“Stop. It’s over. Stephen was never right for me. I’m glad it’s over.”
I’d hated it while it was happening, but after the breakup, it was like a weight had been lifted from me. I didn’t have to try so hard anymore.
Amy was crying now, sniffling into a paper napkin.
“But Ames, what about you? What about Ryan?”
“I haven’t told him… It’s not that I want to be with Stephen, because I don’t. I never want to see him again. But Ryan… I can’t tell him.”
“Okay, but your marriage. Are things better now? Now that you…” The image of Amy’s pale skin entwined with Stephen’s tan limbs dropped into my mind, and I mentally karate-chopped it out of existence. “Now that you tried sleeping with someone else?”
“Not really, no.” Amy’s tears stopped falling and she sat back in her chair. “I haven’t felt attracted to him since.”
“Shit.”
“Yeah.”
I stood and Amy started, looking terrified. “Are you leaving?”
“No. Be right back.” I returned a few minutes later with two cappuccinos and a brownie. I cut it in half and slid a piece to her.
She gave me a watery smile. “Thanks.”
“I’m your best friend. I can tell when caffeine and sugar are needed.”
We spent the next hour discussing Ryan and the possibility she hadn’t let herself consider before—the possibility of the D-word. At first the idea of divorce brought on a torrent of fresh tears as she remembered her wedding and thought about how painful it would be to tell their families that it was over. But by the time we reached the dregs of our cappuccinos, Amy’s face was suffused with hope as she imagined being single again, moving into an apartment of her own, and getting a cat—Ryan was allergic. No more cleaning up after him, no more being banished from the living room duringWarhammersessions, no more fights about sex.
Before we parted, I perched on the edge of her chair and gave her a sideways hug.
“You just have to think about what’s right for you.”
She was quiet for a long time, and I felt some tears slide into my hair.
Finally she squeezed me tighter and whispered, “A cat.”
After I filled the girls in (with Amy’s permission), Eva declared an emergency wine and cheese night. We gathered at her place and rehashed how Amy and I were both feeling about everything. We didn’t go too far into the sordid details of Amy’s escapades with Stephen—I didn’t know if I could handle it—or into what Amywas going to do about Ryan. (Her eyes welled up just at the mention of his name.) In the end, Eva and Sumira entertained us with gossip about their colleagues, and Amy promised she would never mute the group chat again.
“Hear, hear.” I lifted my glass of white. “To sharing TMI and memes forever.”
“I’ll drink to that,” Eva agreed.
It just proved the power of friendship: despite having been on the receiving end of a crushing revelation a few hours earlier, I still ended the day laughing until I cried, wine drunk on a Tuesday night with my girls.
With everything that had been going on—my employer-mandated shrink sessions, breaking up with Stephen, Amy sleeping with Stephen, helping Jane with wedding planning, moderating my mom’s insane schemes—I deserved a little pampering. So I treated myself to some summery highlights, using a 60-percent-off Groupon I found.
The stylist oohed over my curls, and I sipped free espresso and read everyUs Weeklyarticle that mentioned Meghan Markle—a true American icon. I was engrossed in Meghan’s skin-care routine and enjoying myself so heartily I barely noticed when the stylist checked her watch, swore to herself, and scampered over to remove the foils from my hair.
I left the salon with pep in my step and stopped to take a few selfies. The sun glinted off my new caramel highlights; I wanted to capture this moment for my dating profile. As I walked home, all felt right with the world. The air was warm and fragrant withhoneysuckle. The group chat was back on track. And I was leaving tomorrow on the annual Weiss family vacation. Rachel Weiss was back, baby.
Almost by muscle memory at this point, I posted a photo of my new hair to Instagram. Just as predictably, Christopher replied to it. It tickled me how he didn’t even pretend to wait a few minutes before replying, like people do to avoid seeming overly eager. He just saw my stories and messaged me. Just like that.
Christopher Butkus 7:09 PM:
Looking fresh.
Rachel Weiss 7:10 PM:
Why thank you, kind sir.
