Part 7 (1/2)

Now I wondered, was this similar to what happened to me? Was my marriage a prison? Am I now being released from incarceration with the maturity level and mental capacity of a twenty-two year old? Am I socially inept?

I had a lot to think about. I needed to go somewhere where I could find some clarity and peace of mind and do some serious soul-searching, which is how I ended up sitting at the water fountain in the mall sipping on a frozen c.o.ke. I know how bad sodas are but I wasn't concerned with calories anymore. First, a brutal I-don't-love-you announcement from my husband, followed by memories of several breakups from the past coming back to haunt me, all in a few days time. I was done. Over it. It wouldn't bother me one bit if I got all bloated on soda, filled my closet with unshapely muumuus, grew a beard and adopted a dozen cats.

Oh, speaking of the boyfriend...after Riley took s.k.a.n.k Queen to the Incubus concert I'd bought him tickets for, he was recruited by a Big Ten college hockey team and given a full athletic scholars.h.i.+p. He spent most of his freshman year on the bench as the back-up goaltender. Rumor had it he was destined to be the starter the following year once the current starter graduated, but the rumor never had a chance to turn into reality because he got in a car accident that summer and suffered a career-ending injury to his knee. I'm not proud to admit this, but Allison and I threw a killer party the night we found out. Karma had come back around and smacked Riley on the b.u.t.t real good. Now I was starting to wonder if Miss Karma was after my a.s.s, too, probably because we threw the party in the first place.

I didn't go to the mall to shop. I thought I could people-watch for a bit and maybe see some people who had it worse than I did to help put things into perspective. It was always easy to do that in New York where there were less fortunate people all over the place. But everyone looked pretty happy to be in a suburban shopping mall in the middle of a weekday. The teeny-boppers were giddy as they walked past me, proudly carrying tiny pink bags from Victoria's Secret. These girls were like junior-high age. I know it's off topic, but my daughters, if I ever have any, will NOT shop at Victoria's Secret until they have graduated from high school!

The couple who looked to be in their sixties looked pretty happy, too, as they slowly walked hand in hand. Even the group of three middle-aged ladies in full-out exercise gear who were walking swinging-arms-style looked happy. Once the frozen drink started to make my teeth hurt, I was about to give up and go home. And then I saw a Sephora!

This was the part of my movie where the clouds parted and suddenly there was light again.

I just had to go in and try on some turquoise eye shadow to see if I could rock that color with my skin tone. It looked pretty good on me, and I really wanted to buy it, especially since there was a free gift with purchase. Ahhh, the free gift with purchase had gotten me so many times in the past. But I was supposed to be different now. I didn't know who I was without Caleb just yet. I didn't know who the Michigan Roxie would become or even if I wanted to be a Michigan Roxie at all. But I knew I couldn't be the New York Roxie and only a New York Roxie would spend $20 on one eye shadow color.

Then I remembered the Good Life List. One of the tasks was to go to a department store and create a divorce registry. I shrugged and headed towards Macy's. It was as good a time as any.

The young salesgirl looked seriously confused when I asked.

”We have a wedding registry and a baby registry,” she told me. ”But no divorce registry. I've never heard of such a thing.” She scrunched up her face like she thought a divorce registry was a bad idea.

Oh, what do you know anyway? What are you, like fifteen? Wait until you're in my shoes before you judge, you little b.i.t.c.h!

She pointed me in the direction of the registry kiosk and told me to come back for a scanner when I was ready.

I hit the wedding b.u.t.ton on the screen since I wasn't going to be registering for baby bottles and bibs. When it asked for the groom's name I typed in d.i.c.k Microphallus at 123 Douchebag Avenue. I believe I just proved a theory a person coming from a failed marriage really was like a newly released prisoner. I was now basically twenty-two again. Hmm, that might not be so bad!

I spent the next hour and a half registering for everything I would need to build a new home for myself. I registered for kitchen appliances, bath coordinates, wall art, candles. Nothing overpriced and extravagant either, just the basic stuff. I didn't expect anyone to buy me a divorce gift, but it was a good way for me to keep track of what I still needed to set up a home of my own. And it was also a good way to remind me that being single meant being able to make all the decisions, and that wasn't such a bad thing.

When I was done picking out stuff for my future home, I decided to have some fun with it. I took my scanner to the lingerie department. I didn't think anyone would ever see the registry anyway unless Hope did a search to check up on me. And in that case, I should make her proud, right?

I had a pretty good time in there. It was a relief being able to pick things out on my own for a change. When Caleb and I had done our wedding registry, it had been one argument after another.

”No rubber duck decor in the bathroom. We're not Bert and Ernie.”

”Why do we need eight towels for two people? How often do you plan on doing laundry?”

”I don't care if proceeds go to breast cancer research. We are not getting a pink toaster.”

”What do you need a stand-up mixer for? You're not exactly Betty Crocker.”

Ugh. He really knew how to suck the fun out of everything.

Good thing I had a friend like Hope. She knew what she was doing when she made the Good Life List. I came to the mall feeling miserable, but by the time I left I had some pep to my step.

When I got home I saw Jake sitting at the patio table with his laptop. I figured he was editing photos, and headed out there to tell him his Jeep was home. I was about halfway out the patio doors when I saw his laptop screen and realized he wasn't editing pictures after all. On his screen I saw a picture of a woman wearing nothing but black fishnet thigh-highs.

Seriously? Stop the madness! Reverse the curse! Why must I stumble upon one mortifying moment after another like I'm stuck in some terrible slapstick comedy? I didn't know who was in charge of this mess, but I was starting to get really p.i.s.sed off! If I was on some kind of hidden camera show, it was time for the reveal already.

”I'm sorry,” I said quickly. ”I didn't mean to ... um, interrupt.” I put my head down to avoid eye contact and tried to escape back into the house but he called after me.

”Hey!” he called. ”You're not interrupting anything.”

I shrugged and avoided his eyes. ”It looks like I am.”

He looked puzzled for a few moments until he glanced at the computer screen and realized what I was talking about. Then he burst into laughter. He laughed so hard he could barely even speak.

”You (snicker) thought (giggle) I was (snort) ... Oh G.o.d. That's great, Roxie. Thanks for the laugh.”

I just stood there like a dumba.s.s. I didn't know what the h.e.l.l was going on.

”Hey,” he said. ”I'm not the exhibitionist here.”

He doubled over in laughter. It took him several minutes to compose himself, and then he motioned at the patio chair across from him for me to sit. I sat.

”This,” he said, pointing to the picture on his screen of the woman in fishnets, ”is a boudoir photograph.” He sounded like a professor giving a lecture. ”It's a style of photography that shows women in various stages of undress. It's supposed to be elegant and tasteful, not p.o.r.nographic.”

”I see.”

”It's gotten pretty popular lately. Women have been getting these done to give as gifts to their husbands and boyfriends. I'm hoping to start doing some boudoir work myself so that's why I was looking at these. To get some ideas.”

Yep. I felt like an a.s.s. But what else was new? ”Gosh, I'm so sorry,” I practically stuttered. ”I feel so stupid.” I could literally feel my cheeks burning.

He sighed, closed the laptop screen, crossed his arms on the table in front of him and leaned forward like he had something important to say. ”I think we need to throw some s...o...b..a.l.l.s around, Rox.”

”What do you mean?” I asked.

”All of this weirdness and tension and excessive apologizing. If we need to hash something out, let's do it and move on.”

All this time I'd thought he might not remember anything about The Summer of Jake and Roxie like maybe he drank so much that summer that it was a three month long blackout. I know that sounds silly, but sometimes when something goes unmentioned for so long it seems like the other person forgot about it. But the comment about the s...o...b..a.l.l.s told me otherwise.

Back then I kept things inside. When my feelings were hurt or I doubted myself and felt inadequate, I kept those feelings and insecurities inside, which sometimes caused me to do things I shouldn't do. When someone hurt me, I would either withdraw from them completely or do something to hurt them in return. This usually left the other person confused since they didn't know they'd hurt me to begin with and didn't understand where my behavior was coming from. It was all very immature I knew this now. But I didn't think it was all that uncommon, especially for people that age.

The first time we ”threw some s...o...b..a.l.l.s” was a few nights after we started hooking up. We were at work, and I saw some girl at the bar give Jake her phone number. Jake smiled and looked at her appreciatively and I didn't like it, especially being so fresh out of a relations.h.i.+p with a guy who had been lying to me the entire time we were together. I had some issues, that was for sure.

Instead of just saying to Jake, ”Dude, that is not cool,” I started serving lemons to one of the guys in my section with my mouth. Once the bar closed, I told Jake I didn't need a ride home because the guy was taking me to an after party.

”Dude, that is not cool,” he said, as we both sat at the bar counting out our banks. ”Instead of getting a ride home from one of the girls and pretending you went to an after-hours just to p.i.s.s me off, how 'bout we throw some s...o...b..a.l.l.s around right now?”

Jake is different than me in that way. He's not afraid to say what he thinks or what he feels or what he wants. And he has a way of completely taking control of a situation with his bluntness. There I was thinking I was the one in charge, and I was really going to show him to flirt with other girls. And then he called me out on it and knocked out my whole plan. Typical.

”What are you talking about?” I asked with an eye roll. ”There's no snow.”

”It's an expression. One that you made up a few years ago, remember? When things get weird we're supposed to have a s...o...b..ll fight. So let me hear it. What's the issue here?”

”There's no issue,” I said quietly. My anger started to melt away. How many guys remember something that was said one time like five years ago? Not too many.

”We will talk about the issue when I drive you home tonight.”

”Fine.”

It took a little while, but he eventually broke me down and got me to admit that seeing him flirt with that girl bothered me, and I'd only been trying to get him back by doing some flirting of my own. He nodded like he completely understood. That's one thing I always liked about him. Even though he was different than me, he tried to see things from my perspective. He didn't make me feel like an annoying, psycho, jealous girlfriend.