Riley, to find out exactly what was going on with Owen and Elana, but it hit that she’d better back off, that she didn’t want it getting back to Elana, and then Elana telling Owen.
“Oh, I don’t really care at all,” Deb said. “I was curious because you mentioned him in the car, that’s all, and I didn’t want you dating an older guy. But I guess it was just a misunderstanding.”
Deb went back downstairs, right to the liquor cabinet, and poured a full glass of Stoli. Owen had once promised Deb that he wasn’t dating anyone else and the idea that he’d been with Elana—and God knows how many other girls—repulsed Deb, but as she downed a second glass, she thought, Does it really matter anymore ? After all, she’d dumped Owen anyway and was going to move on with her life, and at least apparently Owen hadn’t been having sex with Riley so Deb should actually be happy .
But she wasn’t happy. She felt used, lied to, played, but it was hard to blame Owen. He was young, naive, so it was understandable that he’d made a bad decision. It was actually Elana’s fault. Like Karen had stolen Mark, Elana had stolen Owen—Deb was losing all her men to that fucking family. She was well on her way to Drunkville but, fuck it, she had a right to be angry; she wouldn’t be human if she wasn’t angry. She’d been humiliated twice today and she wasn’t sure what to do about it.
“You’re kidding me, right?”
Mark entered and saw Deb finishing the second drink. In the past Deb would have felt ashamed, defensive, but now she couldn’t give a shit.
Ignoring him, she put the bottle away, then walked right past him, not making eye contact and said, “Get ready for the fight of your life,” and went upstairs.
Ha, was that perfect or what? Mark was probably terrified, afraid he was going to lose everything, and little did he know that his fears were justified. If she didn’t hate him so much for cheating on her and making her miserable, she would have felt sorry for him, because no one—not even a lying, cheating husband—deserved the hell he was about to go through.
Deb was scared too, though, and didn’t want to be alone tonight. Without giving it any more thought, she texted Owen: sory about before, can explain I rally want to c u later
She knew she’d made typos, but she didn’t want to waste time correcting them, wanting to hit send right away.
Seconds later she got: Awesome!!!! Where u wanna meet?
Deb felt a rush, knowing she’d made the right decision.
Fuck Mark. Fuck logic.
They made plans to meet up at eight-thirty “at their usual spot,” in the back of the parking lot of John Jay High School.
Later, in a little black dress and knee-length black boots, Deb checked herself out in the full-length mirror on the back of the bathroom door and loved how she looked. She usually didn’t dress sexy, and she hadn’t felt this good about herself in years; she felt like she was twenty-three years old, after college, living with friends in that small apartment on the Upper West Side. Life had been so simple then—work, shopping, and meeting guys were her only real concerns. She wanted that easy, simple life again.
She called for a car service and went downstairs when she heard Casey barking, meaning that a car had pulled up outside. Mark was sprawled in the living room, his finger in his nose, watching golf. Mark stopped picking his nose when he noticed her and, though she only glanced in his direction for an instant as he flicked away the booger, she knew he was checking her out, noticing how sexy she looked, probably wondering where she was going, looking so hot. Good, let him have his regret—he deserved it—and it felt great to be able to come and go as she pleased. For years she’d felt like a repressed teenager with Mark as her overbearing father. Well, so long, Daddy.
Riding in the back of the car down Savage Lane, past Karen’s house, Deb said, “The nose picker’s all yours,
“Oh, I don’t really care at all,” Deb said. “I was curious because you mentioned him in the car, that’s all, and I didn’t want you dating an older guy. But I guess it was just a misunderstanding.”
Deb went back downstairs, right to the liquor cabinet, and poured a full glass of Stoli. Owen had once promised Deb that he wasn’t dating anyone else and the idea that he’d been with Elana—and God knows how many other girls—repulsed Deb, but as she downed a second glass, she thought, Does it really matter anymore ? After all, she’d dumped Owen anyway and was going to move on with her life, and at least apparently Owen hadn’t been having sex with Riley so Deb should actually be happy .
But she wasn’t happy. She felt used, lied to, played, but it was hard to blame Owen. He was young, naive, so it was understandable that he’d made a bad decision. It was actually Elana’s fault. Like Karen had stolen Mark, Elana had stolen Owen—Deb was losing all her men to that fucking family. She was well on her way to Drunkville but, fuck it, she had a right to be angry; she wouldn’t be human if she wasn’t angry. She’d been humiliated twice today and she wasn’t sure what to do about it.
“You’re kidding me, right?”
Mark entered and saw Deb finishing the second drink. In the past Deb would have felt ashamed, defensive, but now she couldn’t give a shit.
Ignoring him, she put the bottle away, then walked right past him, not making eye contact and said, “Get ready for the fight of your life,” and went upstairs.
Ha, was that perfect or what? Mark was probably terrified, afraid he was going to lose everything, and little did he know that his fears were justified. If she didn’t hate him so much for cheating on her and making her miserable, she would have felt sorry for him, because no one—not even a lying, cheating husband—deserved the hell he was about to go through.
Deb was scared too, though, and didn’t want to be alone tonight. Without giving it any more thought, she texted Owen: sory about before, can explain I rally want to c u later
She knew she’d made typos, but she didn’t want to waste time correcting them, wanting to hit send right away.
Seconds later she got: Awesome!!!! Where u wanna meet?
Deb felt a rush, knowing she’d made the right decision.
Fuck Mark. Fuck logic.
They made plans to meet up at eight-thirty “at their usual spot,” in the back of the parking lot of John Jay High School.
Later, in a little black dress and knee-length black boots, Deb checked herself out in the full-length mirror on the back of the bathroom door and loved how she looked. She usually didn’t dress sexy, and she hadn’t felt this good about herself in years; she felt like she was twenty-three years old, after college, living with friends in that small apartment on the Upper West Side. Life had been so simple then—work, shopping, and meeting guys were her only real concerns. She wanted that easy, simple life again.
She called for a car service and went downstairs when she heard Casey barking, meaning that a car had pulled up outside. Mark was sprawled in the living room, his finger in his nose, watching golf. Mark stopped picking his nose when he noticed her and, though she only glanced in his direction for an instant as he flicked away the booger, she knew he was checking her out, noticing how sexy she looked, probably wondering where she was going, looking so hot. Good, let him have his regret—he deserved it—and it felt great to be able to come and go as she pleased. For years she’d felt like a repressed teenager with Mark as her overbearing father. Well, so long, Daddy.
Riding in the back of the car down Savage Lane, past Karen’s house, Deb said, “The nose picker’s all yours,
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