I might not know what my next steps are, but I do know I’m touched. “Thanks, man.” I’m not going to take him up on the offer, but I appreciate it. “I’ll let you know if I’m interested.”
1
Payne
It’s been a long month, but when I drive back into Kilborough, knowing I never have to go back to Boston and my old apartment again, I finally feel like I can breathe.
Kyle’s betrayal still stings when I let myself think about it, but I’ve reached a point where I’m able to thank my lucky fucking stars that I found out what he was getting up to and got out of there.
And he can thank his lucky fucking stars that my tests came back all clear.
He’s tried reaching out through email a few times, and the only time I responded was to demand his test results, which he sent—after assuring me that he always used a condom, like that makes any goddamn difference.
I’ve never been so happy for our dry spell.
It’s surprising how easy it is for me to cut him out after twelve years together, and maybe it’s because the fucker cheated on me the way he did, or the relationship was already over and I hadn’t realized, but walking away was easier than it should’ve been.
Staying away will be the hard part, because even though I think I’m over it … our relationship was like a warm blanket. It was familiar. That doesn’t exactly scream madly in love. I thought the moment I fell out of love with him was the moment I saw him with someone else, but maybe it was sooner than that.
Sex is just sex.
The betrayal of trust is what stung. The failure of not being able to keep my husband satisfied stung. But as more and more people find out about the divorce, and more and more people expect me to be devastated about the split, it’s made me think that I don’t know what my marriage was.
I’m angry and embarrassed, but I don’t think I’m heartbroken.
Since I took everything I wanted from our apartment on that first day, it means I’ve been able to mostly avoid seeing him for the month I spent in Boston, crashing with a work friend as I tied up loose ends.
I resigned from my job at the high school we both work at, where thankfully he kept his distance after I threatened to send the link to his OnlyFans to the school board. It’s not something I ever would have done, and the fact he believed me shows he didn’t know me the way I thought he did.
All of the people I thought were my friends disappeared, and it became obvious very quickly that I had no life left in Boston. So as soon as my notice period at work was up and our apartment hit the market, I left.
Once the divorce is organized, I’ll never have to think of Kyle again.
Which is a relief, because I’m going to need to use that brainpower to figure out what the hell I do now.
Normally that line of thinking would send me spiraling into a panic, but since talking to Art, I have a better outlook on life.
This isn’t a failure.
This is an opportunity.
Or whatever bullshit he’s been feeding me.
I park down from Killer Brew, where I’m meeting Art and two other guys. They’re part of the DMC—the Divorced Men’s Club—which at first I thought was a group of depressed dudes sitting around feeling sorry for themselves, but is actually more of a title in theory than practice. We’re just guys who are in varying stages of divorce—or in Orson’s case, who have lost their significant other—who understand the shit stereotypes that go along with what we’ve been through.
We’re a safe space for each other.
When Art first told me that, I hadn’t wanted to listen, but I’m glad now that I reached out.
I immediately spot Art, Orson, and Griffin as I approach the outdoor café and make my way over to them. Art and I were friends in high school, and Griffin was a few years older than us. Orson only moved here shortly after I left, so I don’t know him well outside of the group texts and the one and only time before now that I met up with them.
What I do know is that these guys are so different, there’s no way we’d have become friends outside of this group, but without them, I might not have made it through the last month without going back to my fucker of an ex. I’m not clear on how many other guys are in the group, but from what Art says, it’s a lot. There’s no way I’m ready to face all that.
“Payne!” Art calls loudly across the cafe. Since the Kilborough Brewery has been in Art’s family for years, everyone knows him, and everyone knows how loud he is.
I grin and join them at their table. “It’s official, I’m a kil-boy again.”
Art and Orson pretend to applaud while Griffin smiles softly.
“Well done,” he says. “You feeling good about the move?”
“Nope. But my apartment is on the market, and with any luck, I’ll have the down payment on my own place soon.” I don’t mention that we made a lucky investment with that one. On two teachers’ salaries, we hadn’t been able to pay the mortgage down as much as I would have liked, but the place is worth a lot more now than what we paid for it. Thank you to a decade’s worth of inflation.
I place my order with the server when she comes around, then turn back to the guys.
“Any more luck with finding a job?” Orson asks.
There are no open positions for a high school gym teacher in Kilborough, and since it’s all I’ve ever done, I don’t have experience with anything else. “I still want to do something with kids. Something sporty. I haven’t figured out what yet.”
“And you’re staying at your brother’s place?”
“Yep. It’s not ideal, but it’ll do for now.”
All three of them have offered to help, but Orson only has a one-bedroom place, Griffin still lives with his wife, who will become his ex-wife once their son goes off to college, and Art and I tried living together for a month after high school, so I already know he’s a pain in the ass and total control freak to share a space with.
So for the time being, I’m going to be sleeping in a tiny single bed, while my nieces share the other.
Fun times.
I glance toward the counter and see my brother’s best friend, Beau, waiting. After he orders, he scans the room, and I hold up my hand in a wave to get his attention. His eyes widen when they land on me, and he hesitates for a second before making his way over.
“Hey,” he says when he reaches us. “You’re … I, umm, didn’t know you were visiting.”
“I’m not.”
His forehead creases in confusion. “Then …”
“I’m back for good.”
“You’re what?”
I laugh because the poor guy looks legitimately in shock. “Moving back. I’ll be staying with Marty for a bit, so I’m sure I’ll see you around.”
“And Kyle?”
Yikes. As positive as I am about moving forward, having to explain the breakup over and over isn’t going to be a good time. “We split.”
“Oh.” Something crosses his face that I can’t work out, and then it disappears when his order is called. “That’s … I’m sorry to hear that.”
“Don’t be,” Art cuts in. “It’s good news, not bad. Sometimes we have to cut the shit out of our lives in order to level up to our best selves.”