”

I wonder if that has anything to do with the useless worm of a man you married, I think uncharitably.

Instead of voicing that thought out loud, I smile. “Did you want the full kitchen and pantry reorganization?”

“Oh, yes, please,” Caroline says.

She’s sunny and friendly, and it’s hard to dislike her. When I discovered the affair, I also discovered that Terry had told her our marriage was all but over. She’d thought we were sleeping in separate rooms, which wasn’t true, and that we were just waiting on financial matters to divorce legally. Why she stayed with him after discovering he’d told her so many lies, I have no idea. Spending a bit of time with her now, I start to feel a little bit sorry for her. The bulk of my anger was aimed at my ex-husband, but I’d kept a shred of rancor for her. Maybe it’s time to let that go.

The tension gripping my body eases as we walk around the kitchen. She tells me how she uses the space as I make notes. I open every cupboard and jot down ideas for changes. Meg is assisting on a big garage reorganization, so I’m on my own today. It reminds me of the first year of my business, when I did everything myself. Before long, I’m lost in ideas and suggestions and notes. At the end of the day, I love my job.

Then the front door opens.

“Honey! I’m home!” Terry’s voice booms through the foyer and down to where we are. I stiffen. He used to say the same thing to me.

Caroline straightens, a soft smile on her lips. “In here, babe! We’re looking at the kitchen.”

“Who’s ‘we?’” A second after the question reaches us, Terry appears in the mouth of the hallway. His eyes meet mine, something like surprise flitting through them. “Oh! Audrey! I wasn’t expecting you here so soon.”

“There was a break in my schedule,” I explain, then straighten my notes by tapping my stack of papers on the counter. My heart begins to thump a bit harder as I focus on keeping my face nice and neutral. “We’re nearly done with the consultation, though. Caroline was very helpful.”

“That she is,” Terry says, crossing the kitchen to kiss his wife.

I avert my eyes. I’ve never felt so awkward in my life. Why did I come here? What’s wrong with me? I actually thought this would be like any other job? I thought this would give me closure?

All these recent orgasms must have melted my brain. I should have listened to Laurel when she first threw the block of cheddar at my head.

The need to get out rises in me so fast, it feels like panic clawing at my throat. I turn to the happy couple—and see Terry rubbing Caroline’s abdomen while she smiles beatifically.

I turn to stone.

Terry looks up at me, something sharp in his eyes as he studies my reaction. “Did Caroline tell you the good news?”

My body belongs to someone else. I hear my voice ask, “What news?”

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