Chapter Thirty-five

“Happy birthday, dear Florence, happy birthday to you,” the waiters finished the traditional song with a flourish and Flo blew out the candles.

“Sorry about the dancin’,” Dan apologized when they departed. “I had no idea they’d be all booked up. But we can just finish up here and go on home.”

Florence simply continued to sip her coffee and eye her birthday slice. She’d requested just one thing for her birthday: to go dancing. But after one swing and a miss, Dan had given up, and instead of out shaking her groove thing, here she was, sitting in front of a slice of carrot cake. She hated carrot cake. Apparently he’d forgotten that about her too. Flo tried to push aside thoughts of the time and effort she’d put into planning his red hot birthday surprise, but the resentment welling up inside her wouldn’t allow it. She hadn’t expected the same level of treatment, but certainly something different from what they’d done to celebrate her birthday every year since the boys had left home—dinner, gifts, home to bed.

“Time for birthday presents,” he said on cue as he pulled a red foil gift bag from under the table. “Happy birthday, Floey.”

Florence looked for a card and, finding none, pulled the first item from the bag—the complete DVD set of season one of her favorite show, On Call. She was pleasantly surprised. Perhaps she was being too hard on her husband. It was a thoughtful gift. “Thank you, honey.”

“Now you can catch up on last season,” Dan said, pleased with himself for getting it right. “There’s more.”

She reached back into the bag and pulled out a large size bottle of Jean Natè, and this time her expression wasn’t so delighted.

“What? You like Jean Natè.”

“No, I simply wore it because you like it. But I changed my scent months ago.”

“Really?” His pleasure deflated.

“Yes, really. I don’t wear this anymore. I wear Chanel Nineteen. And I’ve never liked carrot cake.”

“It’s like I don’t know you anymore.”

“No, you don’t, and I’m not sure you ever did. Why don’t we go?” Flo suggested, decisively ending the celebration.

Dan paid the check and escorted his wife out of the Strip Steak House. With the cool November air kissing her cheeks, she stood in the parking lot, waiting for Dan to unlock the door. The clouds drifted in the sky, revealing a bright yellow full moon. It was absolutely beautiful. She loved when the moon was full. It made her feel as if she really did live on a planet that was floating in space.

“Oh my God, Dan, look. Isn’t it amazin’?”

“It’s the moon, Flo. Ya miss it tonight, it will be back tomorrow. Now let’s get in the car and get home.”

Flo stood looking into the sky and realized that living in the moment alone wasn’t nearly as gratifying or delicious as sharing any moment with someone as interested in life as you were, who loved you and you loved in return. And right now, bathed in the light of her birthday moon, Florence could not say definitively if Dan Jeb Chase was that someone.

It was eleven-thirty when Florence left Dan snoring in the bed and hauled the large wicker basket from upstairs down to the basement. She was in a reflective mood, not surprising, considering her earlier thoughts. She normally did the laundry during daylight hours, but spending the last minutes of her birthday alone, washing clothes, was Flo’s attempt to abate her frustration.

Walking across the laundry room, Flo placed the basket on the folding table with an exasperated sigh. She robotically sorted the clothes, poured the detergent into the water, and began placing Dan’s whites into the suds. Instead of immediately closing the top and moving on to the next task as she would usually do, Florence stood mesmerized by the agitation cycle rotating back and forth, pulling the dry clothes under water, drowning them in a sea of foam.

With no provocation, she slammed the top shut, her stomach churning up her own buried agitations. Something besides disappointing birthday plans was gnawing away at her sense of contentment. Perhaps it was that her fifty-fourth birthday celebration coincided with the end date of the agreement they’d made six months ago to sit down and reevaluate their relationship and future together.

Leaving the rhythmic swish of the machine in the background, Florence trudged back upstairs to make a cup of tea. Sitting at the table, stirring honey into her cup of chamomile, Flo realized that despite Dan’s declarations of domestic happiness, she was no longer sure of her own.

Dan had left her for six months because he was bored and had returned because he’d discovered he was too old to be a bachelor. Apparently in his time away he’d determined that comfort trumped monotony and had come home, happily settling back into his same routine. His meals were cooked, his underwear washed, and his minimal sexual needs met. Sometimes she thought it would have been better if he had left her for another woman. At least that would be proof that Dan still felt alive and energetic.

Florence had her husband back, and now she was the discontented spouse, but her dissatisfaction went so much deeper than simple monotony. When had she ceased being comfortable in her own life? The need to explore the world and her place in it left Florence feeling as if she were about to burst through her skin.

Florence felt out of place everywhere she stood. From the outside looking in, things looked pretty damn perfect, but inside she felt as if she’d been running on automatic pilot, doing what she’d always done for years out of habit, not happiness. Despite their recent troubles, Dan had given her a good life, and lately she’d felt guilty for wanting more, but she was dying a slow death. The suffocation of her passion and zest for love and living was proving fatal to her marriage and her soul.

When Dan had left, Flo had been panicked and afraid. Marriage to Dan had been her way of life for twenty-six years, and the thought of existing without him had unnerved her. In desperation she’d allowed Miriam to pack her off to the Weapons workshop in search of ways to put a spark back into Dan’s eye and make him want to come home and stay married.

But something had happened in San Francisco. Florence had become more interesting to herself. She now wanted more of something different. She wanted joy and wonder and love in her life. Now, months after the WMS workshop, Flo could no longer ignore the growing realization that she had outgrown her husband, her marriage, and her life as it had been.

As Florence refilled her teacup, she decided exactly what she wanted for her birthday. Leaving the cup on the counter, she went to the kitchen desk and turned on the computer. In the time it took to boot up, Florence allowed herself to imagine the taste of freedom dipped in curiosity and rolled in adventure. Once online, a hungry Flo went to the AOL travel page. Ten minutes later she’d performed the most spontaneous act she had in years and booked a seven-day, six-night vacation in Barcelona, Spain, deciding her destination based on Clay Bickford’s enthusiastic recommendation. She would leave the day after Thanksgiving and would fly through New York on her way home to keep her reunion with Pia and Becca.

Forget dinner and dancing in Dallas. Flo wanted to take her celebration outside the confines of Texas. She wanted to take in the Catalan architecture, strut down La Rambla, dance all night, and then take a sunrise dip in the Mediterranean Sea.

But this was so much bigger than simply taking the party abroad. Florence was experiencing an amazing bout of wanderlust. She needed to bust out of this suburban way of life and expand her world beyond this all American cowboy existence. Not just see the world, but be a part of it. And she wanted to do it alone.

Florence had no idea how Dan would react to her desire to spend time by herself in Barcelona. Frankly, she didn’t care. He had taken his sabbatical from their marriage, and now it was her turn. The decision to return or not would be pondered while sipping Spanish red wine and eating spicy tapas and getting better acquainted with the exciting new woman within.