The Woman Who Took My Place
It didn't matter that I was thinner, fitter — he chose her.
Uladzimir Ogonek | Shutterstock It was a humid, rainy day in June. It was the beginning of everything. My youngest and I had been living in Airbnbs while we awaited our permanent rental. We’d been living out of suitcases for over a month. And even though it was not where we wanted to be, we were ready to get settled. To be in a place we called ours.
That lease was the first thing that was mine after the divorce. Even my car still had my ex-husband’s name on the title. I hadn’t rented in decades. But that little bungalow was in my name with the monthly payment supplied by me. That little bungalow was mine all mine.
Moving day was more than just moving boxes from one place to another. It was a new life. A new me. I began my day at 5:30 am with a walk around my new neighborhood. It was a moment to prepare for what was to come.
No amount of miles could have prepared me for the gut punch of heartbreak I was about to endure.
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The movers showed right on schedule and my youngest and I welcomed them with what little we took of our old life. As they loaded my entire life into our new house I sent an email message to my love.
“I’m cheering for you. I am for you, always. And I’m grateful I will be there to experience you in a way I never have — watching you perform your music with your band to your devoted fans.”
On that night he was to perform a show with his old band, a chance to sing his original music to his loyal fans. After our last breakup in February, we continued to communicate mostly through email. It was a long form of expression that suited me. I was also afraid to find out if he’d taken me off-blocked. I knew the emails would go through. (According to research, people contact their ex-partners for diverse and valid reasons beyond co-parenting arrangements, including financial needs, shared social networks, or joint business investments.)
Within half an hour I received a reply. “Esther will be there as well, and regardless of the ups and downs, we are together right now. I just wanted to give you a heads up without any of the trickle of truths I have indulged in this year.”
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I was crushed again. He was with her — but those two words — right now — gave me hope.
The lack of permanency in them. They stoked faith that there would be room in the future for me. I would still desperately wait for him.
A less pathetic person wouldn’t have gone to the show. But in my support of him, I’d invited my friends. Eight of them supported me by supporting him. I had all those people who had planned an evening around me.
So I would not disappoint. I would go forward with the plan. By this point, I’d gone through another cycle of too much exercise and not enough eating. I looked sick. Unwell. And I was. Unwell. I went through the motions of primping and plumping in the new, unfamiliar place that I would never come to like. It would never be home.
I showered, waxed, and dressed. Most of my clothes didn’t fit right, but I had a cute, denim mini-skirt with a new, fitted, white tank that would show off my biceps. I was hopeful, even desperate, that him seeing me this way would remind him of when we first met. Thin. Fragile.
I got in my car and drove an hour to the restaurant where I would meet my crew. I knew I would be drinking that night. It’d been months since I’d had a drink — my new carnivore diet didn’t allow for it — but for that night my attitude was one of f-ck it. So I went all in with booze.
I managed a burger patty at dinner, along with my two beers. By the time we got to the show, I felt like I was floating. I needed the elixir to numb my sadness. To distort my reality.
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The last time I’d walked into that venue, we had been Us. It was deja vu. Except I felt like I didn’t belong. Because I didn’t.
My friends and I found a corner next to the counter — a perfect place for all our beer — and waited for the show to begin. As my best bud took a break from trying to make me laugh, he went to get me a strong IPA.
It allowed me to take in my surroundings and find her. The one I’d come to see. The one that was his. The one that made me unwelcome here.
I saw him. And then I saw her. He walked to her like she was his. She was not like her pictures on Facebook which only showed her pretty face with beautiful, blue eyes. She was big. Much bigger than I had envisioned. And for a moment I felt relief. At least I was smaller than her, thinner, fitter.
But, as I stood there looking at the pretty, polka-dotted woman, reality sunk in. My size didn’t matter. He picked her. She was the winner. Because she had him.