I've been divorced for four years, but it feels much longer, as the years leading up to our official separation felt like a three year skid in and of itself. They were difficult years to navigate from an anxiety standpoint, with my self esteem, my identity and my sense of soul all taking hit after hit.
Intimacy during those years? Please. I felt like a houseplant that was once vibrant and green and fun to look at, but now--I was that crinkly-leaf ficus in the corner that people kept around just because it was such a pain in the ass to throw away. Not the best way to think about yourself, but they were some pretty dark times.
I did have some very supportive friends, mostly through my relationship at work (I am a high school teacher) with my current colleagues or ex-colleagues always hitting me up with a well-timed greeting, or a fun happy hour just to get me out of my home, and out of my rut. It was nice, and even led to some laughs along the way, but when I returned home to my struggles, everything seemed to go grey again.
I had a male friend at the time, named Nick, who did his best to be "one of the girls" when we all hung out. The teacher profession is populated by about 80% women, so the men, especially the nice or cool ones you'd look forward to a few drinks with, were few and far between. Nick was one of them.
Nick and I never hung out alone together. That would have felt weird to me. Sure, I knew my divorce was inevitable, but I still had this "thing" in my head that I had to behave a certain way, and keep up appearances for the rest of my friends and family. Even a few margaritas at Applebees would have felt awkward and wrong.
But Nick had a way of diving in with the rest of our close knit circle seamlessly, and he wasn't any sort of a third wheel--when he was away from the school, he came out of his shell, was funny, told great stories, and at ten years my junior, was quite easy on the eyes. Six-foot-two, maybe 200 pounds (I'm always bad at guessing weights, so it could be twenty pounds in either direction), gorgeous grey-blue eyes that changed with the weather, and a smile that could make a girl melt.
As I was going through all my crap, I had the sense that there was more than met the eye with Nick, and from time to time, after a few drinks, he would pepper the conversations with vague but sad mentions about his own relationship. He was married for most of the time I had known him (about five years), but from what I could siphon from his little mentions, his wife Lisa and he were having a really difficult time having a baby, and it was becoming a "thing" between them. I felt bad every time he'd joke about it, sensing he was putting a smile on for the rest of our benefits, but honestly it was kind of a relief to know I wasn't the designated sad sack in our group. It made us better friends.
As my divorce became official, I almost didn't know whether I was happy or sad to be out with my friends. A little of both, perhaps. We were all out at this tacky outdoor bar connected to a Mexican restaurant that was done up with sombreros and chili pepper lights. Whatever, it was close for everyone, and I knew if I had to get an Uber home after one too many, it was like a five minute proposition.
There was something that felt different about that night, and it wasn't just that I was "officially" divorced. I remember as we would get up, sit down, walk around, Nick seemed to be sticking a little closer than usual. I didn't mind, mind you, after years of stress and rejection, if felt kind of cool to have an attractive guy making excuses to sit near me. The other different thing I noticed about that night was that Nick was going to the bar alone every once in a while to order a shot. Something was off, and when the night ended, I got a signal what it was.
My friend Stephanie drove Nick that day (we all left from work) so she was going to take him directly home. I mustered a smile and a thanks to everyone who came out with us. It was nice to have friends I could count on.
When Nick hugged me goodnight, he was definitely going a little diagonal, slurring his words and being boisterous. He leaned in and mumbled, "we'll have to do this all again when I make my thing official, too." Wait, what? What thing? Was Nick splitting with Lisa, or was he just drunk-talking? I was curious, and I told him to call me in the morning so I would know he got home ok, but really it was to pull some more information from him.
The phone call never happened, but he did text. He said he was home, a little "hung" (meaning hung over), and that everything was fine. I asked him if there was anything he wanted to talk about, giving him an opening in case he wanted to talk about Lisa or anything else. He didn't take the bait, so I made a joke as we said goodbye texting, "well at least it's good to finally know you are hung."
It was a joke. Maybe a bad one, but I'm nothing if not famous for some poor attempts at humor in the worst situations. But his response shocked me. "How do you know that?" he texted back. Oh boy, he didn't get my reference. I started to type to embarrassingly explain, but before I could hit send, he mercifully texted again, "Ohhhhhhh, got it. Sorry!"
I wanted to make another joke, but I didn't. I was still kind of kicking the inadvertent confession around in my head. Handsome Nick was apparently blessed with some prodigious equipment. I didn't hate the idea. In fact, it started to worm its way into my head from time to time when I was taking time for a bit of "self care." It was great fuel to the fire, and good lord did I crave intimacy, especially as my "divorced" year two magically morphed into two years of lockdown with the coronavirus.
