John and Judy sat on the couch, side by side. They held hands, their bodies leaned against one another, their body heat warming each other. The movie screen played "Casablanca" for the fourth time that month.
"Just Judy," smiled John, rubbing his finger along her arm, "don't you ever get tired of this movie?"
"Never," she replied, glancing over at him, her eyes smiling from beneath her bangs. "Do you? Do you want to change the channel?"
"No," he said, shaking his head. "Of course not. If Just Judy likes it, then Only John does, too."
Judy giggled. "Only John. I'll call you that from now on."
"Only John and Just Judy. Perfect. Judy, I've been thinking…"
She turned towards him, guessing what he was about to say. She felt herself stiffen.
"We should set a date."
She'd been right. "Really?" she asked, a whole whirlwind of emotion running up inside of her.
"Yes. I think we're ready." He glanced down at her ring. "Unless, of course, you don't want to…" He thought of that Christmas night when they'd stood on the steps, and what had been running through his mind. When he'd pictured her with a white wedding veil pouring down her gorgeous face. He thought of her again, with that wedding dress she'd pointed to last weekend and exclaimed at. He would buy her that dress, if only she asked.
"Okay," she said slowly. "Let's pick a date, then." With that, she slid off of the couch and entered the kitchen. After she picked up the calendar from the table, her heart racing, she returned to the couch. She placed it in between them and flipped through it. "So?" she asked. "When?"
- -
Karen sat at the kitchen table, drumming her fingers on it anxiously. She stared at David's awkward, chunky handwriting that sat on the check. Child support. Divorce. A whole herd of things was being thrown at her, and the whole wad of memories was causing tears. Oh, she hated to cry over him. He who would buy a gold necklace for the nice-looking secretary but not for his own wife. He who was late for child support checks. He who wasn't married but had a child with that nice-looking secretary.
"Karen." Timothy took the chair next to her, placing a hand over her own. She looked at him through a wall of tears and burst into another fit.
Timothy was her latest boyfriend, and her third since the divorce. They all moved in, got comfortable with Daisy and Bernard, and then either ran away or she broke up with them. Timothy was a nice guy, and very caring. Not to mention he had nice hair. Karen figured he'd stay around for a while.
"Hello, Timothy." She sniffled and wiped a tear from her eye, only to sob harder. "I'm sorry."
"Don't be." He scooted her chair more towards her. "Was David late again?"
"Yes." She pushed the envelope towards Timothy. "Could you take it to the bank? I don't want to."
"Of course." Timothy took the envelope and tucked it in his coat pocket, which was hanging off of the kitchen chair. "Do you want me to do that now?"
"No. Stay." She hugged her knees to her chest, cuddling in more towards him. She rarely showed these outbursts of emotions before the divorce, but afterwards was a different story. She'd changed because of it. She could no longer feel worthy of anybody's love. She could no longer feel pretty or funny or anything in between. David had changed her forever.
- -
David laughed at Mia, who was watching their baby roll around the cradle. She seemed so overjoyed at the prospect of the little thing just moving that it made him happy. "Mia!" he cried, coming up next to her and placing a hand on her shoulder. "I swear, that thing's more pleasing than a Barbie for a six-year-old girl."
"Well, yes." She poked it in the cheek once more then turned to David. "But not more pleasing than you."
"Oh, Mia." He shrugged. "Stop that."
"Stop what?" She wrapped her arms around his shoulders, kissing up his neck.
"Stop." He shivered, shaking her off. He pretended to study the kid, but really inside, he was shaking. It was times like this—the most inconvenient times—that he thought of Karen, sad and alone, with her dud boyfriend and sad children.
"God." She looked away, her voice cold. "You've been awful all week, David. What's wrong with you? Is it Karen? Is it because you're upset that you were late with the check again?" Mia rolled her eyes. "That'd be stupid."
"Mia, I've got to go." It was his instict to leave when things got awkward or strange—just as he'd done with Karen. "A… meeting."
"A meeting?" She glared at him. "Just go, David. Come back with a brain."
She would say things like this when she was angry; it always made him feel anxious afterwards, but she'd apologize later. This time, he didn't have room to feel upset. He kept thinking of Karen's voice, wavering over the telephone line.
- -
Collin wandered into the bar, glancing around, blank-eyed. He didn't really care who was there; it was more a habit. He used to do that when he and Harriet would meet up at bars. Three years. Three years of the best love imaginable—for Collin anyways—and it was all over.
"The usual?" asked the bartender, Edwin.
"Yeah," said Collin, sliding onto the plastic-covered stool, sighing deeply. As soon as the Budweiser had been delivered and Edwin was at the other end of the bar, Collin sighed. He let his head fall onto the bottle, leaning his forehead on the very tip of the bottle.
"Are you already wasted?" Edwin asked, glancing apprehensively at Collin. "If so, I'll just—" Edwin began to take the bottle, but Collin sat up and grabbed it, wrapping his fingers around it protectively.
"No, I'm fine. Just... tired."
"All right." Edwin shrugged, going off to take a gorgeous woman's order. The woman was looking over at Collin, examining him from his shoes to the tips of his curly hair.
The woman leaned into Edwin's ear, whispering something, and motioning towards Collin. Collin didn't notice, nursing the bottle as if it was the best thing to happen to him—ever.
The woman winked at him, but he didn't turn over to look at her. Edwin just waddled back to Collin, looking bewildered, and set another beer in front of him.
"From the lady down the bar." Edwin pointed, sliding the beer to him, still staring.
"Oh." Collin traced his finger around the icy glass that held the beer. "That's odd."
"Yeah." Edwin shrugged, and then went off again to take some other customer's order.
The woman was still watching Collin intently and it made him uncomfortable. He glanced back at the girl and noted at how pretty she was. "Me?" He pointed to himself, gaping.
She nodded. "You," she mouthed back. "C'mon." She beckoned him with one of her long, skinny, manicured nails.
"I…" He was about to say I can't, but decided that he couldn't be sad forever. He'd been sad for about four months. It was time to get on his feet again. "Coming." He slipped off of the stool and made his way over to the girl, pushing through herds of people. "Hey." He smiled at her, leaping up to the seat beside her, leaning his head on his hand. He couldn't help but think of Harriet, but tried to push the thought out of the way.
"Hey, cutie." She placed a finger on his cheek. "Aw, you're warm. Is it too hot in here?" She pushed her jacket from her thin, gorgeous figure.
"A bit," he choked, feeling the same emotion of shock that had enveloped him those three years ago at the American bar.
"I guess there's so many people." She shrugged, giving him a large smile. She pushed her beer towards him. The rim was stained with lipstick smudges. "Want some, babe? Wait…" She went over to his old seat, picked up his jacket and beers, then came back over. She placed them both in front of him. "There. Sip! Sip!"
And Collin obliged.