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Exactly one month earlier, Megan had applied for a position with Mistletoe, a matchmaking app based out of South Carolina. From what she could tell (and assuming she landed the job) she would be able to work remotely from Michigan and simply travel down for training or conferences. It was a dream for Megan—not necessarily moving away from Michigan—but working with a matchmaking company.
When Megan had revealed her hopes about it to Amelia, she had continued to press her on why she couldn’t seem to tear her eyes off her phone the prior week. Amelia did not act surprised that Megan had an interest in matchmaking, but she claimed she was surprised that Megan kept the application so secretive.
The truth was Megan knew what people would think. There she was an almost-divorcee about to bear the burden of an empty nest. How cliché to struggle to find something to fill her time now. And how pathetic that she’d have to start making a living on her own, without the help of her fumbling techie husband.
Plus, Megan wasn’t the sort who immediately inspired someone to find his or her soulmate. Her dark wardrobe, black nails, and thick eyeliner aligned better with a mortician than a matchmaker. Still, set-ups were Megan’s thing. They always had been. Even Brian had sometimes joined her in pairing off friends and engineering successful courtships. In fact, that’s how she and Brian had met. Through a set-up; a blind date.
Megan couldn’t help but revisit those early days in her mind's eye. Brian waiting awkwardly in front of the Italian restaurant just down the street from her dormitory. Their first kiss just outside her room. He didn’t even ask to come in, and never would. He left so much up to Megan in those college days. She never stopped to think if he ought to have. Maybe their lives would be different. Maybe college would have panned out for her without the pressure of managing their blossoming relationship.
Yes, Megan began college.
No, she did not graduate.
Sometimes, she wondered if that was her own fault or Brian’s or what. Maybe no one’s. Maybe just one of those things in life that was ever and always undone. Much like her divorce was shaping up to be.
Presently, she sat at her in-home office desk. Neither she nor Brian had taken one step toward packing. They stood firmly at an impasse. And their lawyers were the only ones benefiting. Although, even the money-hungry attorneys were tired of the indecision.
A digital clock on the desk reminded Megan that Sarah would be home soon, probably giddy with excitement that summer was so near at hand. Having quit volleyball, the teenager had no plans except to get back to Birch Harbor, which Megan partially appreciated, since she’d like to be anywhere other than in a shared space with Brian Stevenson.
She clicked open a browser and navigated to her email. Having received no phone call or message from the hiring manager at Mistletoe, she was forced to access their online interface to check the status of her application. Over the past four weeks, she’d watched as her application advanced through three out of who-knew-how-many steps of the hiring process.
Week one, her application was marked as received.
Week two, her application was marked as processing.
Week three, her application was marked as in review. Megan didn’t know the difference between processing and in review.
And last week, nothing. No progress whatsoever. She hoped to see something—anything—to assure her that she was good enough to be a social media manager for some small-beans dating app.
Clicking through the confirmation email to their applicant interface, Megan noticed a new note in her application status.
Rejected.
Her jaw nearly hit the desk and her face grew warm. A feverish anxiety crept beneath her blouse and her knee began bobbing in rapid succession.
Rejected.
No. No. No. It had to be an error.
Didn’t they know who she was? She was smart and witty and had a great sense of social media management. She had a teenager for goodness’ sake. A direct connection to the stupid app’s future demographic!
She searched the page for anything else—a link to personal notes or some sort of reply, but nothing. Nothing to explain why she couldn’t join the workforce like every other middle-aged, former-housewife, mid-life crisis-stricken woman. Now, she was worse than a cliché. She was a reject.
Sobs crawled up her throat and tears filled her vision as she pushed the heels of her hands hard into her eye sockets.
“Are you okay?”
The deep voice roused Megan with a start. She looked up, tears staining her cheeks, her mouth wet with spittle. “No,” she sobbed to Brian, who stood helplessly in the door frame. Megan didn’t even know he was home.
She pushed her hands back into her eyes and slumped onto the desk, but his footsteps drew close and—to Megan’s great surprise—he rested a hand on her shoulder. Still, despite the unwanted relief that filled her heart, she didn’t turn and look at him.
“Megan,” he said softly. “Is it the divorce?”
At that she turned, shaking her head weepily. “Actually, no. It’s not that.”
His hand fell from her shoulder and he studied the computer screen. “What’s this?” he asked.
Embarrassed now, she clicked out and rubbed the tears from her eyes. “Nothing. I just... I applied for a job. Didn’t get it. That’s all.”
He raised his eyebrows at her, but she looked away out the window, wondering where Sarah was. She should be home any minute. Megan had better pull herself together and push away the disappointment. She had a daughter to be normal for.
“I’m fine, really. It’s just been a hard few weeks.”
“Actually,” he answered, stepping back and lowering himself into the wooden chair that stood to the side of the desk.
The chair was meant to be a piece of decor, not a piece of furniture, but men didn’t understand those things. In over two decades of marriage, Brian had never learned to stop drying his hands on the decorative towels. He slept on throw pillows. He often dragged a perfectly poised flannel blanket off the arm of the rocking chair and over his lap during their nightly viewings of JEOPARDY! even when there was a stack of cuddling blankets in the basket by the TV.
For a very long time, Megan found his willful ignorance somehow endearing. Like so many things, though, the habit lost its charm and turned into a pet peeve for her.
She rubbed her eyes hard, like a child, and propped an elbow on the desk, staring impatiently at him, waiting for him to lean into some lecture on how they needed to get the paperwork done.
He cleared his throat. “I’m sorry about everything, Megan.” His voice had dropped lower, and his gaze was on his lap where he picked at a hangnail.
“What are you talking about?” Her disappointment over the job still clung to her heart, but his apology softened the tension in her shoulders.
He shrugged and squeezed his eyes shut. “I should have come to the funeral... I should have insisted.”
“Are you talking about Mom’s funeral?” She narrowed her eyes on him, a little bewildered. “I told you I didn’t want you there,” she replied, her voice flat and lifeless. It was the truth. Nora didn’t need her daughter’s marital drama in death, too.
“I should have gone. It’s... Megan, it’s killing me that I didn’t.”
Megan looked up, now entirely baffled by this sudden show of sympathy. “Why is it killing you? We’re getting a divorce, Brian. It doesn’t matter if you show up to my family commitments. In fact, you shouldn’t anymore, if that’s not obvious. That’s what a divorce means. That we aren’t family anymore. You know?” As the words sliced out of her mouth, a bitter taste developed on her tongue. She didn’t believe a thing she was saying. She frowned and shook her head, looking away again. Megan could not face this hypocrite of a man who requested a divorce from her but now decided he wanted a piece of her life still.
His tone changed abruptly. “I’m going to Birch Harbor on Wednesday. I’m visiting your mom’s gravesite. I hope that’s okay with you.” He rose shakily, and Megan’s eyes crawled from his jeans to his shirt to his face.
“You’re what?”
“I can’t live with myself about it anymore. I’m going to say my goodbyes to her. I loved your mom. Despite... despite everything.”
Megan shook her head, wincing at an oncoming headache. “Brian, we’re getting a divorce.” She didn’t know how much clearer she could be.
He had turned to leave but now whipped back around, his hands tucked neatly in his pockets. “Yeah, well. We’re not divorced yet.” She was about to protest further but he pulled a hand out from his jeans and waved it to the door. “You and Sarah can come, too, you know.” And with that, Megan’s husband had the gall to smile at her. A sincere, heart-stopping smile.
***
“I’m coming back to town on Wednesday.” Megan was on the phone with Kate. Sarah had made it home from school and was now freaking out about her parents’ news that she’d be missing the last day. Megan had already tried to reassure her daughter that the Yearbook Signing and Cafeteria Social would not impact her ability to graduate the next year.
“Why Wednesday?” Kate asked.
Megan shook her head as she poured herself an early evening glass of wine. “Brian is going to a conference on Thursday and won’t be home until Sunday.”
“Wait a minute. Back up please.”
Megan winced. Here it came. The Spanish inquisition. Or, rather, the Hannigan Inquisition. She cleared her throat, took a fast swig then launched into an awkward explanation of the fact that Brian was struggling with guilt about missing the funeral and wanted to pay his respects, and Megan thought it would be weird for him to go without her, and, well, they were all going together. Like one big happy family.
“Brian? As in your husband who you keep trying to convince us that you’re divorcing?”
Megan felt her face flush, though it might have been from the wine. “That’s the one,” she replied, leaning back into her recliner as she clicked the television set on. She didn’t want to talk to Kate. She wanted to talk to Amelia, with whom she could share news about her job rejection. Plus, Amelia was always more sympathetic than Kate, who often took the position of critical mother more than empathizing sister.
“That’s great,” Kate said, her voice bright.
Megan frowned. “It is?”
“Of course it is. I was surprised he didn’t come to the funeral to begin with.”
“I told him not to, and he listened for once in our marriage.” Megan bristled under the judgment. Despite their inevitable dissolution, she felt she had to defend the guy. How humiliating. “He wouldn’t have anyway,” she added as an afterthought.
“Yes, he would have. Brian isn’t one to miss family functions.”
“Well, we’re not family anymore,” Megan reasoned, although her voice was growing wobbly.
“Whatever,” Kate shot back.
Megan felt hurt at her sister’s edgy reply and heaved herself back into an upright position. “Well, anyway, we probably won’t stay the night. Just drive down and back. I’m not even sure why I told you, except I might not make it to town this weekend.”
“Why not?” Kate pressed.
Megan let out an exaggerated sigh. “If I have to drive down tomorrow, then I probably won’t feel like driving down again in two days.”
“Megan, we have a lot to do here.”
Kate’s voice was full of guilt, something Megan was particularly experienced with. Even so, Megan had bluffed. She would return for the weekend. After all, she had nothing better to do, especially now that she had no job offer. A distraction would be useful. “All right,” she replied at length, setting her wine glass down and flipping blindly through channels.
“So, you’re coming this weekend, too?”
“Yeah,” Megan answered. An idea surged in her head, but the logistics would be tricky. “Maybe I’ll even leave Sarah there for the rest of the week, actually. She’d love to help, and she’ll be done with school since Wednesday would have been her last day of the semester.”
“Sounds great to me.” Kate’s voice lifted at the offer of help, and Megan couldn’t help but wonder if her oldest sister was on the verge of turning into Nora.
“Maybe we can meet for a late lunch after we go to the cemetery. How does Fiorillo’s sound? One o’clock?”
Kate hesitated a moment before replying, “I already have lunch plans tomorrow, actually...”
Megan’s interest caught on a particularly mind-numbing reality show. “Plans? What, with Amelia or something?”
“No,” Kate answered. “With, um, Matt. Matt Fiorillo.”
A cackle slipped out of Megan’s mouth; she couldn’t contain it. She apologized quickly then slapped a hand on her thigh. “You know what, Kate? Why don’t we just make it a double date then?”