The Divorce Diet by Ellen Hawley

Author:Ellen Hawley [Hawley, Ellen]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Kensington Books
Published: 2014-11-11T00:00:00+00:00

DAY

13

I wake up in the middle of a dream about an elevator falling out from under my feet, and I slam my hand down on the alarm.

It’s time to get on with my new life.

I hate my new life.

I kick through the mess some slob left on my floor, looking for clean clothes, and that reminds me about my wedding ring. I really do have to look for my wedding ring. I could pawn it and squander the money on groceries and diapers.

I get my hands on something that feels like long underwear for a squid. I don’t remember owning anything like this, but maybe my guru’s been changing clothes here. If she’s not human, it would explain a lot about the recipes.

When did I last renew my relationship with my diet book? I can’t seem to remember.

I’m turning into the person I had nightmares about becoming.

I flip on the light, which wakes Rosie, and I grab some clothes, all apparently mine and all apparently clean, or at least not visibly filthy. I turn off the light and nurse Rosie to get her back to sleep even though she’s just playing, not really nursing.

I lower her into her crib and she cries, so I rock her.

I whisper, “You’re Mama’s little bad girl, aren’t you?”

I grab a Pop-Tart from the kitchen, clench it in my teeth, and knock on my parents’ door.

“Can I just slip her in bed with you so she’ll go back to sleep?” I mumble.

I take the Pop-Tart out of my mouth and repeat the question.

My mother reaches for her.

“You have no idea what kind of trouble you’re storing up for yourself, getting her used to this.”

“I’ll deal with that when it’s a problem, Mom. I’m late.”

Breakfast: ½ unpopped Pop-Tart, standard unidentifiable flavor.

Exercise: I set the leftover Pop-Tart half on the passenger seat with yesterday’s uneaten Pop-Tart half and the toppled stack of CDs.

I will—and I really mean this—clean out the car. I’ll find my wedding ring. I will never again say bad things about Thad in front of Rosie, even though she can’t understand them yet. I’ll set out my work clothes the night before and do the laundry regularly. All of it right after I explain the theory of relativity, in stunning mathematical detail, to today’s first customer.

This is my new life.

That is the most depressing thought I’ve ever had.

I admire the slate-gray predawn sky. It’s going to rain and the towels and sheets are going to get wrecked on Thad’s lawn.

No, they’re not going to get wrecked. They’re going to get dirty. And what’s that to me.

There. I’ve turned a question into a statement.

For about thirty seconds, I feel like a new person.

I walk into the restaurant and bum a pen from a woman I’ve never seen before who’s replacing Adam because, unlike me, he has a life and doesn’t work Saturdays.

“I know,” I say, “and I meant to bring one, but the baby woke up and then a flock of pterodactyls swooped out of the tree as I was walking to the car and—”

“Monday,” I say.

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