ME: Last time I ate in a restaurant in Times Square, I got food poisoning. There was so much power in my diarrhea, it propelled me off the toilet seat like a torpedo taking out a submarine.

JAKE: l.m.f.a.o! We can go somewhere else.

ME: I know a place more authentic. Go to the subway on 42nd and take the One train to W 79th. ONE train. I'll meet you.

JAKE: One train. Got it.

Since my meeting had been held on the Upper West Side, I arrived at the intersection of West 79th and Broadway before he did. I waited at the top of the stairs where he would exit the subway. After a few trains' worth of people walked past me, I finally saw him. The fact that he had been able to navigate the subway system with only a little instruction sent sparks over to my dynamite stick. He didn't help matters any by smiling that smile that made me want to tear his clothes off right in the middle of the busy intersection. I waved and watched him walk up the stairs toward me.

If I had been a stranger watching the scene unfold, I would have wondered who that smile was for. I would have waited to see which one was "that girl." I would have wondered if she knew how lucky she was to be loved like that. Sometimes you can see love in a person's eyes and, in that moment, I saw it. It was hard to believe it was looking at me. It might not be there forever, but right now I was "that girl." I was the lucky one.

When he reached the top he hugged me, and it wasn't a friends-only hug either. He wrapped his arms around my lower back and pulled my whole body into his, and I let him. I knew that anyone who was looking at us was probably envious. To the outside, we probably looked like a perfect couple.

I took him to Zabar's for lunch.

"How did the meeting go?" he asked for the second time while we stood in line at the deli.

"I'll tell you about it when we sit down."

It was crowded. The tables inside were already taken so we took our pastrami sandwiches outside and found a bench on the median.

"How'd the meeting go?" he asked for the third time.

I had just taken a huge bite of my sandwich so I pointed at my mouth to let him know I couldn't speak at the moment.

"You're doing this on purpose aren't you?" he asked.

I shook my head innocently and finally answered him when I stopped chewing.

"It went well. He was embarra.s.sed and apologetic and looked like a dog with his tail between his legs."

"Good. So you got what you wanted then." It wasn't a question, but a statement. I knew him better than to think he would be nosy and pry.

"Yeah," I said. Truth was I could've gotten more. My lawyer wanted to push him and bring up the picture, but I was satisfied with their offer and didn't think it was necessary to embarra.s.s him any further. Being a trophy wife was fun while it lasted, but I didn't want to be the girl who lived her whole life off of her ex's money like a bad sitcom-in-syndication. I didn't want to be a cast member on any Ex-Housewives Who Took All His Money reality shows. I wanted to find a way to make my own money and take care of myself. My student loans were paid off during the marriage and now he was taking care of most of my credit card debt. He was also buying me out of the condo, which ended up being worth a little more than we thought.

Considering all that, plus two years of maintenance and health insurance and his offer to pay part of my schooling in the future, I would have been one greedy a.s.s b.i.t.c.h to pull that blackmail card out of my pocket.

"Does this mean it's officially over?" Jake asked.

"No," I explained. "Officially we have to wait for the judge to sign, but unofficially it's done with."

"Good," he said.

I was relieved the meeting was over and even more relieved that he'd offered so much without any issues. There had been no yelling, bitterness, or even a need for my trademark sarcasm. It was amicable. We both acted like adults. Even so, it didn't feel right to be jumping for joy over the end of my marriage. I knew reconciliation between us was impossible. I knew there was nothing I could have done to make things work (except maybe strapping on a you-know-what). And I truly believed I'd be happier and more fulfilled in the future than I'd been in the past. All this considered, though, there was still a part of me that felt like a failure, not just because of my marriage, but because of the time wasted.

When we were done eating we balled up all our garbage and I walked it over to the trash can on the corner. Jake looked at his phone to check the time.

"Are you ready to get our bags and get on the road?" he asked when I sat back down.

No! Never!

When I was a little girl, my parents went out with their friends every Friday night and left Adam and me with a babysitter some teenager who lived down the street. She was nice and all. She let us stay up late to watch the entire TGIF lineup on ABC and never made us eat veggies. But she wasn't my mom and dad, and every time they tried to leave I would fling myself onto one of my parents' legs and wrap my little arms around them and scream and cry and carry on like I was gunning for an Academy Award.

At the thought of leaving NYC, I felt like doing the same thing.

This is my home! Just sitting here in the sunshine watching the yellow cabs and buses go by, listening to the sirens and horns, the smell of my coffee mixed with the scent of hotdogs and sauerkraut coming from the vendor on the corner, the family of tourists on their way to the museum, the speed-walking business cla.s.s trying to grab a quick bite on their lunch breaks, the woman wearing a pin-striped suit with purple Chuck Taylor shoes it was all so New York. With Jake sitting right beside me, it was absolutely perfect.

I sighed and stood up. "Yeah, I guess we have to." I tried to disguise the disappointment in my voice, but I doubted Jake missed it. He never missed anything.

The drive home was never as fun as the drive there. He did most of the driving and I played with the music, just like last time. But the atmosphere wasn't the same.

When you begin a road trip there are so many possibilities and places to explore and get lost in. But when you have to go home and return to your normal not-on-vacation life, you can't expect everyone to be filled with cheer.

Even so, something wasn't quite right about us. Knowing that, though, didn't make me want to talk about it. I did a lot of fake sleeping to avoid conversation.

After a very long eight hours, we finally made it home and dropped our bags in the living room. Jake said he was tired and going straight to bed.

I yawned. "Yeah. Me, too."

"I don't know how you could be tired since you slept practically the whole way home."

"Oh, well, you know," I explained. "It's like when you're super tired and you can't sleep except it's the opposite. I'm so not-tired that I can't stay awake."

He gave me a sad smile and shook his head as though he didn't believe me. "Whatever you say, Roxie. Goodnight."

"Jake," I said as he started to walk away.

He turned back around.

"Umm," I began. Suddenly I felt shy and insecure. "Thanks for coming with me. It was nice to have a friend there."

He nodded slowly, like he was letting my words marinate for a minute. "No problem," he said and then paused before adding, "friend." The word sounded a bit harsh. "Glad I could help."

"Are you mad at me?" I asked. Ugh, I hate it when my insecurities speak without my permission. Jake seemed to have a bit of aggression in his voice, and he probably was mad at me, but I was supposed to be playing the-girl-who-doesn't-care. Blurting that out pretty much gave me away.

He shook his head slowly. "No. I'm not mad at you. I'm confused. You clammed up, and you've been acting weird since yesterday."

I understood what he was saying. He was right. I had been acting weird.

"I thought you were worried about the meeting," he continued, "but you said everything went well. Except you looked sad when you said it, so I don't know what that means."

He was right again. I was sad. I was sad because I knew I had to move out. The reason I had moved in with Jake and Adam was because I didn't have enough money for my own place. That wasn't the case anymore, and it only made sense I would get out of their way. Except I didn't want to go to all the trouble of packing my things and loading a moving truck just to move a mile away. If I packed, I was going home to New York. It was the only thing I could do. It was the only thing that made sense to me. But how could I tell Jake without upsetting him?

I put a hand to my forehead and scrunched up my eyes. My head was killing me. "It's just that a lot of things happened today in that meeting, and now there are things that will change and it's a lot to think about right now."

"What happened?" he asked. "Are you guys getting back together? Is that why you're acting weird?"

"G.o.d, no!" I said quickly. "No. Absolutely not. Never."

"Did he give you the condo? Is that was this is about? Are you moving back to New York?"

I sighed and sat down on the couch. I put my head in my hands because I hated having to tell him I was leaving again.

"No," I said quietly to the carpet. "He didn't give me the condo. I would never be able to afford it."

"But?" His voice was already getting louder. I was glad Adam wasn't home because I had a feeling this was going to be a blow out.

"But he's giving me half of what it's worth. Well, minus what we owe."

"And?"

"And he's paying off most of my credit cards."

"And what does that mean?" he asked, even though I knew he knew what it meant.

I shrugged and looked up at him with tears in my eyes. "I'm sorry, Jake," I whispered. "Being there, it's the only thing that feels right to me. I'm not running away. I'm only going back home."

"So what you're saying is you're moving back to New York?"

"Yeah," I whispered and looked back down again. And I waited. I waited for the explosion of accusations, for the psychoa.n.a.lyzing, for him to tell me how c.r.a.ppy of a person I was to be leaving him AGAIN.

But it didn't happen.

He was quiet for a minute before he walked toward me on the couch. I felt a teardrop dangling from my chin and watched it splat onto the toe of his Adidas shoe. He patted my shoulder.

"If that's the only thing that feels right to you," he said quietly, "then you should go."

He left the room. I heard him walk up the stairs to his bedroom. Then I cried some more.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN.

I was certain that I wanted to move back to the city, but that didn't mean I was going to pack up, take off and hope for the best. I needed a plan this time a good solid plan.

I needed an apartment, of course. I could look on the internet, but I would need someone in New York to help me out, too. A lot of listings on the internet were spam and scams and sometimes the best apartments were the ones with the inconspicuous For Rent signs in the windows.

I needed a job. Hope a.s.sured me that I could have a job at the martini bar, but I was going to look around a little on my own as well.

Most importantly, I needed to become self-sufficient. I could use Caleb's money to get by for a little while, but I needed to figure out a way to take care of myself before all of that money ran out. That was the tricky part because I was still unsure how to do that. Did I still want to pursue my MSW? Working with Violet had me doubting my abilities to change the world. I didn't feel I was in a position to mentor teenagers when I was such a mess myself. I was starting to wonder if social work was the wrong type of work for me. If that was true, what was the right type? Jake had joked about me starting up a catering business or party planning company. That sounded like something I'd enjoy doing a lot more than social work, but that kind of stuff only happened on TV. I'm not Bree Van de Kamp. I can't flitter about Wisteria Lane with a basket of m.u.f.fins and all of a sudden be running my own empire. But even Rachael and Martha had to start somewhere. Maybe culinary school? Or public relations?

Whatever it was, I needed to stop s.c.r.e.w.i.n.g around. Now! No more wine or whining. No more roommate s.e.x. No more TV series on Netflix. No more lounging around by the pool. Mission: Back in the New York Groove had begun!

Step One: Find a liaison in NYC. I called Hope and told her I was coming back. She agreed to be my apartment scout.

Step Two: Pack. Most of my things were still in boxes in the bas.e.m.e.nt so all I really needed to pack were clothes, shoes, other accessories and beauty products, which I had in abundance. I set some things aside to take to the women's shelter, too.

Feeling inspired, I went down to the bas.e.m.e.nt to see what all I had down there. When the moving truck had arrived earlier in the summer, Jake and I threw everything down there, and I had never bothered to open any of the boxes to see what was in them. If I hadn't needed any of it in two months, I probably didn't need it at all. I might be able to donate more to the shelters than just shampoo and lotion. The less c.r.a.p I had to haul back with me, the better!

I've never believed much in destiny. I always felt my life, and the way it turned out, was up to me. But of all the boxes down there, I do believe I was meant to open one. Lying right near the top of the only box I opened was a clock my mom had given to me when I graduated from UNC. It was engraved, "Your future is an unwritten script. Make it award-worthy. Love, Mom."

I kneeled down on the floor with the clock in my hands and let her words marinate for a minute. I thought back to the time in my life when I also believed my future would be award-worthy. During my marriage to Caleb, this clock had sat on my nightstand. Nearly every day I would glance at it and a little wave of disappointment would ripple through my mind. Why had I waited so long to realize my mistake? Why had I let him make the decision to save me? I should have had the courage to save myself! My mom had never said anything to me about it, but looking at the clock, I knew. I knew I hadn't achieved the greatness, or even the happiness, she had hoped for me. I'd let her down. I'd let everyone down.

But the clock was still ticking. I had time to make it right.

I knew what my mom had really been hoping for when she'd had that clock engraved. She didn't care about financial success. She didn't care if I married an important man or had an important job. She only wanted me to be happy.

I took another look into the box, and the next thing I laid my eyes on may have also been placed there by destiny. It was an expensive knife set I'd bought for myself a few years back, when I'd taken some cooking cla.s.ses. The set of high quality cutlery even came with a carrying case.

I had signed up for those cla.s.ses as a way to get out and be social and maybe make some new friends. I had gone once a week for ten weeks. Those cla.s.ses were some of the most fun I'd ever had without alcohol.

Even though my decision-making record was pretty bleak, I was confident the one I made then was the right one for me. It was so right for me that I was surprised I hadn't thought of it sooner.

Step Three: Research. Feeling very accomplished, I took my tablet out to the pool to look for apartments, jobs and culinary schools. I figured lounging by the pool could be permitted as long as I was doing something productive regarding my mission.

I did a lot more research throughout the next five days. I took back control of my life and ended up with some impressive stats.

Number of apartments looked at by Hope: 2 Number of gigantic decisions made: 1 Number of fantastic meals prepared: 12 (As if I even needed schooling).

Number of boxes donated to the homeless: 6 Number of schools applied to: 1 Number of times I saw Jake: 0 How is it possible to share a house with a person and not see him once in five days? Either he was super busy or super skilled at avoiding roommates. I was pretty sure it was the latter, but either way, his absence was driving me nuts!

When I made the decision to go to culinary school, I'd instantly felt inspired and determined and, for the first time in what seemed like years, I believed in myself. As soon as I clicked the send b.u.t.ton on my online application to the Inst.i.tute of Culinary Education (ICE), I felt like my imaginary audience was applauding. The people in the theater even stopped throwing popcorn at me and nodded in agreement as if to say, "Yeah, that's totally what she should do." I was relieved, happy and even proud of myself ... but without Jake to share it with, I'd only enjoyed it about half as much as I should have.

I tried not to be angry with him. I knew he was allowed to be upset with me. I didn't call him, go out of my way to find him or send him any texts. I let him deal with whatever he had to deal with and hoped when he reared his head around me again, we could skip right over the argument and go back to being friends.

That was why I didn't give him any att.i.tude when he finally came around on the sixth day.

I was in the kitchen cutting up veggies for kabobs when he casually walked in from the living room. He was carrying a bottle of water, and the way he was twisting the cap back and forth in his hands showed me his casualness was just an act he was nervous.

"Hey!" I said cheerfully. "I'm glad you're here."

"Why's that? You need some help?"

"I do," I admitted. "You wanna skewer the meat?"

He shrugged and sat down on the bar stool across from me.

I grabbed two bowls from the fridge; one with steak and one with chicken, both marinating in different sauces. I set them down on the island, and he started threading.

"You've been doing a lot of cooking lately," he observed.

"Yeah," I said cheerfully. "I've decided to go to culinary school."