The Life of Liz

So Heath and I are done. Well, according to him we are. But we’re not done. Not yet anyway. I decide when we’re done. And you know what? After the stunt he pulled yesterday I’m thinking that day is fast approaching. To cause a scene like that…are you kidding me? Real mature, Heath.

Me? Oh I’m fine. I mean, yeah, I have a few cuts and stuff, but nothing that will leave a scar.

After he finished embarrassing me in front of a store full of people, some woman tried to help me get cleaned up. The owner threatened to call the police, but I think he decided not to after he saw me crying in a pool of glass and blood. I suppose it didn’t hurt that I was mumbling “what about the baby?” over and over. Right, like you can call the cops on a pregnant lady. Obviously I’m not pregnant, but they didn’t need to know that.

Anyway, I got cleaned up and someone called me a cab. On the ride home I kept on thinking about what I was going to say to Heath when I saw him. Boy was I pissed. He’s got another thing coming if he thinks he can treat me like that. We’re talking serious ass chewing.

But the prick wasn’t there and he hasn’t been answering his cell.

If I don’t hear from him by tomorrow I guess I’ll have no choice but to pay a visit to his wife’s house

Now if you’ll excuse me, I have a couple of calls to make.

“Guess who!” God, how excited is he going to be?

“Liz?”

“How’d you know?” He’s probably getting a boner as we speak.

“Caller ID.”

“Ohh, that’s sweet, you still have me in your phone.”

“No. I recognized the number.”

Whatever, he’s just saying that.

“What do you want?”

“Sheesh, Mr. Cranky pants. I just called to see how you were doing.”

“I’m fine.”

“You don’t sound fine.”

“Probably ’cause I’m talking to you.”

He doesn’t mean that.

“You’re too funny.”

“Liz?”

“Yeah?”

“Bye.”

What the fuck? Are you kidding me? He hung up. What kind of piece of shit does he think he is?

“Will?”

“Why’d you call back, Liz?”

“I wanted to talk to you.”

He’s a sucker for sadness.

“So talk.”

“You don’t have to be mean you know.”

Honestly, who does he think he is?

“What do you want?”

“I miss you.”

“Sorry to hear that.”

“I think we made a big mistake.”

“You made the mistake.”

Whatever.

“Do you miss me?”

“Don’t do this, Liz.”

“Don’t do what?”

“Are you fucking serious?”

“Don’t swear at me.”

Nor can he handle crying.

“I just wanted to talk and…and…”

Or hysterical crying. He’ll break.

“Are you done?”

“I miss you babe.”

“You miss me when you were fucking Heath?”

“I did. Don’t laugh. I thought about you a lot.”

“Does he know you’re calling?”

“Of course not.”

“So I’m the new Heath then.”

“No, you’re the old Will.”

“I bet you used the same line with Heath.”

Of course.

“Of course I didn’t.”

“So where is he?”

“Working.”

“On a Saturday?”

“I know, he’s like super busy lately. We hardly see each other.”

“Must be rough.”

“Ha ha Mr. Sarcastic.”

“Can you stop with the mister shit?”

“Can you stop with the sarcasm…I told you that because I’ve had a chance to think a lot lately.”

“And?”

“I’ve been thinking about us.”

If you smile when you talk you sound more sincere.

“I’ve been thinking a lot about us too.”

“You have?

Got him.

“What have you been thinking about?”

“I’ve been thinking about how much time I wasted dating you.”

“Excuse me?”

“And I can’t believe we lasted as long we did.”

“Really, you just said that? Are you kidding me?”

“When you think about it, it’s hard to believe I didn’t try killing myself sooner.”

“That’s not funny Will. Don’t joke about stuff like that.”

It’s natural for him to be upset. Just be patient.

“I’m serious. Being with you sucked.”

“Blaming me won’t help anything, Will.”

“Who said I wanted help?”

“Hello, you almost committed suicide. Obviously you need it.”

“Maybe I’ve already got it.”

“You told your parents?”

“Maybe. Or maybe I found someone who actually cared about someone other than themselves.”

“Whatever.”

“She’s a great girl.”

“Stop it.”

“Everything you’re not.”

“Go to hell.”

“And unlike with you, when I tell her I love her, I mean it.”

“Why are you doing this to me?”

“Holy shit, you’re crying. Are these real tears or the usual fake ones?”

“They’re real, asshole.”

“Wow, you must really hurt. Do you?”

“I hate you.”

“It’s a bitch isn’t it. Getting your heart ripped out.”

Why can’t I stop crying?

“Enjoy it. I hope it lasts.”

“Fuck you, you fucking pathetic fuck.”

“Are you done?”

“Go to hell.”

“Right. Have a good life.”
He hung up. He told me off and he hung up. On me. Who does he think he is? I mean, honestly, when did the spine show up? Not at all what I expected. At least he thinks I was really crying. Now he’ll know how much I hurt. That’s why he’ll call back. He thinks he’s over me, but he’s not. That skank- who is obviously a slut- is just a band-aid. He may not know it, but I do. You don’t get over someone like me that easily.

If it wasn’t for jogging, I’d be insane. I say that because literally, between work and Heath I’m on the verge of losing it. Well, maybe not losing it, but stressing out big time. All I can say is thank God for Minnesota summers, Lake Calhoun and my iPod nano.

I’ve been a jogger my whole life. Though I kind of had to give it up over the last year. Yeah, I blame Will for that. Will and his stupid desire to move to that ridiculous mountain town. Are you kidding me? Like I could jog there. I suppose I could’ve if I wanted to get run over by some gross hick that was paying attention to my butt rather than the road. No thanks.

Lake Calhoun, it’s totally different. Talk about one of the best places to run in the country. I’m serious, Minneapolis is routinely featured in running magazines as one of the top places in America to jog, and I’d put the chain of lakes up against anywhere, even Central Park. My normal route is a quick jaunt around Lake Calhoun and Lake of the Isles. You should see the homes around those things. I’m talking serious money. When I was a little girl I vowed that I’d live in one someday. They’re absolutely amazing. Old brick architecture, expansive yards, very Lake Como (Italy, natch).

When I’m running, everything else just melts away. It’s my time to think, to problem solve, to daydream. Usually, if I’m upset, a jog takes care of it. Not today though. It’d take a marathon to solve my problems.

So he’s not leaving the cunt. May as well throw that out there right away. God I have no clue what he sees in her. Seriously, I’d expect him to have better taste in women. I mean come on, can you say muffin top? If I ever weigh over 120 pounds you can bet I’d have my mouth sewn shut.

How do I know he’s not leaving? Simple, I read his emails. The funny thing is he thinks he does a good job of covering his tracks, doing the whole, “clear content, clear history, clear forms” thing. Like I don’t know he looks at porn. Right. That’s all guys use the Internet for. Anyway, there’s this software program that you can install on your computer that sends you email notifications of web and email activity on that computer (ladies, I highly recommend it). Best of all, there are no icons or anything to alert someone that it’s been installed. Seriously, it’s pretty much the most awesome product ever.

You should see some of the stuff Heath looks at. Honestly, some of the girls don’t look a day over 18. He’s always going to these amateur websites. What the attraction is I don’t know. Most of the girls look like skanks on meth. Though there is this one site he likes that is all high class and stuff, and I’ll admit those ones are hot.

Oh my God, I almost forgot. He’s totally into the whole Asian thing. I know, what a cliche, right? What is it about Asian chicks? I know I’ll totally sound like a bitch for saying this, but they all kind of look like 12 year-old boys.

Anyway, back to the emails. Like I said, I’ve been reading them and you guessed it, the jerk has yet to tell her about us. If that wasn’t bad enough, he convinced her that he’s really travelling during the week. Can you believe that crap? How dumb is she?

It’s just a matter of time before he leaves her. He has to.

At least I can always go back to Will. Talk about your all-time spineless schmucks. Could you imagine his face if I said I’d take him back? How happy would he be?

Ugh, I sound like such a downer. Shut up Liz. Don’t you have a party to plan?

This damn party. I swear, what a pain in the butt. Of course it doesn’t help that Dr. Lavelle is a total micro-manager.

“Leez, I vant you to do zees.”

“Leez, how can zis be champagne if it eez not from France?”

Gimme a break. Like I don’t know how to plan a party. Hello, I was only social chair of the biggest sorority on campus. Honestly, if I didn’t get a clothing allowance I’d totally quit. I swear if I hear “Leez” one more time I’m gonna flip. What’s funny is that I don’t even think she’s French. Like I know she lived there for a while, but I don’t think she’s actually French. You’d think I’d know, but there’s nothing on Wikipedia or anything. All I can tell you is that someone watched the Devil Wears Prada a few too many times. Whatever.

Like I said, if I didn’t have jogging I’d go nuts.

I kind of think I am anyway.

If you’re going crazy, do you know it? Or is it one of those gradual things?

Kidding. I’m fine. I just need to run faster. After all, there are problems that need my attention.

What would you do in my situation? I’m thinking blackmail or something. Like I threaten to send our emails to his wife. Or, even better, I tell him there’s a good chance the police will receive an anonymous tip on a suspected pedophile. Would that be too mean? Maybe just a little. I could secretly film us and send the video to his wife. That could work. It’d also be hot. Definitely need to buy a camcorder.

Wanna know another reason I love jogging?

I love it because I know the guys (and some women) can’t keep their eyes off me.

* * *

Things have been kind of wierd between Heath and I. He’s been overcompensating big time. Of course he should be. Really, I don’t think I’ve ever met a guy who screwed up as much as him (Will doesn’t count). But you know what? I forgive him. I love him that much. We’ll work it out. I mean, it’s got to be natural to feel this way when you’re leaving your wife. He just needs a little nudge.

Becuase it’s a beautiful day, I told Heath we had to go to Stillwater and do some antiquing. I read that this is the new thing to do rather than spend all your money at Potterybarn. But I’m not completely sold on the whole used thing. It’s kind of gross. Maybe we’ll find something cute though. People tell me I have an eye for style. Sometimes I’m tempted to say, “Hello, I’m an artist. Of course I have an eye for style,” but instead I just smile and say thank you.

“Ohh, honey, this is cute,” I say, pointing to an old fireplace mantle.

“Yeah, you know we don’t have a fireplace, right?”

“I know that.” It’s hard to be patient with him sometimes. “I’m thinking it’d make a great headboard.”

He just looked at me, confused.

“For the bed.”

“Ohh.”

“I swear, if it was up to you our place would still look like we just moved in.”

“Right,” he said. “About that.”

“Oh my God, look at these, ” I said, holding up two small stained glass windows. “How great are these?”

“Liz,” he said, but I really didn’t hear him. I was too preoccupied.

“Liz,” he tried again, this time touching my elbow to get my attention.

“What?” God, he could be so annoying.

“We need to talk.”

“So talk.”

“We need to talk about us,” he whispered.

“Really, I can’t believe how cool antiques are. I mean, how great would these be for the kitchen?”

Heath didn’t even look at the plates I was holding up.

“Liz, I’m serious.”

“So talk if it’s that important. Jesus.” I turned around and started rifiling though a bin of vintage records. “What do you think about framing these?”

“I think we need to move on.”

“Fine, we’ll look at something else.”

“No. We need to move on, on.”

See, I told you he’d leave her. I threw my arms around him.

“Oh baby, really?”

He didn’t hug back. He just said, “I’m leaving you, Liz.”

But of course this couldn’t be happening. It was all in my head.

“That’s not funny, Heath.” I playfully punched him in the shoulder. “Seriously.”

Why wasn’t he laughing?

“She’s pregnant,” he said.

Why was he looking at me like that?

“Knock it off.”

“I’m serious, Liz. I can’t leave her.”

Maybe if I close my eyes tightly and then open them everything will be normal.

“We knew this wouldn’t last,” he said.

Maybe if I hold my breath.

“Liz?”

“But we’re buying antiques. We’re buying antiques for our apartment.”

“The lease is in your name.”

I started laughing again. People were looking at us. They were looking at me like Heath was. They were looking at me like I looked at Will.

That’s when I broke.

“Stop looking at me!” I screamed.

I heard Heath say, “I’m sorry folks,” and then I felt his hand on my shoulder. I spun around and swatted his hand away.

“Don’t fucking touch me!”

He said, “Calm down, Liz.” and apologized to the crowd once again.

“Fuck you you fucking pervert. You fucking pedophile pervert.” The records in my hand started flying across the room.

“Jesus Christ, Liz,” he said, and then to the shop owner said, “I’ll pay for those.”

I heard someone say, “You want me to call the police?”

But this wasn’t happening to me. I was watching it from outside of me. I heard myself scream. I saw myself trying to punch Heath and saw him try to restrain me. But I fought back and pushed away from him, falling backwards into a rack of old farmhouse windows. And through the red lenses of my blood-stained eyes, I saw him walk away.

 

 

 

I feel numb. Maybe numb isn’t the right word. How about pissed? Hurt? Confused? Confused. That’s it. Confused and numb. And pissed. I’m a mess. But no one can tell. To the outside, I’m perky and happy and exuberant. I’m a successful, attractive woman with a budding career and great apartment. I’m upwardly mobile.

Heath doesn’t know what I know. Maybe he suspects something, with all the love and affection he’s showered me with. He’s oozing guilt and I’m taking advantage of it.

Guess who has a new Marc Jacobs handbag?

Guess who’s wearing new Juicy Couture sandals?

He might not leave that bitch, but I can assure you that I’ll get something out of this relationship.

Even if things weren’t okay, you’d never know. Not by looking at me anyway. After all, the key to success is mastery of one’s emotions.

Foundation covers the errant pimple or two.

Radiant smile hide seething bitterness.

Really, everything is fine. I swear. He promised he’d leave her.

But just in case…

“Hi there,” I say, smiling, looking sexy, dress cut in all the right places.

“You must be Liz,” the man says.

We shake hands.

“I’m Brent.”

I size him up. Not normally my type, average height, a little skinny, blond, but he’ll do.

“You look even better in person,” he says.

I smile demurely.

“I mean Jessy said you were good looking, but she didn’t say you were smokin’.”

What a cheesedick.

“Well thank you,” I reply, simultaneously projecting confidence and modesty.

“Have you ever eaten here before,” he asks.

“Nope,” I lie.

“They have the best shrimp tempura.”

“Ohh. I looove tempura,” I say with just the right amount of enthusiasm, despite knowing that the tempura here tastes like rubber, even if it is the most expensive in town.

I don’t even have a chance to look at the menu before the waiter comes over and Bret, or Brent, or whatever his name is opens his mouth and does the whole “I’m a man, I’ll order for us” thing.

“Yeah, we’ll start with an order of the shrimp tempura, and can you make it a little crispier this time?” He continues to bark our order to the waiter, but I tune him out. I’m daydreaming about putting my salad fork in his throat when I sense that both men are looking at me. When I don’t reply right away, I hear Brent say, “She’ll have the miso soup.”

He must be a finance guy.

Dinner comes and goes, but not nearly fast enough. He does the talking. I do the smiling and nodding. Because he apparently has a thing for “authenticity” I’m forced to drink warm Sake. By the time dessert shows up, I’m D-R-U-N-K. Thank God.

“So,” he says, snapping shut the bill, “let’s grab a drink.”

“I would,” I apologize, “but I’ve so got to get up early tomorrow.” He doesn’t need to know the truth.

“Come on, one drink,” he pleads.

“Maybe next time?” I smile.

“I guess,” he says, “if you just want to get to the sex I’m cool with that too.”

He thinks he’s being funny, but I know there’s truth there. I pause and make a face like I’m considering his offer. Then I lean forward, knowing exactly what my dress is revealing and whisper, “I kinda have my period, Brett,” purposely mispronouncing his name.

I smile as the color drains from his face and an uncomfortable smile appears. “I’ll get the car,” he replies.

If he only knew how close he came to getting laid. Seriously, if he would have said yes I would have let him fuck me. I’m a slut, get over it. Will never figured that out though. I could see the boredom on his face when we had sex. He could never get past my submission. So he got bored and angry. If he’d of only let it out. I could see he wanted to, but he was too nice. Too much of a fag. It’s not like I didn’t give him signals. I mean, does a good girl wear revealing skirts and no panties? Does an innocent let you fuck her doggystyle, over and over, in hopes that you’d finally get the hint and put it where you lacked the courage?

“Do it,” I wanted to scream.

But he never did. So I fucked so bad, sorry, made love so poorly that I drove him mad. I thought he’d break up with me. But he was too weak to do even that.

Who am I, you ask yourself.

If only Will asked me that.

“Where’ve you been?”

I ignore Heath and walk to the bathroom. He follows.

“Dinner,” I say, lifting up my skirt and sitting down to pee. Like all guys, he turns away.

“With who?”

“A friend.”

“Dressed like that?”

“A guy friend,” I clarify. My admision leaves him standing there wide-eyed and speechless. I brush past him and walk towards the bedroom.

“Like a date,” he says, following my down the hall.

“Pretty much,” I reply with a smile.

“Why would you go on a date?”

My intoxication is making getting undressed more difficult than it should be.

“And why aren’t you wearing any underwear?”

I have to turn around so he won’t see me smile. “Feels good,” I say as I bend over to unstrap my flats, legs slightly spread. But he doesn’t pick up on the invitation.

“Why’d you go on a date,” he asks again.

I just slide into bed and close my eyes.

“That’s it? No answer?”

Of course telling him the answer would be too easy. Telling him the answer would prevent him from learning. So instead, with nonchalance and disinterest, I say, “I talked to Kathy the other night.”

I hear him mumble “fuck” under his breath.

“She says you’ll be back in town Friday.”

So much to talk about…

I started the new job on Monday. I thought it went well, though Dr. Lavelle is pretty intense. I haven’t even been there a week and I already have a few important assignments to work on. Good thing I’m not scared of a little hard work! Or a lot What’s cool is that she wants me to help coordinate this huuuge gala event we’re having in a few months to celebrate our new Hopper exhibit. Personally, I’m not Hopper’s biggest fan - sorry, just never cared for his style - but it will be fun nonetheless. Anyway, I am in charge of facilitating and managing our vendor relationships. Do you have any idea how hard it is to coordinate a party in this city? Not only do I have to help manage the event management group, I have to help coordinate the invite design and mailing. And that’s on top of the three other projects she needs my help with. But, this is my dream job, so I can’t complain too much

When I came home last night Heath was already sprawled out on the bed watching Sportscenter. You’d think after I reamed him for the whole “separate apartment thing” he’d be falling all over himself, right? Well…he was! He didn’t even say anything when I turned off the TV for no other reason than I wanted to talk. And to think I want a dog.

“Hey babe,” he said.

I plopped down on the end of the bed and waited for him to come to me. Only when I felt his arms wrap around me did I respond. “Hey there mister.”

“How hard did the evil doctor work you today,” he asked.

“Ughh. You don’t even want to know,” I said, falling back onto the bed. “I’ve got like a ton of stuff to do. All of it important.”

“That’s good. Responsibility builds character.”

I rolled my eyes and glared at him. “You can’t be serious.”

“I’m just saying, babe…”

“Saying what?”

He laughed. “I mean it’s not like you’ve been setting the world on fire.”

I shot up. “What the hell does that mean?” And with that, I cued the tears.

“Whoa.” He leaned in to give me a hug. “Settle down tiger.”

I pushed him away. “Don’t patronize me.”

“Right, I’m sorry.”

“I mean, it’s not like I haven’t been trying.”

His hand started rubbing my back. “I know, babe.”

I could be the victim better than anyone. “If it wasn’t for Will…”

“I know…”

I let the tears and sobs grow. I let him hold me.

“But you’ve got me now,” he said, putting a finger underneath my chin and tilting my face towards his.

I pouted as only I knew how, looked up at him with sad, vulnerable eyes and asked “Do I?”

Of course you do, babe.” He kissed my forehead.

“And Kathy?”

He pulled away from me and took my face in his hands. “Look at me,” he said. “She’ll be gone in no time.”

I smiled. He did too. Then I let him make love to me.

Five minutes later Heath asked me the oddest question. “So, is he pissed or what?”

“Yeah, you think you could at least pull out before asking a question like that?”

“What?”

“I dunno, I guess I’d feel more comfortable answering if your penis wasn’t inside me.”

“Right,” he said as he slid out and rolled over. “So, you think he’s pissed?”

“I’m not sure.”

“How can you be not sure?”

“What’s it matter?”

“It doesn’t. I just want to know if he’s pissed that his girlfriend of four years just dumped him for another guy.”

“Three years,” I corrected.

“Whatever. He’s got to be pissed.”

“You think? Maybe we should introduce him to you wife.”

He ignored my comment.

“I suppose he wants to kick my ass.” Heath puffed up his chest.

“You’re probably right.”

“You don’t have to be sarcastic.”

“Well then quit being such a dumbass.”

He stopped and gave me a cold look.

“Don’t look at me like that,” I said.

“Then don’t talk to me like that.”

Ok, this was something new. A guy with a backbone. New tactic. “What did you just say to me?”

“I said don’t talk to me like that.”

Obviously I played this wrong. But, that didn’t mean I was going to apologize. So I didn’t say anything. Instead, I rolled over and started crying. Heath most certainly was not Will, but he still was a guy and guys can only deal with so much emotion. Especially when it’s unpredictable.

“Liz?”

More sobs.

“Sweetheart?”

Big sniffs and running mascara.

“Don’t yell at me.”

“What?”

I could hear the confusion in his voice.

“I don’t like it when you yell at me.” I did melodrama well.

I heard him mumble “shit” under his breath. But while Will would have done everything in his power to apologize and comfort me, Heath just stood up and walked out of the room.

The tears that came next were real.

I woke up in the middle of the night, alone, confused that Heath wasn’t sleeping next to me. I walked to the living room expecting to find him there, but he wasn’t. I looked at the clock. 2:30 AM. Where the hell was he?

So I checked my cell. No new calls.

Then I tried calling his. Straight to voice mail.

Finally, I called his house.

“Hello,” said the woman, half-asleep.

“Is Heath there?”

“Who’s this?”

I felt like pissing her off, so I told her who it was. If I had to be upset, someone else had to be too.

But she didn’t get pissed. She just mumbled, “He’ll be back on Friday,” and hung up.

What did she mean, “he’ll be back on Friday?” That didn’t make sense. He didn’t go anywhere.

I stumbled back to the bedroom. Too tired to stay awake, but too shocked to sleep, I crawled into bed and stared at the ceiling. Sometime later I heard to door open. I closed my eyes and rolled over. The bed sagged as Heath crawled in and I waited for him to kiss the back of my head like he always did before falling asleep, but he didn’t. So, I got up and went to the bathroom. Still, he didn’t acknowledge me.

I should have confronted him.

I should have demanded to know where he was.

I should have screamed, “Why do you smell like booze?” and “you haven’t even told the bitch about us, have you?”

But I knew I wouldn’t like his answers.

Besides, I thought, everything will be better in the morning.

 

Sorry it’s been so long. Don’t worry, I’m still here Life’s been so crazy lately, so I haven’t really written much.

 

Big news! No, I didn’t get engaged. But it’s almost as good. I got a job! I am sooo relieved, I can’t even tell you. Starting Monday, I’ll be the executive assistant to the director of the Walker Art Center.  If you know anything about the art world you know how big of a deal this is. If you don’t, trust me, it’s huge. 

  

Finally! I feel like I’m making progress in my life. It’s like everything is going exactly the way it should. I’ve got a job that I’ll love. I mean it’s so me it isn’t even funny. My boss, her name is Dr. Lavelle, is pretty much the foremost authority on modern art. I can’t imagine how many people must have applied for this job. I don’t want to say I knew I was going to get it, but I was pretty confident. After all, I did graduate summa cum laude with a double major in Art and Art History. How could she not hire me? Now I’m seriously thinking about pursuing my Master’s or PhD. To think that I could have her job someday is pretty amazing. 

  

Heath has been so awesome and supportive. Tonight he’s taking me to dinner. He says he has something important he wants to talk about. And though he won’t tell me what it is, I do have a pretty good idea of what he wants to discuss. If it is what I think it is, he’ll get the best dessert he’s ever had. God, I so sound like a Cosmo article. 

  

I try not to bother him about his wife. He says he’s taking care of it and I believe him. Personally, I don’t know why he even married her in the first place. Will says I’m a home-wrecker and am the one who belongs in a trailer park. Whatever. Who tried committing suicide? Thank you. Besides, I would hardly call myself a home-wrecker. For starters, their marriage was in serious trouble way before I showed up. Two, Heath is the one who initiated everything and he swears they were over. Three, how can I be a home-wrecker if they don’t have kids? My conscious is clean, Will. 

  

Ugh, I need to quit with the negativity. Three years dating a guy like Will obviously left some marks. Heath hates it that I can be so cynical. He says I need to work on finding the Liz he knew in high school.  Me? I’d be happy finding the Liz I was in college, but I’m finding it hard to change my established behaviors. Besides, it’s not like I knew I was becoming such a cynic. What’s the saying, “I was like a frog in a pot?” Heath’s been a real help though. I never would have recognized what I was becoming without him. 

  

Of course, just getting out of No Name has helped. I know I said it before, but you’re a product of your environment. This last weekend Heath and I jogged around the chain of lakes over in Minneapolis. I talked him into running the Twin Cities Marathon, so we’ve been busy training. Anyway, as we were jogging I couldn’t help but think how happy I was now that I was out of No Name - I don’t care what anyone says, Minneapolis/St. Paul is one of the greatest cities on Earth.  I also couldn’t help but daydream about what it would be like to be pushing around a baby jogger. On the car ride back I told this to Heath and he smiled and said he was thinking the same thing. Though he said maybe we should start with a dog. I said I’d be happy with a divorce. 

  

You’d think I’d have been excited to hear him say that he wanted to have kids. And honestly I was. But for some reason, his enthusiasm kind of threw me off. I mean, I loved hearing that and all, but I wished he’d said he was daydreaming about getting divorced or our wedding. 

  

*    *    * 

So we went to dinner last night. You know what he wanted to talk about? He said we should probably think about getting our own apartments because of the divorce. According to his lawyer, it looks bad if you cheat and move in with your new girlfriend. Heath said that with my new job I should be able to afford a place. Can you believe that crap? Of course I said, no way was I moving out. The harm had already been done, hadn’t it? He tried to argue his case, but I told him that unless he wanted to break up, he’d better shut up. So he did. For being such a dork, I told him he was buying me a dog.

It’s kind of funny how I always get my way