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This statement makes her lose her mind. Like a rabid dog she snarls with saliva strings between her lips, “I’m your wife!”
“Not for long.” I lift her up, and she fights me. Slaps my face over and over as I carry her to the door.
“I hate you, Ben! I’ll make you pay! I’m getting a really good lawyer and you’re going to lose this house!”
“I can’t wait to see your absence.”
I set her down on the porch after fighting to get the door open with her flailing around and clawing at me.
“I hate you!”
“I know you do. You hate anything that doesn’t align with what you want. Think about someone other than yourself for once. Think about Jonny and us having to co-parent him. Let’s end this as easily as we can.”
I wince as her nails scratch my face. “God woman, quit it!”
She spits, “Fat chance!”
I mutter, “Great,” holding her back as I walk inside. Shutting the door between us, I grab her bag from the accent table by it, and her keys hanging on a hook next to mine, hoping I never see them together again. She’s trying to open the door but my cowboy boot is easily holding it closed. With my hand out to stave her off, I muscle my way outside, and hand her things to her. “This is the first time I’ve really said the whole truth to you, and it’s time for you to listen to more. HEAR ME NOW. There is no more us. Don’t be showing up here again without invitation. If you don’t want to do this amicably, we’ll fight to the end. But know this, Shelby, I don’t hate you. Please don’t make me hate you. We have a son to raise together.”
Her face is red with fury. “You hate me! You do. That’s why you’re divorcing me! Just admit it!”
“It’s not you I hate. It’s me. I can’t stand myself when I’m with you.”
Stunned, she stares, then storms off to the Toyota Corolla that’s had more mileage put on it in the past few months since I said I was leaving than in the four years since I bought it for her. “I’m taking Jonny with me, Ben!”
“You’ll get joint custody.”
She throws the driver’s-side door open. “Bullshit!” Tosses her bag inside so hard it hits the passenger window. “I’m going to make sure he never sees you again!” And climbs in.
I say in a low breath, “That’s not going to happen,” and watch dust fly on her exit.
FOUR
Willow Windheim
“Don’t guilt-trip me,” I switch my phone to the other ear, telling my ex-boyfriend and ultra-reluctant dog-sitter, “Thor can’t possibly miss me yet.” Looking around at the chaos I change subjects, “Brady, you think L.A.X. is bad? Hartsfield-Jackson is enormous. Crazy busy. I had to take a tram to Luggage!”
“Atlanta is one of the largest hubs for travel in and out and throughout America.”
“Thank you, Wiki.”
Brady snorts with amusement, a sound that is always refreshing to me. We’ve been broken up for two years. The things that used to drive us crazy about each other have lost their…edges. My dry wit used to rub him the wrong way, but now he thinks it’s funny. Ah, irony. I remember very clearly our last huge argument where he shouted, And by the way, you’re not funny!
I swear that hurt more than the one time he called me a bitch. One and onlytime. I told him thatday, We don’t call each other names, ever. I refuse to have that kind of relationship.
When he said I wasn’t funny, that was the final straw and I ended it. Not because it was mean, which it was, but because if he didn’t like my sense of humor, there’s a huge part of me he didn’t ‘get’ and that’s a lonely feeling. I used to have to explain my jokes. Sonot fun.
“Hang on. Gemma is calling through.” I switch over and tell my best friend, “Hi! I’m at the airport and on the other line with Brady.”
“Why?!”
Over a gate-announcement that feels like it’s lodged in my ears, I shout, “HANG ON,” and switch back to tell him, “LET ME CALL YOU BACK!”
Brady grumbles, “Why are you yelling at me,” and hangs up.
Back to Gemma, announcement ending and sending my voice back to its normal volume, I tell her, “Hey. I told him I’d call him back.”
“Willow, whyare you at the airport?”
