The Men I Didn't Marry Read Free

he’s following to goddamn 93rd Street. The man isn’t even having an original midlife crisis. No man ever does. To which the makers of Porsche say Thank God.
    Still I think I’m having a very original response. I haven’t eaten a single pint of Ben & Jerry’s or watched even one Meg Ryan movie. Instead, I roll onto my back again and this time stretch out both arms into the spot of light. I’m discovering new talents. Now the shadow bunny is jumping over a fence.
    Emily snaps me out of it.
    “Mom, I just called your office and they said you’re still out,” she says when she calls the next morning. “What’s going on?”
    I take a deep breath. “Emily, I have something to tell you.” That phrase again. Is she old enough to know that it means bad news?
    Apparently she’s old enough to know a lot more than that because Emily quickly says, “You don’t have to tell me anything. I know Daddy left you. Adam told me. Daddy told him. And told him not to tell, but he told.”
    Hmm. So Emily not only knows the situation, I think she even got all the tenses right. But then it occurs to me to wonder why she doesn’t sound upset. I’d expect Emily at least to shed a tear about our wonderful little family breaking apart.
    But before I can ask her how she’s really feeling about all this, Emily charges on. “I’m still not clear on why you’re lying around moping. Dad’s just a guy. Your life’s not over.”
    “Emily, are you nuts? This is your father. What are you saying?”
    “I’m saying exactly what you said when Paco dumped me. Life goes on. A lot of fish in the sea.”
    Sure, but I’m not such great bait anymore. And that’s beside the point. Comparing Bill to Paco, that tattooed, earring-wearing, no-good creep who dumped Emily a week before the junior prom and never should have been allowed within fifty feet of my perfect, precious daughter anyway?
    “I know what you’re thinking,” says Emily, who seems to know everything—unlike most teenagers who only think they do. “Paco was a three-week boyfriend and you’ve been married forever. It sucks. I agree. But you’ve always been my role model, Mom. You make things happen. You can get on with your life without Bill.”
    “Bill?” I ask quizzically, wondering when her darling daddy became “Bill.”
    “I think it’ll be helpful if we both think of him as just another guy,” says Emily efficiently. “Perhaps it would be even better if we called him William. More detached.”
    I have a feeling Emily signed up for that post-modern feminism class after all. But I have to admit she makes a lot of sense. William. I roll the name around on my tongue. William. William and Ashlee. ASHLEEEEE. Emily’s right, this has to stop.
    I’m admiring my daughter’s insight and maturity when I suddenly hear muffled sobs.
    “Hang on a sec, Mom,” she says, her voice cracking.
    “Em, are you okay?” I ask.
    All I hear is the loud honking of Emily blowing her nose, and I know she’s in tears. So that’s it. She does realize the gravity of the situation and even though she’s trying to be tough, she’s hurting. I wish I could throw my arms around her and make her feel better. A hug would make me feel better, too.
    “Sorry, Mom,” Emily says shakily when she gets back on the phone. “I want to be an adult about you and daddy, but I hate what’s happening. And I don’t get it. You two never even fight.”
    “Honey, you’re right. Who knows why this happened? But don’t for one minute think you have to act like an adult. Even the grown-ups aren’t acting like adults.”
    “Then who’s coming up for Parents’ Day?” Emily asks in a small voice. She’s worried about what this will do to her life and I don’t blame her.
    “You’ll always have two parents who love you. We’ll both always be there for you,” I say, giving the by-the-book answer. Then drifting from the page, I add, “Even though your father’s acting like an asshole.”
    Emily