A Mighty Pen

I nodded and turned off the phone again. I sighed deeply. The course was set.

* * * * *

My flight was delayed a half-hour, but it didn't matter to me. I checked into a Residence Inn a couple miles from my office. I wasn't hungry, so I just went to bed. Again I went right to sleep, and again I was awake at 3am facing a life far different than I expected even a couple of weeks ago. I finally got up at 6am and went to the workout room. Forty minutes on the elliptical felt like 35 too many, but I got through it and felt better for it. I showered, dressed, called work to let them know I was taking a personal day, and then headed out to my apartment. Gwyn was usually gone by 8:30, so I pulled up around 8:45. Her car was gone, so I pulled into my spot and let myself in.

I grabbed my clothes and toiletries first, packing them into my two suitcases and duffel. I grabbed a couple paintings my mother had done for one of her classes, my laptop, wireless keyboard and mouse, my coin jar from my dresser, and my yoga mat and foam roller. My bike was in the storage, but I didn't have a place for it yet, so it would have to wait with the furniture. I loaded my car, then drove back to the hotel. I was back before noon.

I booted up my laptop and researched divorce. Our assets were comingled, but since we made roughly the same and contributed equally the division would be pretty simple. I hoped Gwyn would agree to mediation. It would save us some money and hopefully some bitterness. I had to focus all my attention on tasks, so I had no spare energy for my feelings. My hurt and my anger were both immense, and I had to keep them under tight wraps or they would destroy everything around me. And probably me too.

Gwyn usually got home between 5:30 and 6:00, and since I wasn't due home until close to 8:00 I didn't expect her before then. I thought about facing her, but, well, that hurt and anger thing. I knew I wouldn't be able to control them if I had the full Gwyn in-person experience.

I'm not sure how I made it to 6:00. I must have just zoned out, sitting at the desk, staring at my laptop. But when I came to awareness and saw it was time, I felt a focus settle on me. My preparation had helped me find a center for the hardest conversation I ever hope to have. I called her number.

"Pete?" She was clearly surprised to hear from me. "Did you get in early?"

"No. I got in yesterday."

"Yesterday? But you said -- "

"I lied. Just like you did."

"What? What do you mean I lied? I didn't lie." She sounded hollow though. She knew that I knew something.

"Please stop lying, Gwyn. I know. I know all about it."

"What do you know about, Pete? You're scaring me. What's going on?" She was not convincing.

"Please have some respect for me, Gwyn. I know."

She started to cry softly. "Know what, honey? I don't know what you're talking about."

"You didn't sleep alone Saturday or Sunday night. I know all about it."

She cried a bit harder. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I'm so, so sorry, Pete. I don't know what happened. We were drinking, and then we played spin the bottle, and then Truth or Dare."

"I don't care, Gwyn." I lied again. I cared. A lot. I had hoped somehow that I was wrong, but she confirmed her infidelity, and it gutted me.

"How? How do you know?"

"How do you think I know?"

"Did Brian say something? It would be just like him. Jeff said he wouldn't tell."

Another knife to my gut. I lost my wife and a good friend. And probably his brother too. The pain was exquisite. I was nearly transported, lifted and flown away on the agony of betrayal. But I focused on the conversation. The words I needed to say.

"It doesn't matter. I'm hoping we can work this through with a mediation. We don't have to make it hard."

"What? What do you mean? Mediation? What are you saying?"

"I can't be married to someone I can't trust with my heart, Gwyn."

"Noooo!" she wailed. "Noooo! You can't mean that! I love you so much. I need you, Pete!"

"Your actions say otherwise."

"No! Please! Please come home. Please. We can talk through it. We can go to counseling. I know you want children. We can start our family. Please, Pete. Please just come home."

"I was there today to get some of my things. We'll need to split up our assets, but it should be pretty straightforward. We'll need to sort out furniture and TVs and stuff like that too. I don't have strong feelings about any of that, so you can have first pick."

Gwyn was sobbing now. "Please. No. Please, Pete. Please. Please come home. I made a terrible mistake. But we can fix it. Please. We can fix it. I love you."

"If it had been just Saturday night, I would have tried to save our marriage. But Sunday night too? No, that was deliberate. And I can't accept that, Gwyn. I won't accept it."

"Pete. Please. Please don't leave me. I love you. I love only you. Please, please, please."

"I'm hanging up now, Gwyn. I'll be in touch."

"Nooooo!"

* * * * *

The divorce was not exactly amicable, but it wasn't exactly contentious either. It was mostly just sad, with some angry punctuation marks.

Gwyn's remorse was matched only by my resolve. She tried to meet with me to explain what had happened, but I refused. I didn't trust myself to be in her presence -- I would either forgive her or hurt her. Or both.

And I thought I already knew what had happened. She was so spontaneous, and the link between physical sex and emotional sex was much weaker for her than for me. Throw in a lot of booze, a few days prior of no sex, some anxiety over a huge life change like parenting, and a smooth talker like Jeff, and a weekend fling to blow off some sexual energy that meant next to nothing for her completely destroyed me. But I didn't want to hear it from her, and I barked at her a couple time when she started to explain.

Gwyn really pushed for counseling, and our mediator thought it was worth exploring. I was adamantly against it, but when my refusal threatened to poison the well, I relented. We had six sessions, four together and one individual session each. I did learn that she and Jeff had been dating when we started to see each other. The day we met her cousin Jenny had brought her along at Jeff's request. She wasn't serious about him, but they went out casually for a couple months while we were dating too. Gwyn denied having any other lovers from the time we met, and she desperately wanted to tell me what happened that Independence Day weekend. I figured she wanted to unburden her conscience, but I really didn't want to have any more pictures in my head, so I flatly refused. She could come clean in her individual session.

As I expected, we made no headway in the counseling sessions. Gwyn was consumed by her guilt and needed some kind of absolution. My trust in her was completely and irrevocably shattered, and I couldn't see a way forward with her as my partner. With counseling behind us, Gwyn could see the divorce looming, and it upset her greatly. Our last session had been alternately tearful and angry, with Gwyn challenging me to at least let her try and fix her mistake. The counselor finally had to step in and defuse the emotion. After we finished with the sessions I got many phone calls where she just broke into sobs asking for me to take her back. I hated hearing how lost she sounded.

In the end, she didn't have a choice though, and when we resolved all of the issues she accepted the divorce with as much grace as she could muster.

Our parents were devastated. I gave no details to Mom and Dad, referring them to Gwyn. I don't know what she told her parents, but she did take the blame with mine. She didn't say what happened, but I think they could read between the lines.

Our friends were less surprised. Brian and Noah had no discretion, and stories about the wild weekend spread fast. Jeff was chagrined at first, but when something is inevitable the best glad-handers get out in front of it, so he started bragging about it. It didn't win him any new fans, but most of his friends knew his failings, so they just chalked it up to Jeff being Jeff. The couples blamed themselves for not being there for Gwyn and me. There was lots of guilt, and no one wanted to take sides. I was the wronged party and the long-time friend. But I was also the loser who got cuckolded by another friend, so all of my interactions with my former friends were painful, awkward, and sad. I started avoiding them. I think Gwyn did too. There was just too much agony.

One friend did make an effort. I came out of the office one night close to ten and there was Mutt. I had no idea how long he'd been waiting, but it was just like Mutt to be there.

"Hey, Pete."

"Mutt."

"How you doing?"

"Pretty shitty."

"Yeah." He paused, looking me in the eye. No pity, no defiance. Just concern. "I'm sorry. Jeff can be an asshole sometimes."

"Yeah."

We stared at each other for a few moments. It wasn't weird. It wasn't corny or sentimental. It was two friends who had shared many years and knew each other very well. I nodded and spoke first.

"Take care, Mutt. Have a great life."

He sagged just a little, but nodded and said resolutely, "Thanks, Pete. You too."

We walked away from each other without shaking hands.

With nothing left to do with my time, I turned to work. That refuge rewarded me with money and experience. But after a couple months of suffering many of the hallmarks of depression I decided to see a therapist. It didn't take long to realize that my lifelong home was now an emotional minefield, filled with constant reminders of my failed marriage. I started looking for work farther afield, and when another boutique firm in White Plains, New York, offered me an associate position, I took it. I moved over the holidays and started on January 2nd.

* * * * *

I was surprised to get a call from Gwyn on what would have been our anniversary. I hadn't heard from her since I moved. Really for a month or so before I moved. So I was curious.

"Gwyn."

"Hi, Pete. How are you?"

"Good enough, I guess. You?"

"I've been better." She sounded bereft.

"I know. What's up?"

"I have your pen."

Ah, the pen. The instrument of our divorce.

"You can have it. I don't need the reminder."

"Jeff's sister found it. Did you put it in the bed?"

"I did."

"Why?"

"I was scared."

"Scared?"

"Scared of what ended up happening. I could see it coming, though I hoped I was wrong. You have no idea how badly I wanted you to send me a text telling me that you'd found my pen."

Gwyn sobbed, but just once. "You asked me to go home with you."

"I did. I was really scared."

"I never planned it. I never thought anything like that could ever happen. We were all friends. It was as safe as could be."

"Yeah. Well, lessons learned."

"I miss you so much, Pete."

"Goodbye, Gwyn."

I miss you too.