Love It or Lose It

Chapter 1

It was a wintry Tuesday night when my husband told me his secret, a life-long secret, which promptly ended seventeen years of marriage.

After four hours of gruelling work in the kitchen, I had a romantic meal prepared for the two of us. I'd run around like a headless chicken the entire day to buy the ingredients for his favourite meal. I'd even polished the antique silver candlesticks, which had belonged to his late great grandmother, until I could see my face reflected on them. After all, it was a special occasion. It was our wedding anniversary. A celebration.

Then he'd hit me with it.

"I have something to tell you," he'd started between bites of tri-tip steak, seasoned and grilled to perfection, as I'd followed his mother's recipe to the teaspoon. I wasn't a great cook, not even a good one, but I knew how to follow directions.

Jeremy had stretched out his hand to me across the table, taken the knife away from my grip (smart move), and blurted out, "I'm gay."

All I could do was blink, until the message had reached my addled brain. Then I'd laughed and snorted. Jeremy was always good at making me laugh. It was one of his best traits. It was one of the reasons why I loved him so much. When the first fat tears had rolled down his cheeks, I'd stopped laughing, and understood what he had just told me.

Then I shouted, "What?"

He'd confessed that he had fallen in love with his boss, a man five years his junior. I stood abruptly and almost tipped the entire table by the sheer force of my hurt and anger. Yet, I couldn't stay mad at him. Even though I had every right to be. I loved him, all of the seventeen years that he and I had spent together. I couldn't get too angry because he'd seemed wrought by guilt and shame.

His shoulders shook. His broken sobs echoed throughout the entire house. He cried, apologized, and told me that he still loved me. How could he not? I'd given him my everything. After all, he was my first. He was my only. He was the father of our only child. He was my best friend. But it was time for him to be completely honest with himself and to me.

Jeremy had cried and cried. And I had cried right along with him. My four-hour prepared meal forgotten. The seventeen years of marriage down the drain.

***

Six months after the ink on our divorce paper had dried, I found myself dragged out of the comforts of my bed, out of my tattered pyjamas, stuffed mercilessly into a maxi dress--which was thankfully stretchy enough to fit me--and made to face another day of being another thirty-five year old divorcee. All thanks to the two people who would not let me wallow, Emma and Mandy. Their goal was to get me back on my feet, literally and metaphorically, and no amount of my screaming and kicking could deter them. My best friends practically had to carry me to our first stop, a day spa, where the aestheticians had promised a relaxing, life-altering experience. Boy, did they have their work cut out for them.

Mandy, sat beside me with an out-dated men's health magazine on her lap, snickering at the article she'd found about calories lost during sex. With mischief in her eyes, she angled her body towards me, pointing a finger at the article. Knowing her, she would blurt out her own opinions of the matter.

I cleared my throat, and widened my eyes at her, hoping that she would get a hint that it was inappropriate conversation before she could start. As usual, she had no idea what point I tried to get across, or she didn't care. She gave me a head tilt and an I'm-about-to-do-something-naughty smile, but as she looked over my shoulder--most likely getting silent threats from Emma--she decided to change the topic.

"I can't wait to get into my new two-piece this summer," she said, fixing the sash over her flat stomach.

Squirming on the pedicure chair, I sighed, smiled at the aesthetician scrubbing the gunk off my feet, and hoped that my best friend would stop. Talking about trying to fit into a bathing suit was an equally uncomfortable conversation.