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“What do you mean?”
“I see the way you look at me sometimes. It’s not any different than when we were together.”
“It is,” I insist.
“You used to give me those same looks just before we ended up in a sweaty heap in bed together.”
“That was years before when I was young and naïve.”
“Seriously, I don’t think you were ever naïve. You loved me, and I treated you poorly. I should’ve cherished you and now it’s too late.”
I sip my beer. “Yes, you should’ve. But now I’m marrying Noah in a few months. I’m happy. Can’t you be for me?”
“I can, but that doesn’t mean I have to like it.”
JC takes a long pull on his beer and rubs at the stubble on his chin.
“I decided to ask Brianna for a divorce.”
This is news to me because a few short days ago, he said he was stuck.
“When did you make that decision?”
“This afternoon, when I got this picture.”
I watch as he scrolls through his phone, then hands it to me. The picture I’m looking at is a bikini-clad Brianna kissing a dark-haired young man. I feign shock because frankly, I’m not. I saw the way they interacted at the beach house. It was like a woman and her servant, not her husband.
“Who sent you that?”
“Brad McConnell, remember him?”
My mind recollects the name, but I’m having trouble placing him.
“No. Name sounds familiar, but I don’t remember his face.”
“Worked with us at Carver? Tall guy used to shave his head and when he let the hair grow back, he was partially bald.”
Now I remember. He was an obnoxious ass kisser, especially after JC got the director’s job. I hated that asshole.
“He sent you the picture?”
“Yes. He’s on vacation with his girlfriend. He came to our wedding and knew Brianna. I doubt she remembered him. It’s not the worst of it either. He sent me three more pictures of this guy fondling Brianna’s breasts and her slipping her hand down his shorts. That’s my fucking wife. How do I know this is the first guy?”
“I’m so sorry. How do you plan on telling her?”
“I feel like driving there this weekend and shoving the pictures in her face. She can’t get away with a story now. I’ve suspected. God knows what she did when she was away last week. Probably fucked some cabana boy.”
I want to say to him, how does it feel? JC cheated on me, and it hurt. It hurt that he didn’t love and respect me enough to be monogamous. He was always waiting for something better to come along. That’s not what he said when he broke up with me, but it’s what I felt. I refuse to chastise him and offer support.
“Just do what you think is best. You have an out now. If your father wants to argue, you can show him the pictures.”
“He probably will still give me shit. Always trying to explain things away. I really wonder why my mother stayed with him all these years. I never told you, but I caught him cheating on her when I was in high school.”
My mouth drops open. “Are you serious?”
“Do you remember the debate against Hillside that we lost? He went crazy on me. It wasn’t that we lost, it was because I saw him, and he knew. It happened the day before the debate. I was sick about it.”
I think back to the day. JC was normally clear and concise in debates, but I noticed he was scattered. He hesitated several times, almost as if he lost his train of thought. After it was over, I thought he didn’t care. We were graduating in a few weeks. Now it all made sense.
