Better Off Without Him by Dee Ernst Page B

This might be a very good idea. She could still have a great life, and lots of sex. I mean, divorced isn’t the end of the world. At least I hope not.”
    “Of course it’s not,” MarshaMarsha said stoutly. “And you’re going to be just like your character. You’re going to have a much better life alone, with lots of sex.”
    That sounded good. That sounded great. Maybe if I wrote about it, I could make it true. I raised my coffee cup.
    “I can write this,” I said.
    “Of course, you can,” Anthony agreed.
    “And even better, I can live it.”
    “Hear, hear,” Patricia murmured.
    “To a better life,” I said.
    We all clinked cups. MarshaMarsha smiled. “Don’t forget lots of sex,” she said.
     

Chapter Five
    The week after Brian left felt, strangely enough, just like the week after my mother died. There was an overwhelming sense of loss and sadness, but it felt oddly abstract. Both of my parents lived in Florida since the eighties, and I saw them only two or three times a year. After my father died, my mother spent a little more time with me, but her death left a gaping whole in my heart, rather than my actual life. On a day to day basis, I barely missed her. It was knowing that she was no longer a part of my physical universe that broke my heart.
    With Brian leaving, it was the same kind of feeling. He worked long hours and took many business trips, so he wasn’t around the house much anyway. It’s not like I suddenly had to do things for myself, because I’d always done for myself and my daughters without much help from him at all. But knowing that he no longer loved me, that he had chosen another woman to spend his spare and precious time with, made me incredibly sad. So sad, I almost forgot how mad I was about the whole thing. Almost, but not quite, because he kept doing things to piss me off even more.
    The Friday afternoon after he left, he called Miranda on her cell phone and invited her and her sisters to have dinner with him. And with Dominique. Miranda was in the kitchen when the call came, wolfing down the first of two peanut butter and banana sandwiches she made when she got home from school. Lauren was with her, drinking a Diet Coke. Jessica was upstairs slamming things because she was not sleeping over Billy’s house, when apparently everyone else in the world was.
    When her phone rang, she looked at it, made a face, and looked at me.
    “It’s Daddy,” she said in a tight voice.
    I remained silent. I was slicing pepperoni for pizza. We were supposed to be having homemade pizza for dinner. I was in charge of making and baking. The girls would be doing the eating. Typical mealtime.
    “Answer it,” I said calmly.
    She flipped open the phone. “Yeah?”
    She listened. I watched her out of the corner of my eye, almost chopping off my thumb in the process of trying to be cool.
    “What?”
    More listening.
    “Why would I want to meet her? She broke up our home. And she’s French. They hate us.”
    I was so proud.
    “Okay, Dad. I’ll ask. But don’t hold your breath.” She hung up and started in on the other sandwich.
    “Well?” asked Lauren. “What did he want?”
    Miranda looked nonchalant. “He wanted to pick us up and take us all out to dinner so we can meet Dominique. Wanna go?”
    Lauren shook her head. Miranda got up, left the kitchen and went upstairs, presumably to ask Jessica. The slamming above stopped for a few moments, then began again, followed by what can only be described as a loud but hollow laugh. I was guessing Jess said no. Miranda came back into the kitchen, opened the refrigerator, and took out a Sprite. She sat next to Lauren at the breakfast bar and watched me slice.
    “What did Jess say?” I asked casually.
    Miranda was no fool. “Guess, Mom. Like you couldn’t hear her.” She made a rude noise.
    “Are you going to call him back?” I asked, still cool.
    She shrugged. “I told him not to hold his breath.”
    I was torn. On one hand, the pending