What? You don’t like it?
No, I fucking love it!!!
Oh…ok. So, what’s the problem?
What’s the problem? The problem is that I can’t sleep. I love them. I want more.
More?
More about Tatum and Savannah. Are you writing another one? I can’t type fast enough.
Um…I haven’t thought about it much.
Well, think about it! I’m going to try to get some sleep now. Not likely though, thanks to your book. Sorry not sorry.
After putting down my phone, I still can’t get to sleep. This time my mind doesn’t wander. I know what I want. I want what Tatum and Savannah have. I want their kind of love for me. I want to be in love again. I want to feel butterflies over the possibility of touching someone again. I want to wonder how our first date went, whether it was as amazing for him as it was for me. I want to dance in the rain and kiss in a blizzard. I want to live inside a romance novel, but that’s not possible, right? That’s not reality, right? Yet, reading that book sounded more like the truth than my real life. How is that?
Three weeks later, Dylan comes into the living room where I’m procrastinating on working on my Victorian Lit paper. I should be doing research on it in the library, but instead, I’m looking up something vaguely related to Victorian times on my phone and hoping that I will stumble on a topic to write about that way. So far, no luck. Juliet and Hudson are also in the room. Juliet is painting her nails and Hudson is doing his Macroeconomics problem set. Hudson and I have entered another period of Cold War. We don’t talk to each other unless absolutely necessary, but we also don’t avoid each other at all costs like we used to. So that’s an improvement in my book.
Dylan is wearing a wide grin on his face. He flashes me his pearly whites, which do nothing but remind me that I really need to get my teeth professionally whitened. I’m afraid of dentists and all doctors, for that matter, so I’ve been avoiding them at all costs.
“What?” I finally ask. He’s obviously eager to share some news with the room.
He holds up a thick packet in a manila folder.
“Guess what this is?” he asks.
“Your history paper?” Hudson says jokingly. We all know that Dylan did not do very well on his last history paper. By not very well, I mean that he got a C-. Enough for him to start worrying about passing the class.
“Ha ha, very funny. No,” he says, rolling his eyes. “No, these are divorce papers!”
I never thought that I’d be so happy to hear the phrase “divorce papers” in my life.
“Really? Are you sure?” I ask, grabbing the packet out of his hand and scanning the papers. They don’t make any sense of course; it’s all legalized. All I see are the little stickers by the signature lines.
“Yep, got them from the lawyer this morning. You will be glad to know that this divorce is the most amicable one that my dad’s Park Avenue attorney has ever dealt with. He said that the two of us were the most mature clients he’s ever had.”
“Well, that’s nice to hear,” I say, “given that this is probably the stupidest thing that either of us has ever done.”
“So, all you have to do is sign where those stickers are and we’re done. A courier will come tomorrow to pick them up and take them to the court,” Dylan says.
“Great! Does anyone have a pen?” I ask.
I want to get this over with as soon as possible. We look around the room, but there’s no pen to be found. Then suddenly, Hudson hands me his.
With all the excitement, I had completely forgotten that he was still in the room. Our eyes meet as he hands me his pen and our fingers touch briefly. In that moment, it feels like he can see through me, completely and entirely. Like he knows everything about me that I ever was and ever will be. The feeling leaves me uneasy and scared.
33
I sign each page as Dylan flips the pages for me. He’d already signed his portion at the lawyer’s office. When I sign on the last line, a tremendous weight lifts off my shoulders. I give out a big sigh. Suddenly, I’m 300 pounds lighter.
“We’re divorced!” Dylan grabs me by the shoulders, wrapping his arms around me. “Divorced! Let’s celebrate.”
“Woohoo!” Juliet says. “Finally.”
“Who wants a beer?” Dylan asks, getting himself one from the refrigerator.
“Wait, remind me, isn’t it alcohol that got you into this mess in the first place?” Juliet asks.
“Oh, whatever, buzz kill.” Dylan waves his arm at her dismissively. “Alice?”
I shake my head no.
“I still have some work to do tonight,” I say. “And honestly, given how long it took for all of this to happen, I’m going to pass on partying with you for a while.”
Dylan is the only one who celebrates our divorce that night, but we all take a rain check. Even for him, it’s not much of a party. He has only one beer and disappears into his room. Juliet disappears into our room soon after to get ready for another date.
“Congratulations,” Hudson says without looking up from his textbook.
“Oh, thanks,” I say.
I wait for him to say something else, but he doesn’t. So, I go back to taking a quiz about the decade that I should’ve grown up in on BuzzFeed.
“I know it wasn’t your fault how long all of this was taking,” Hudson says. This time he looks straight at me.
“Yeah, I know that.”
“Okay. Well, I guess what I wanted to say is that I know that, too.”
“Okay, I guess,” I say.
I hate the weirdness that exists between us when we’re alone. In fact, I can’t
