JADE

We spent the second half of July and most of August by getting to know each other again. We accidentally turned our curiosity into a game where every day one of us would ask a question to the other. A mature mash-up of would you rather and never have I ever. If the answer wasn't strictly hypothetical, we were bound by duty to take the answer from history and discuss it. Admittedly, our conversations were a lot more philosophical than when we were kids. At times, the debates fried our heads so much that one of us asked for a timeout or a closure of the subject altogether, which we were also duty-bound to comply. It mostly turned into a creative excuse for sex within thirty seconds.

We built a table out of driftwood and resin for the back patio, and I taught him to cook some stuff. We were good at talking and doing things together? A dream come true.


COLE

I couldn't believe it took me this long to notice that her pseudonym Jace Olde was an anagram of Jade and Cole. When I did, we were waiting in line at the post office to mail Jade's new story the old-fashioned way to an NYC editor of old age. I suddenly lifted her up through her armpits and hugged her, causing her to sway like a doll and blush, and the other –clearly bored– people to stare at us as the only entertainment within those four walls.

I really don't like to compare, but life with Jade was much different than what I was used to. Fuller somehow. Everything she did as my lover was new to me. At first, I was hesitant to behave freely, but then she'd laugh at my awkwardness and put me at ease. Emphasize mutual adaptation. In a short while I learned that it really didn't matter to Jade which one of us entered through a door first, who carried bags after shopping, what I wanted to do with my hair or beard, what I felt like wearing. When we went out, she didn't care if we looked like friends or lovers, although I would bet we didn't look like anything but lovers. She didn't ignore unexpected or undesired behaviors but she never made a fuss in public; she merely spoke to me about them when we were alone, asking questions to understand me rather than curtly asking me to change said behavior. I got more attention from her when I did pay her attention, not while I was busy with other things. But she was always attentive to where I was and what I was doing just like I was with her, and she glued herself to my lips as soon as I took a break or came her way. She didn't ask me to do stuff at home; she instead asked me to teach her how to do things. In turn, she taught me things I didn't know, like how to braid, how to read faster, how to format a computer, the merits of open-source software, how to construct a good formal letter… I didn't need to walk on broken glass or ask for silent permission to talk to new acquaintances when she was around. By then Jade would have probably opened a subject that's comfortable to me and led me into the conversation herself, so that she could raise me up and show her pride, and as a bonus, stay silent herself. Oh yes, she was proud of me. Nobody had been proud of me before. Maybe Gabriel, but parents are gods in the eyes of a child. Jade liked me and loved me. We made each other laugh. She even made it fun to go to The End.

Third week of August, after yet another love-making session where I woke her up in the middle of the night by my groping, feeling like I had to make love to her or she'd disappear, tears tingling my nose out of bliss, appreciation, euphoria, respect, she fell back asleep but I sneaked out, went to the Ranch, woke my mom up – scared the shit out of her, demanded her wedding ring, rushed back home and put the ring on Jade's finger without waking her. That way, I knew she couldn't say no to me, because she had no time to panick and find reasons to doubt our unbreakable bond. I'd give her the space to deal with her internal debate before she gave a reply. I wouldn't put her on the spot for such a decision, even though I was sure the answer would be yes if she thought longer than 45 seconds. As sure as I was of my own heart and mind.

I was already awake, watching her when she stirred herself awake. She noticed the ring, alien on her finger. She looked at it for a second, grinned at me with the brightest smile I've seen, kissed the ring, kissed the tip of my nose, and went back to sleep, glued to my chest.

First week of September, the divorce was already complete. Thank god there is no post-divorce waiting period before remarriage in the state of New York. The second week of September, we got our marriage license, scheduled an officient at the city clerk, and got married in the cove under the lighthouse without telling anyone. I insisted that she wear sweatpants and no make up, and she insisted that I wear Hawaiian shorts and a cowboy hat. Happiest day of my life.


6 MONTHS LATER


NOAH

I don't think Alison loves me as much as I thought she did before I married her, if at all.

The day she called me 6 months ago to the northern edge of Oyster Pond to tell me that she left that lowlife of a husband, I couldn't believe my luck. That redneck had done anything short of beating her up and poor Alison had stayed with him long enough to pick up the pieces after their son died. I asked her to run away with me immediately.

Getting encouragement from her, I went to my wife the same day and told her I wanted a divorce. It was in front of her parents. I figured, they were meddlers and they'd corner me to fry me up at some point anyway. This way, I didn't need to watch Helen put up a façade and I could hit two birds with one stone. I'm not proud that my two oldest kids were also there. While my boy adopted a disgusted expression, my eldest had a bitter, knowing smile on her face. She hung out with the locals the most; had she heard about me and Alison?

I had my advance from the publishing house, so I quickly found a rental shack in the woods where I could write my book and live with Alison. However, the lawyer thought that I'd need a place closer to NYC if I wanted to see my kids frequently. It was a bummer but we could always live at Alison's. She had kicked the redneck out and the house was hers. That's what I loved about her. She was a woman of principle. Just like me, she disliked deception and she didn't care much about money.

I made it clear to my then-wife Helen's family that I didn't want or need the stupid money her parents kept waving at my face for 25 years as a way to dominate my whole existence. I refused the 50-50 split, refused all things Butler. Alison and I loved each other, we were going to be happy together, start over. Do you know how I knew this? Because Alison filed a divorce immediately and was rid of her husband of 11 years within 3 months.

Unfortunately, Helen was a little too persistent. She kept going on and on about the kids. They were obviously my kids, too. Of course they were going to go through a rough patch, but I'd just re-establish our relationship. They're kids, for god's sake, and not the first kids in NYC whose parents got separated. Not even the millionth. Better to be realistic here. But she insisted that I stay at Brooklyn for a time, and made our friend Max open his doors for me. Well, he had a 3000 square foot penthouse; it'd be strange if he denied his oldest friend a roof.

I kept Alison as far as I could from all this family drama Helen was creating. I didn't want to soil the purity of our love. In the meantime, words were flowing out of me onto the page like waterfalls. Any moment I found myself alone, I was ale to write a whole chapter. I even thought the novel would need to be shortened or split in half.

Right before the divorce, I packed my stuff, including a ring for which I paid a tenth of my advance, and asked Alison to marry me. We were married in November.

It was when Alison finally learned that I left my marriage penniless that things started going downhill, and fast. It was only our first married week.

She went ballistic. Paced the small cabin half the day, stopping to stare at me speechless and continuing with renewed vigor after letting out a rude exclamation. In short, she wasn't impressed by my pride. She was apparently hoping to move to New York with me with my reasonable share of the marriage. She wanted to sell this place. Maybe she wouldn't even need to, because I'd have money.

Well, how could I fucking know that? If she wanted to leave so much, why the hell was she in Montauk; a place even god forgot in the winter? In hindsight, maybe we should have talked more about what we wanted and plan things before we signed that doomed marriage contract.

What's worse, the most disappointing of all, Alison hated that I got partial custody and that every weekend my kids would be with us. She told me that I should have already understood as a given that she can't be next to kids when her baby was dead. That she couldn't even continue her work as a nurse, how could I expect her to take care of my ex-wife's kids?

In time, I involuntarily learned from my eldest daughter, through her relationship with a fully grown man 10 years older who happened to be the redneck's redneck brother, how Alison's previous marriage really was, and how it had ended. You had to be there to see how poisonously my daughter spat her words at me. The vindication at my loss. Honey dripping from my daughter's mouth at that redneck's objectively advantageous and happy new life after he left Alison for the love of his life. It wasn't the other way round; it wasn't Alison who left even though she was the one cheating.

I wasn't able to believe it until I saw the redneck with a petite brunette right outside the supermarket one day. They were standing there, waiting for somebody. In the few minutes I watched them discreetly, kissing and giggling. Their physical contact was constant, like it was necessary. The woman was simply beautiful. She glowed. She actually reminded me of that activist love interest in the movie The Truman Show, who helped save Truman from the confines of his world of illusion. The guy, Cole, also looked more handsome than I remembered; charismatic all of a sudden. What was it? Fewer lines in his face? More upright posture? More flirty behavior? A neck less red? Or just plain old contentment?

They looked like a fucking beautiful couple at the end of a good romantic comedy movie that a WWE viewer would also enjoy.

My shoulders fell and I went back home to Alison, forgetting completely that I drove here to shop, too.