It’s been a minute

“It’s been a minute,” he starts after we’ve sat in silence in this busy cafe for nearly half an hour.

“It’s been two.” I pretend to wince at the coffee I sip from my mug. It’s long past scalding—not even lukewarm—but if that corny line wasn’t clear enough, the coffee solidifies it. I shouldn’t be here.

“How’ve you been?”

Well, I’d like to say I’ve been thriving since the divorce, but the truth is our daughter hates me and blames me for all her problems, I’m about to lose the house, and I haven’t been to work since Tuesday after rage emailing my micromanaging bitch boss, Sarah.

“Fine.”

“Mya says—”

“Mya doesn’t know what she’s talking about.”

“Helen.”

“Rick”

“Look.” He swallows hard, juts his jaw, and makes a chewing motion, though his scone sits untouched on the saucer in front of him. “I know what I did—”

“Just like a man.”

The shift in his demeanor is immediate. I’ve struck a nerve. “What does that mean?” he says, a little more bass in his voice now.

“To assume that you’re the reason. That it revolves around you. No matter what happens to me, good or bad, it’s all because I once loved you.”

“I never said that.”

“You didn’t have to.”

The idle chatter around us invades our atmosphere again. Despite what he might think, I have no desire to sit and stare at him in silence for another thirty minutes. I reach across that table and snatch up the blueberry scone, ignoring his protests as I shove as much as I can into my mouth in one giant bite without gagging. He curls his upper lip in disgust, which amuses me given that the last time I saw him he was balls deep in another woman’s mouth still wearing the tux from our anniversary dinner.

“I know you need money.”

“I told you I’m fine.”

“That’s not what Mya says.”

“Why don’t you let your daughter stay with you since you two are so close.”

“You know we don’t have room with the baby.”

“No. I don’t know that.” Because no one tells me anything, like when the new Mrs. apparently stopped swallowing. Good for her, I guess. God only knows who the hell else his dick’s been in. I’d hate to taste that every night.

“I’m willing to cover the mortgage for you this month. But we agreed, you should have sole custody.”

“I wish Mya could see how great a father you are when she’s not around.”

I can feel his hot breath touch my bottom lip as he sighs heavily, and instantly I want to vomit.

“It’s impossible talking to you.”

I shoulder my purse. “The bank appreciates you finally paying a bill for the house you chose and then willingly left.” Who’da thought he’d downsize in more than just women. I slide the unfinished scone across the table. The saucer screeches to a stop just as the edge grazes his shirt. I stand and turn for the exit. I don’t bother looking back to see if he’s willing to swap saliva with me one last time, pandemic be damned. I don’t care.

I really don’t.