The Debutante Divorcee Read Free

beyond embarrassed, I realized, as I told Lauren my sorry tale. The fact was, my “honeymoon” felt about as romantic as solitary confinement right now. My new husband, Hunter, had been forced to leave on the second day of our vacation to close a business deal. Now, I have never been one of those girls who dreamed about her wedding day all her life, but I had dreamedabout my honeymoon: it was meant to be the most delicious, sexy two weeks of your life, the vacation version of heaven. When Hunter had explained that he had to leave, in a terrible rush, I behaved in a very grown-up way, I thought, and told him I understood. But inside I was desolate. Hunter promised to deliver another honeymoon, but a subsitute vacation held no appeal. How do you get that blissed-out, just-married feeling six months after the wedding? By definition, you can only feel just-married for about a minute. Honeymoons have a small window of opportunity, bliss being as transient as it is.
    Hunter had been gone three days now, and having felt stoic for about three hours, I had quickly evolved to feeling utterly tragic. The trouble with being alone on your honeymoon is that there is oodles of time to wallow. Reading trashy magazines full of celebrity breakups doesn’t help.
    My self-pity was only exacerbated by the maid at our beach house bringing romantic breakfast trays for two each morning, covered in flowers and Mexican hearts wishing us good luck. I couldn’t face telling her that Hunter had left and might not get back. I was so ashamed about the whole thing, I hadn’t even called a friend to commiserate. What would people think? Hunter and I had known each other only six months and had gotten married on the spur of the moment, in Hawaii. I could imagine the gossip already: she didn’t have a clue what she was getting into; she hardly knew him;apparently he left some other girlfriend on vacation… My mind was bedeviled by hideous thoughts—and disappointment. Ah! Disappointment! It’s the worst affliction. It’s so dreary, and you can’t do anything to improve it; it just has to fade away…over years, I told Lauren gloomily, maybe decades…
    “Stop overreacting. It’s not that bad,” interjected Lauren. “At least you’ve got a husband. This is an exercise in ego-loss for you and you’re indulging yourself.”
    Ego-loss? What about husband-loss?
    “You’re the first person I’ve told,” I admitted as tears suddenly flooded my eyes. “It’s such a ghastly start to a marriage. I’m bloody furious, and so angry with Hunter. I know he has to make money, and work, but…oh, God.”
    “Here,” said Lauren, rummaging in her tote. She handed me a lace-trimmed, white silk handkerchief with her initials embroidered on it.
    “Thanks,” I said, taking it. It was criminal to wipe one’s nose on such an exquisite item, but I went ahead. “This is so pretty.”
    “You get them at Leron. Special order. They fly to Chicago to see my mother. It’s all by appointment only. You should see the linens. Blissful. Why don’t I order some for you next time? Would that cheer you up?”
    “I guess,” I said. That was sweet of Lauren, I thought. If I was destined to spend my marriage in tears, I supposed white lace would be much more pleasant to weep into than Charmin toilet paper.
    “Look at it this way: most marriages start with an incredible honeymoon and go downhill from there. At least this way the only place you can go is up. I mean, it can’t get any worse, right?”
    I dabbed at my eyes with Lauren’s handkerchief. Through my tears, I somehow managed a laugh.
    “Don’t obsess about this, or you’ll really ruin things. Honeymoons are seriously overrated. They’re just so pressured, like birthdays. You’re supposed to wake up excited every morning, and feel crazy in love and all floaty every minute of it, and guess what? You’ve got menstrual cramps that day, or you’ve been eaten alive by mosquitoes, and the last thing you