Then Came You - Jennifer Weiner [126]
The papers I’d sent David, my petition for divorce, were in a drawer in the kitchen, still in the envelope I’d used to mail them. I felt my heart stutter, looking at my teenage handwriting, big and loopy, young and hopeful. I’d called a lawyer from the train that morning. In David’s apartment I called her again, and she said she’d meet us in her office in an hour. The rules, as she explained them when we arrived, were clear: I’d filed papers, but David had never signed them, which made me guilty of bigamy. “We can file for leniency,” she told us, and David had nodded. “I’ll do whatever I can to make this right.” My mind wandered while they talked. I wondered what would happen: if my marriage hadn’t been legal, then maybe Marcus couldn’t have left me anything. Maybe not even the baby was mine. I wondered, too, why David had never remarried, whether there’d been a string of teenage girls in the years since we’d parted or if maybe he was still in love with me.
Less than an hour, the lawyer had said, but by the time everything was signed and notarized it was closer to two, and then we were back out on the sticky sidewalk, underneath a low gray sky. The first hard thing was done. I was divorced. I’d made it over the hurdle. But worse was coming.
“Is my mother...”
He shook his head and took my hands. “I saw her obituary in the paper, maybe six or seven years ago.”
“Oh.” I tried to remember something good about her, the way she’d looked when she was young, how she’d smiled at me like I was the best thing she’d ever seen, the stories she’d whispered in my ear, curled up next to me in the bed that had once been hers. I knew better than to even ask about my half sisters. They’d been little girls when I’d lived here, and I didn’t think I’d ever told David their names.
He walked me to the bus stop and gave me an awkward hug. “I wish you well,” he said. “I always did.” I nodded, knowing I didn’t deserve his good wishes, knowing I couldn’t answer him without crying.
The bus pulled out of the station at six o’clock. By nine, I was back in the city. By nine-forty-five, I was walking up the five flights of stairs to my old single-girl apartment. I took off my shoes and lay on top of the narrow bed, fully dressed, without turning on the lights. Tears slid down my cheeks and pooled in my ears. Tomorrow I’d get up, get dressed, leave the last vestiges of my girlhood behind, go back to the grand apartment, and be a mother.
JULES
I’d tried calling Kimmie the night after Bettina had made her proposition, but her cell phone just rang and rang. The e-mails I sent over the next ten days went unanswered, which I knew because I was checking my BlackBerry approximately every five minutes, prompting Rajit to deliver a barrage of snide remarks about the charming new tic I’d developed.
“Did your boyfriend forget to call?” he smirked, thumbs in his suspenders, monogrammed cuffs flapping.
“My girlfriend,” I said coolly. It was out of my mouth before I’d known I was going to say it. Rajit’s mouth hung open for a gratifying instant.
“Oh, my,” he said, almost to himself. “Well. That’ll give me something to think about this weekend.” Normally I would have ignored him, but today I straightened myself to my full height, which was at least three inches more than Rajit’s.
“You’re disgusting,” I said pleasantly. “I just want you to know that. You’re a horrible human being, and I’ll bet your parents would be ashamed if they knew how you treated people.” Then I turned off my computer, shouldered my bag, and, head held high, walked out the door to a smattering of applause and a single wolf-whistle.
It was seven o’clock, still light, but getting cooler. I wondered how long it had been since I’d left the office before the sun set. Most of my colleagues wouldn’t make it home for hours. I took the subway uptown and dashed up the stairs two at a home, stationing myself in front of Kimmie’s building’s front door. I had a key, but it didn’t seem right to use it. After about twenty minutes I saw her round the corner in her black