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Charly
If you walked in on your boyfriend having sex with another woman, what would you do?
I’ve seen it in movies countless times. The main character catches her man in a compromising position, and she bursts in on him to interrupt the scandalous moment. Maybe she yells. Maybe she throws his clothes at him. Maybe she demands he leave or explain himself. There’s almost always tears.
But I didn’t do any of those things.
I laughed.
“You laughed?” Jenny’s eyebrows hit her hairline at the same time her palm slaps the tabletop. “What the hell, Char?”
I blow out a long stream of air through my lips, and push my fingers through my blonde strands. “I don’t know what came over me. I just saw them there on his kitchen table, and I started laughing.”
She rubs her temples. “You’re so awkward.”
I throw up my hands. “I can’t help it that I laugh in uncomfortable situations. But watching my boyfriend jackhammer his co-worker bare-assed on the kitchen table definitely qualifies.”
Jenny curls her top lip. “He really likes that move, doesn’t he?”
I nod. I almost felt bad for the woman he was screwing. She could’ve been faking it—Lord knows I’ve faked it with Greg—but she looked like she was enjoying it.
There’s a lid for every pot, they say.
Jenny folds her arms over her chest. “What did the cheating bastard have to say for himself when you confronted him?”
I chew my bottom lip. “I didn’t.”
Her voice erupts like an explosion. “What?”
“Shh!” I slump further down into the booth, my eyes darting to the nearby tables. “Don’t make a scene.”
“You should be the one making a scene.” Jenny leans forward, lowering her voice to a whisper-yell. “You caught Greg with some skank, and you said nothing?”
I pop a nonchalant shoulder. “Brenda’s not a skank. She’s one of his co-workers I actually liked.”
Jenny blinks. “Are you having a mental breakdown? Is that what’s happening right now?”
I rest my elbow on the table, and prop up my chin with my hand. “I don’t know how to explain it. I ... I don’t feel angry with Greg. Sure, it hurt seeing the act of his betrayal, but I can’t say I blame him. I’ve been preoccupied, and I haven’t given him much attention. I get it.”
“Oh, don’t you dare give me that bullshit speech.” Jenny stabs the air with her index finger. “You don’t deserve to get cheated on just because you’re mourning the loss of your mother. That’s on him. He’s the asshole in this scenario. Don’t take the blame.”
“I’m not saying I deserve to get cheated on.” I lift a packet of Equal, and flick it. “But I can understand why this happened.”
I spent years taking care of Mom while she fought cancer and underwent countless hours of chemo. I don’t resent it. I’d have done it for the rest of my life if I knew it would’ve kept her alive. Hell, I would’ve traded places with her. But caring for a sick family member wears on you. I hated admitting that for a long time, but my therapist helped me to learn it’s okay to feel that way. I felt fulfilled and empty at the same time—happy to help my mother, but lonely within myself. I centered my life around trying to help my mother get better. I became obsessed—codependency, my therapist called it—and at the end of each day, I was mentally exhausted. I didn’t have the energy to nurture my relationship with Greg like I should’ve. I’ve been a shell of the person I was when we first met. So, I know why Greg did what he did. He’s in the wrong, but I’m not innocent.
“Your mother had cancer, Char. You’re grieving. You lost the most important person in your life.”
“And I neglected my boyfriend because of that. I neglected everything.” My voice breaks. “I just wanted her to get better. I thought she’d make it through this, and everything would be okay again. I thought I had more time.”
Jenny’s hand slides across the table, and covers mine. “I know it’s going to be difficult without her. But you can do it. It’ll take time. Now you can focus on getting your life back.”
“I don’t know where to start.” I put everything I had into taking care of Mom. Now I’m twenty-five, and all I have left to take care of is myself. It’s terrifying.
Jenny squeezes my hand. “Start with the bucket list.”
I pull out the paper from my purse, and smooth it on the table. “How am I supposed to finish this without her?”
“It’s what she wanted.”
