Page 47 of Sassy & Sixty
"And how!" Catherine chimed in. "Why, just last week I learned how to use the 'Snap Filter' thing on my phone. Did you know you can make yourself look like a cat? Technology these days, I tell you!"
As her friends laughed and began sharing their own recent "adventures" Rosie felt a weight lift from her shoulders. The decision she'd been agonising over suddenly seemed so clear.
"Right," she announced, raising her glass. "I propose a toast. To new beginnings, old friends, and the adventures yet to come."
"Here, here!" her friends chorused, clinking glasses with more enthusiasm than coordination.
As they settled in to enjoy their brunch, the conversation flowing as freely as Emma's heavy-handed mimosas, Rosie found herself imagining the possibilities that lay ahead. Maybe she would take that salsa class. Or perhaps she'd finally writethat novel she'd been thinking about for years. And yes, maybe she'd see where things went with Mike.
The future stretched out before her, not as a well-worn path, but as an open road full of potential. It was exciting. It was terrifying. It was exactly what she needed.
Later that afternoon, as her friends were preparing to leave (Emma insisting she was perfectly fine to drive, despite walking into the coat rack twice and addressing it as "Madam President"), Rosie pulled each of them aside for a heartfelt thank you.
To Lisa, she said, "Thank you for always being the voice of reason. Even when reason seems to have gone on holiday and left chaos in charge."
Lisa chuckled, pulling Rosie into a warm hug. "That's what friends are for. Besides, someone has to keep Emma from turning every situation into a Shakespearean drama. Or a Monty Python sketch, depending on her mood."
To Catherine, Rosie expressed her gratitude for her unwavering support. "You've shown me that it's never too late to stand up for yourself and what you want."
Catherine beamed, her eyes misty. "Oh, Rosie. You've done the same for me. Who would have thought we'd be starting new chapters in our lives at our age? It's terrifying and wonderful, isn't it?"
Julie received thanks for her artistic spirit and ability to find beauty in the everyday. "You've reminded me to look at the world with fresh eyes," Rosie told her.
Julie responded by presenting Rosie with a hastily sketched portrait of their brunch, which seemed to feature Emma as some sort of mimosa-wielding superhero. "I call it 'Sisterhood of the Traveling Spanx,'" Julie announced proudly.
And finally, to Emma, Rosie simply said, "Thank you for being you. Unabashedly, unapologetically you."
Emma, in a rare moment of seriousness, took Rosie's hands in hers. "Rosie, my dear, you don't need to thank me. But if you insist, you can repay me by living your life to the fullest. Take chances. Make mistakes. Get messy. And for god's sake, buy some proper champagne flutes. We're not barbarians."
As the last of her friends departed, leaving behind a kitchen that looked like it had hosted a particularly rowdy toddlers’ birthday party. Rosie sank onto her sofa with a contented sigh.
She pulled out her phone, staring at Derek's number for a long moment. Then, with a decisive nod, she began to type:
"Derek, we need to talk. Not about reconciliation, but about moving forward. Separately. I've realised that I'm not the same woman I was when we were married. I've changed, grown, and I want to explore who I am now. I hope you can understand and respect my decision. Perhaps we can meet for coffee soon to discuss things calmly. Take care, Rosie."
Her finger hovered over the send button for just a moment before she pressed it firmly. As the "message sent" notification appeared, Rosie felt a curious mix of sadness and liberation.
Across town,Derek stared at the message on his phone. He'd laid his heart bare to Rosie, hoping for a second chance.
He thought of Rosie as he'd last seen her – vibrant, confident, surrounded by friends who brought out a side of her he'd never known existed. And he thought of himself – stuck in the past, hoping to reclaim something that had already evolved beyond his grasp.
"She's moved on," he whispered to the empty room. The truth of it hit him like a physical blow. Rosie, his Rosie, had found a life without him. A life that, he had to admit, seemed to suit her far better than the one they'd shared.
He would beg her to come to counselling with him and he would do everything he could to keep the marriage together but, deep down, he knew it was over.
Rosie’s hand was trembling.She shouldn’t have sent a message, she should have called him, but she knew she couldn’t. He’d persuade her to stay and she wouldn’t be able to hurt him. She watched the two blue ticks appearing. He was reading it now.
She scrolled to Mike's number before she lost her nerve and typed another message:
"Hi Mike. Sorry about the chaos at the pub. Turns out life can be quite an adventure, even (especially?) at our age. Fancy joining me for a proper date soon? No hiding behind the bar with your son this time. Let’s talk properly. I’ve come to some major decisions. Let me know. Rosie."
As she set her phone down, Rosie looked around her living room. The same familiar walls and furniture surrounded her, but somehow everything looked different. Brighter. Full of possibility.
She stood up, walking to the window and gazing out at the street where she'd lived for so many years. The same trees, the same houses, the same neighbours walking their dogs. But now, instead of seeing a static, unchanging world, she saw potential adventures around every corner.
"Well, Rosie," she said to herself, a smile playing on her lips, "looks like life's about to get interesting."
And with that, she turned away from the window and began tidying up the kitchen, humming a tune that sounded suspiciously like "I Will Survive." Because really, what better anthem could there be for a woman embracing her second act?
