divorce, I gave up my interest in his business, and he gave up his claim to our condo. Simple. Neat.
“You redecorated,” he said, taking in the new tufted white armless sofa and matching love seat, the glass-topped coffee table, and the groovy dining table and chairs I’d gotten from Crate & Barrel. I’d really thrown myself into decorating after Scott had moved out, probably—if I were interested in psychoanalyzing myself—in an effort to stamp out any lingering presence of him in the apartment. It was easier to get rid of the memories than learn to live with them.
“Mm-hmm. I did this ages ago. You haven’t been here in a while.” I smiled. “Do you still have that awful sofa?”
“Of course. Admit it—you miss that sofa.”
I’d hated his leather sofa. Hated it. It was an enormous brown monstrosity covered with nail-head trim, and it looked like it belonged in the office of an eccentric old man who spent his days pinning a bug collection into shadow boxes. I’d begged, pleaded, and cajoled with Scott to get rid of it when we’d moved in together, but he’d stubbornly insisted that he couldn’t live without it.
“I have two things in my life that I love more than anything else,” he’d dramatically declared when I’d delicately suggested it was the ugliest couch I’d ever seen and there was no way in hell I could possibly live with it. “You and this couch.”
Apparently his love for the couch was more enduring than whatever it was he’d felt for me.
“So, how’ve you been?” Scott now asked.
“Fine. Great. I made partner at my firm,” I said brightly.
“Really? Wow, that’s fantastic. Good for you, it’s what you always wanted,” Scott said. “And how’s everything else? Seeing anyone?”
“Um. No. I’m not. And I don’t want to talk about it.”
“Paige . . . maybe we should talk. We never really did. It might help both of us if we, you know, sat down and discussed what happened between us.”
“Nothing happened. You decided—sorry, discovered—you were gay, and so we got a divorce. I think it was pretty cut and dried.”
“There’s more to it than that.”
“And I don’t want to talk about it. Really, Scott, I’m fine. I’ve moved on, and my life is going great. I have no complaints.”
Scott looked at me, and I met his gaze straight on, keeping my face smoothed of emotion. After nine years of being a litigator, I’m well practiced at it.
“Okay,” he finally said. “But if you ever want to talk, I’d be happy to. Just say the word.”
“I appreciate that. But I’m fine.”
“Okay. Well. Do you have that stuff for me?”
I gestured toward the cardboard document box sitting by the door. It contained the last odds and ends he had left behind when he moved out. A few CDs, his Blade Runner video, the collection of ugly ties my mother had given him as Christmas presents over the years.
“It’s all there. I can’t believe you’ve gone two years without seeing Blade Runner.”
“I haven’t. My . . . friend has a copy of it.”
Friend.
Okay.
I had the distinct feeling that Scott wanted me to follow up and ask him about his new friend, but I just couldn’t do it. Instead I smiled pleasantly at him and silently willed him to leave.
“Well. Uh. I suppose I should get going,” Scott said.
“It was nice to see you,” I said.
“You, too. Bye, Paige.” Scott smiled, ducking his head the way he always did, and left.
Once the door latched behind him, I turned and stared out the window, trying to decide if the low, dark sky hanging over Town Lake meant it was about to storm. I decided I had time to get a run in before it rained. I went into my bedroom—I’d changed it, too, installing a Murano glass chandelier, a French armchair upholstered in gray-green silk, and the pure white bedding and walls I’d always wanted but Scott had detested, insisting that an all-white room made him feel like he was an inmate at an insane asylum—and stripped out of my suit. I pulled on a running bra, shorts, and a blue T-shirt with “University of Texas School of Law” emblazoned across the front.
I was all too aware of the potential psychological fallout of divorce—hell, it was my business—and I know for some people, women especially, it has the poisonous power to warp the rest of their lives. So when Scott and I split up, I’d been determined not to wallow. Instead I ran. It was cheaper