Author's note: if you're expecting a BTB story, then you haven't been reading my stories. If you're expecting illicit sex, then you may want to move along. Any grammatical errors are my own.
Otherwise, please enjoy!
Azpiri
*****
"I want a divorce."
I never thought four little words could bring my whole world crashing down around me. Unfortunately, my soon to be ex-wife said these words so effortlessly. Each syllable flowed off her tongue as if she were ordering her regular entrée off the menu. There was no ceremony. No last meal. Even Old Yeller managed to coax tears out of Travis Coates before he put him down. Me? There was nothing. I guess I know how Steve Carell's character felt at the beginning of "Crazy, Stupid Love". At least, she was thoughtful. She had all my belongings packed up and waiting for me as soon as I walked through the door.
My name is Steve Miller, and my "loving wife" is Julie. We're both in our early forties with our two children, Josh and Emily, going to college and out of the house. My wife looks even better than the day we got married, with the weight she gained from having children finding its way to all the right places. Her rigid regime of working out kept the unwanted weight off. Unfortunately, the same could not be said about me. While I didn't smoke, time was not my friend. Some men gain a distinguished look when they get older, like Sean Connery or Patrick Stewart. Me? A receding hair line, a tire around my belly, and a salt and pepper goatee used to hide my double chin.
My silence must have been her cue to keep on twisting the knife.
"Steve, it's not that I don't love you. I do. It's just that I'm not in love with you. I feel like we've drifted apart these last several years. And now that the kids are out of the house, there's really no reason for us to continue this charade."
When we first got married, there were three of us at the altar: Julie, me, and our unborn baby. Emily was unplanned; however, she was our love child. I gave up my dreams of going on to college to be something better. I entered the work force, taking whatever job I could find that would put food on the table. I would bounce from dead end job to another dead job. Our love seemed to flourish because two years later, Josh entered the world. With Julie wanting to stay at home, I had to work twice as much to make sure we had all that we needed for our growing family.
Ten years ago, I stopped bouncing from one dead end job to another in order to secure my family's financial future. Ten years ago, I earned my degree online while working 40 to 50 hours. It was grueling, trying to work full time and then take classes on top of that. However, I made the sacrifice because I knew that my family was depending on me. Julie was a stay-at-home mom, tending to the raising of kids and going to PTA meetings.
It's not like I cheated on my wife during those ten years. Well, not in the purest sense of the word. While I had every opportunity to frequent strip clubs or host a call girl in my hotel room, the money I earned went back into the family. Life as a consultant is feast or famine. There are some months when you have clients coming out of the woodwork, but then there are others when you wonder if you'll be able to put food on the table. And that's only the right side of my brain talking. The left side is still in love with my wife, so the thought of even stepping out on her goes against every fiber of my being.
No, if there was a "mistress", she would be called work. I'm married to my job. With my wife being a stay-at-home mom, and my desire for my children to have the best, I worked my 40 hours plus all the travel time. This meant that I was away, a lot. I was the very definition of a "road warrior". I could easily be in New York the first half of the week, and find myself in San Diego the latter half of the week. I missed a lot family events, but it was not by choice. If I could have been home to see my children graduate 8th grade or even high school, I would have; however, college is not cheap and money doesn't grow on trees.
And it's not like I love my job. I'm a Human Resources consultant. If you have seen the movie "Office Space", I would be John C. McGinley's character. I helped organizations "right size" their personnel. While administration loved our "lean" processes and cost savings, I always encouraged the organization to reinvest those savings back into their employees. Unfortunately, the bean counters of today don't always view their employees as assets, but rather as expenses and costs that need to be cut. While I can certainly put on the rose colored glasses, and believe that I'm doing everyone a world of good. In the end, I know that I'm going to affect the livelihood of families everywhere I go. For example, a single mom worked for an organization as a data processor. The majority of her time was spent printing reports, and storing them in file folders. At the end of the week, she would then shred those reports. My research uncovered that no one looked at the reports she printed. She was literally printing reports so that she could shred them later. By simply not printing the reports, it eliminated not only paper costs and reduced the cost for shredding services, but it eliminated her position.
I hated that aspect of my job. However, I always found the will to continue on knowing that my wife and family loved me and needed me. True, I could quit and find a job that doesn't require much travel; however, it would be a severe cut in pay. Many of the arguments I had with Julie were over money and financial matters. The mere thought of her getting a job to supplement my cut in pay is blasphemous. The children needed her to be at home, and to serve as their chauffeur and any other assortment of reasons why she shouldn't work a regular job. And let's not forget that they each needed to have the latest smart phone with data plans, the latest fashion trends, the biggest house, leased cars, and whatever other material possession that was needed to make their quality of life just perfect.
It was like an out of body experience as I heard myself try to breathe life back into our marriage, "Twenty years? Gone? Just like that. Can't we try coun—"
"Steve, do you really want to pay someone who's going to agree that we should get divorced? Don't make this any harder than it already is." Normally, her smile would make me melt. However, this smile was full of daggers. Et tu, Brute? "Think of it like this. We're able to start over while we're still young."
I felt completely helpless. I don't know how I was able to remain standing. I wanted to fall on my knees and beg my Rock of Gibraltar, my Northern Star to not abandon me. "Julie, I can quit my job. I can find something local. We can try to make it work. I know I haven't been around. It's not like I love being on the road all the time! Please, we had something once. We just need to rekindle that flame!"
My pleading and reluctance to accept what she viewed as inevitable started weighing on her. The irritation was clear in her voice, "Steve, you're starting to sound like a wuss. You need to 'Cowboy Up'. A real man would accept his fate and deal with it."
If there was ever a time when you wish that you could take back what was said, that time would be right now for my soon to be ex-wife. Her eyes widen as her mouth dropped. Her betrayal struck the deepest nerve. When we were young and all of my friends would want to go party or even just hang out, my rally cry would always be "A real man would accept his fate and deal with it." I had a responsibility to my wife and my children. I had to grow up quickly. Julie always made love to me as 'reward' for being a man, rather than a reckless boy.
I'm sure my wife was saying something once she found her voice, but I was no longer listening. I simply collected the bags she packed for me, went out to my car, and started to drive away. Julie was crying, pounding on the windshield, begging for me to stop, and asking for forgiveness. Before today, I would have seen those tears and done anything I could to comfort her and make those tears go away. But now, Othello said it best.
If that the earth could teem with woman's tears, each drop she falls would prove a crocodile.
I found myself going to some irish pub all my friends were raving about on Facebook. With all of my travels, I've never had the opportunity to go. It was a quaint and quiet little place. Somewhere someone could drink his misery under the table and not be disturbed for hours on end.
"There you are!" a woman's voice interrupted my deep philosophical discussion with my glass of Southern Comfort. Looking up at the sound of the woman's voice, I did notice that several hours did tick by.
Heather Wilson, my personal assistant, found a seat next to me at the bar. "Your daughter is worried sick about you. She tried calling you a dozen times. When she couldn't reach you, she called me." She paused for a moment, so that she could reach out and take my hand. Conveniently, it was the same hand that held onto my whiskey tumbler. "She told me what happened. I'm so sorry, Steve."
I shifted my glance from my glass to my phone. Indeed, there were numerous missed calls from both Emily and the stupid bitch. I simply shook my head and said while staring into my amber colored reflection, "I wasn't in the mood to hear how it's the 'right' thing to do."
And there it was. Karma is indeed truly a bitch. All those people whose lives I have affected over the years finally got their cosmic justice. My family was 'right sizing' me out of my role as husband and father.
"Look, why don't you go get a hotel room and sleep this off. Maybe, after everyone has had a chance to sleep on it, things will be different in the morning."
I'm not sure which is worse. The fact that I hate and want to hurt the woman I love so much, or the fact that I hate myself for wanting to hurt the woman I love. Somehow, Heather manipulated me out of that bar and into a hotel. Though, I will admit that the look on Heather's face was priceless when they rang up my bar tab. Seven bucks. One drink, and I hadn't even touched it. I went to that bar with the intention of drowning my sorrows. Unfortunately, I don't like to drink and I certainly can't stand the taste of Southern Comfort. If it wasn't for their purple velvet pouches, I'm not sure why anyone would touch this stuff.
Sleep did not come easy. Being a film buff, one movie played over and over in my head. All work and no play make Jack a dull boy. Though, it's not an isolated hotel that serves as the setting for my horror masterpiece. No, it's my McMansion in Suburbia. And Shelly Duvall does not play Wendy Torrance, but rather it's my dear and loving wife, Julie. Aside from the fact that I was chasing my wife around the house with an axe, the weirdest part of the nightmare was my son riding around on a Big Wheel and being confronted by my daughter saying "Forever and ever and ever..." Eventually, sleep did come. Though, the next day brought about its own form of terror.
