This never happened.
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.
