Chapter 9 - TWO YEARS AFTER VEGAS, PAIGE SENT ME A MESSAGE THAT MADE ME LAUGH FOR THE FIRST TIME ABOUT THE NIGHT SHE WORE WHITE
Paige disappeared.
Not literally.
Social media existed.
I chose not look.
Her final legal cooperation helped.
Then life separated.
Two years after divorce, unknown number texted.
Avery, it’s Paige. I hope this isn’t inappropriate.
I almost ignored.
Then:
I’m engaged. For real this time. I wanted to apologize one last time before I close that chapter.
I stared.
Then laughed.
For real this time.
Dark.
She continued:
I checked the marriage records myself.
I laughed harder.
Lauren was visiting.
“What?”
I handed.
She read.
“Oh my God.”
“It’s funny.”
“Finally.”
Paige’s message continued.
I’ve spent two years thinking about how easy it was for me to believe Derek because believing him made what I was doing feel less wrong. He lied, but I also chose not to verify things I should have verified. I’m sorry for my part in hurting you.
Good apology.
No demand.
I replied:
Congratulations. I hope you’re happy.
I meant.
Then:
And yes, checking records is a strong start.
She sent laughing emoji.
That was last exchange.
No friendship.
Closure.
By then Derek had another job.
Smaller company.
Less money.
His financial/legal resolution complete.
He paid required restitution and costs.
Complied restrictions.
No ongoing drama.
We had no contact.
That was also consequence.
People expect betrayed spouses to want ex miserable forever.
I wanted irrelevance.
Not cruelty.
My own life had changed.
Promotion.
Townhouse still.
Therapy.
Friends.
I traveled alone first time.
Portland.
Then London for work.
I learned dine alone without feeling abandoned.
Hard.
Then easy.
I joined a running club, hated running, left.
Joined cooking class.
Burned sauce.
Stayed.
Competence had been identity.
Being bad at something recreational felt almost dangerous.
Helen said:
“Excellent.”
“I pay you to insult.”
“Yes.”
Then I met Noah Bennett.
Civil engineer.
Forty.
Widower.
We met at foundation fundraiser for urban housing resilience.
He argued with me about bridge risk assumptions.
Attractive start.
“You financial people treat infrastructure like equation.”
“It is equation.”
“It is also concrete.”
“Concrete fails according equations.”
He smiled.
“You’re irritating.”
“So I’m told.”
We exchanged cards professionally.
Three months later, he asked coffee.
I said no.
Why?
Fear.
I told myself busy.
Helen stared.
“Do you want coffee?”
“Yes.”
“Then?”
“I know nothing about him.”
“That is what coffee is for.”
I hated therapy.
I emailed.
Coffee still available?
Yes.
First date, no fireworks.
He talked deceased wife Maya.
Cancer four years earlier.
He did not hide.
I liked.
He asked marriage.
Not mine.
Past.
I said divorced.
He said:
“I know. Denver business circles gossip.”
I stiffened.
He added:
“I did not google details beyond what public because assumed you’d tell if wanted.”
That mattered.
Third date he asked:
“What do you do?”
“Financial risk.”
“So you tell people everything can go wrong?”
“Professionally.”
“And personally?”
“I’m trying stop.”
He laughed.
Good.
Noah had debt.
Normal.
Mortgage.
Small credit card.
He mentioned.
My body tightened.
He noticed.
“You okay?”
“Yes.”
Not really.
He said:
“I’m paying card six months. Want see plan?”
I almost laughed.
“No.”
“Sure?”
“Yes.”
“It’s your debt.”
He smiled.
“Exactly.”
Beautiful.
We dated slowly.
Separate homes.
No joint anything.
He never asked me to finance.
When I paid dinner every other time, he accepted.
No masculinity crisis.
Once he earned less and said:
“You make significantly more. That is fact, not personality.”
I nearly proposed.
Didn’t.
Noah also had grief.
Maya photos.
I did not compete.
We talked.
His love for dead wife did not reduce present.
My memories Derek did not insult Noah.
Mature love is annoyingly nuanced.
Three years after divorce, I sold townhouse.
Noah asked:
“Why after fighting?”
“Because I finally realized winning house didn’t require living in it forever.”
He nodded.
“Where?”
Smaller house near office.
Large windows.
Tiny yard.
No Derek.
First night movers delayed.
I slept mattress floor.
At 2:43 woke.
Looked clock.
No panic.
Phone silent.
I laughed.
May you like
Then went back sleep.
That was night time became mine again.
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