After My Ex Betrayed Me, I Chose the Man Who Waited

I turned and left.

Back at my office, a message from Gloria came in.

“Grant wants to know if you're working late tonight. He wants to take you to dinner.”

“Tell him to ask me himself.”

Five minutes later, Grant's message arrived.

“Are you free tonight?”

“Yes.”

“What do you feel like eating?”

“You pick.”

“Okay.”

At dinner, Grant watched me.

“You don't seem like yourself today.”

“How could you tell?”

“When you smile, your eyes don't follow.”

That caught me off guard.

“You're pretty observant.”

“Not observant. Just paying attention.”

I looked down and drank my soup without answering.

He didn't push.

After dinner, he drove me home.

Downstairs, he parked and turned to look at me.

“Cicely.”

“Hm?”

“If having dinner with me feels like pressure, we can start as friends.”

I looked at him. The streetlamp caught his face, and his eyes were very bright.

“Okay.”

He smiled.

“See you tomorrow?”

“See you tomorrow.”

I went upstairs, showered, and lay down in bed.

My phone chimed once.

Grant had sent a photo of tonight's moon.

“The moon's lovely tonight.”

I tilted my head toward the window. Not a trace of moon out there.

Liar.

I replied anyway.

“It really is.”

Gloria called just as I walked out of the courthouse.

“Done?”

“Done.”

“Good riddance. Drinks tonight?”

“Sure.”

I hung up and stood at the curb waiting for a ride.

My phone buzzed. Daryl.

“You really think this is fair to me?”

I didn't reply.

Another message followed：“My dad's in the hospital. Happy now?”

I stared at the screen for two seconds, then still didn't reply.

In the car, the driver asked where to.

I rattled off my home address—then heard myself and went quiet. It wasn't really home anymore.

Daryl's things had been moved out yesterday. My mother had sent someone over this morning to change the locks.

At the front door, I ran into Sybilla Lambert from across the hall.

“Cicely, how come your Daryl moved out?”

“We got divorced.”

Sybilla's mouth opened and closed like she'd swallowed an egg whole.

I unlocked the door and went inside. Half the living room was empty.

Daryl had taken the couch set he liked, claiming he'd paid for it.

I hadn't argued. It was just a couch.

There was half a carton of milk left in the fridge. I took a sip and it had already gone sour.

I tossed it, sat down on one of the kitchen chairs, and suddenly had no idea what to do with myself.

My phone rang again.

Mom.

“Come home for dinner tonight. Your father made spare ribs.”

“I made plans with Gloria.”

“Then come for lunch tomorrow.”

“Okay.”

I hung up, showered, and changed.

By the time I left, it was already dark.

Gloria was already there when I arrived at the bar, two drinks set out in front of her.

“This one's yours.”

She slid a glass over.

I sat down and took a sip.

“So? How does freedom feel?”

“Eh.”

“Eh? You should be throwing a parade.”

I didn't say anything.

Gloria looked at me and put down her glass.

“Don't tell me you're actually sad.”

“I'm not sad.”

“Then why is it written all over your face?”

I touched my own cheek.

“Maybe I'm just not used to it yet.”

“Not used to what? Not having someone to piss you off? Not having someone complain about how much you spend?”

She was right.

Daryl said I spent too much money, but the watch on his wrist was one I bought. The shirt on his back was one I bought. Even his mother's birthday gift was one I picked out.

“Stop thinking about it.”

Gloria poured more wine. “Here, look at this.”

She pulled out her phone and tapped open a photo.

A man in a dark blue hoodie, sitting in a café, eyes on his laptop.

“What do you think?”

“Think about what?”

“He went to college with my husband. Works at a bank. Single.”

I pushed the phone back.

“I just got divorced.”

“Nobody's saying marry him tomorrow. Just meet up, have a chat. What's the harm?”

“No.”

Gloria shot me a look.

“You're way too picky. You could go for someone like Daryl, and now a better catch comes along and you don't want him?”

“Was Daryl really that great?”

“You thought so back then, didn't you?”

I didn't answer.

Back then was back then.

Back then I thought he was ambitious, had ideas, knew how to talk sweet.

It wasn't until after the wedding that I realized ambition, sometimes, is just a bottomless pit.

His ideas always outran his ability, and the sweet talk never turned into anything real.

By the second glass, Gloria's husband came to pick her up.

“I'm heading out. Don't stay too late.”

“I know.”