Better Off Without Him by Dee Ernst

don’t care who the hostess is. I planned her party to be here.”
    Anthony shook his head at Patricia. “She doesn’t get it,” he said.
    Patricia sighed heavily. “I know.” She smiled patiently at me. “Mona, you need to tell Brian that the seventy-five people who were going to be spread over your spacious and elegant back yard will now have to be crammed into Dominique’s condominium. And that the caterer you have engaged doesn’t travel, so she, that is, Dominique, will have to arrange for another person to take care of the food. And the drinks. And the rented tables and chairs. Not to mention that someone will have to call all the guests and inform them of the change of address. And why.”
    “Oh.” I smiled. “I’m starting to feel better now. Anthony, why don’t you just fax the guest list to Brian this morning?”
    He licked crumbs off his fingers. “With pleasure. I’m very sorry, Mona. This is terrible. But you don’t seem, uh, too upset. Aren’t you angry and hurt and tortured?”
    “I am angry.” I was. Maybe I’d be hurt and tortured later, but that morning I was still just really pissed off.
    Patricia sat down next to me and had taken the half-eaten crumb cake from my hands and put it on the trunk. “I hope this isn’t too presumptuous, but I’ve made an appointment for you with David West. He’s an attorney. One week from today.”
    “Already? I’m seeing a lawyer already?”
    “The sooner the better,” she said calmly.
    Anthony was looking at Patricia with frank admiration. “How,” he asked, “did you get her an appointment with the best divorce lawyer in the state?”
    Patricia looked smug. “He’s handled three divorces for me in the past twenty-one years. I reminded him that I’m only forty-eight and could very easily manage another three.”
    Patricia doesn’t mind telling people her age because she looks ten years younger than she is, and knows it, so whenever she mentions how old she is, somebody inevitably says, oh, but you look so much younger, and Patricia loves that. I, on the other hand, don’t look forty-five, but I look about forty-three and a half, so I never mention my age. To anyone. Ever.
    I held out my coffee cup and Anthony dutifully reached for it to get me another. “I’m not sure I’m ready to talk to a lawyer.”
    Patricia looked into my eyes. “Tell me.”
    “It’s happening too fast. What if he lives with this woman and decides she’s a bitch and wants to come back?”
    “He’s an asshole,” Patricia said indignantly. “Are you saying you’d take him back? After he cheated on you for months, left you, lied to your children about everything, and after you yourself admitted that he wasn’t much of a husband in the first place?”
    “Well, God, Patricia, when you put it like that, I’d be stupid to take him back.”
    “So, how would you put it?”
    Anthony had sat on my other side and I reached for more caffeine. “I liked being married,” I said at last. “I won’t like being alone.”
    Anthony was shaking his head. “You have three daughters, lots of good friends, a demented aunt who has apparently moved in, and me. When will you ever be alone?”
    “It’s not quite the same, Anthony,” I said patiently. “I like having somebody to, you know, rely on. Pick up the slack. Help me out.”
    “And when,” Patricia asked, “did Brian ever do that?”
    “Okay, so maybe not that.” I was feeling a little frustrated. “What about sex? God, I might have to start dating again. One of the things I liked about being married was that I never had to worry about shaving my legs or explaining about my appendix scar. Who would want to see me naked now? I’m forty-five and I droop.”
    Patricia waved a casual hand. “Darling, there will always somebody out there who’ll want to see you naked, believe me. In fact, after his performance yesterday, I’d bet that Ben would stand in line.”
    “Ben?” Anthony whispered, setting down his