6. JACK

That day with Paul had been such a pleasure. I wouldn’t say it was an unexpected pleasure because I had always liked him and found him cool, but now I might have a deeper connection with him.

He was funny and smart. His excitement about going to London was infectious, and I was looking forward to spending time with him and, if he would let me, show him around that amazing city.

Of course, I was trying to escape my divorce, too, and the thought of being with someone so easy and fun was no hardship.

That evening, after work, I went back to my Houston Street apartment and felt quite lonely again – after a day of good company. But now that I was alone again, I was losing my confidence about what was happening with Emma being sad but probably for the best. There, in the shadowed minimalism of that apartment, I was beginning to have my doubts.

I found some solace in the mundane rituals of my life away from home. In the apartment’s bedroom, I sifted through the contents of my wardrobe, some things I left there permanently and some I had brought fresh from Chicago.

The task of selecting which clothes to take with me to London opened before me. I liked to pack light, travel light, but I would be there for quite a while. Maybe I could buy some basics over there, but I needed shirts, ties, my suit, different shoes.

My fingers lingered over the crisp lines of one of my favorite tailored suits, which I had actually had cut and sewn in London at one of the great tailors of Jermyn Street in Mayfair.

With care, I folded it neatly and slipped it inside a suit bag. I wondered if I could take Paul there but guessed he wasn’t really a suit guy. These AI designers and developers were more into the latest Nike or Adidas sneakers. Or not even that…

There was a variety of casual wear I could take, too – for evenings out or the odd bit of weekend we could rescue from all the work for some fun – soft cotton shirts and crisp chinos. Which of these was I going to ferry with me across to the other side of the Atlantic?

As I packed them away into my small suitcase, I realized that maybe I would have to put some things on hold. I texted Paul:

Do you travel light or heavy?

A few seconds passed, and then Paul was typing…

I haven’t been much further than Mexico

I don’t travel much at all

I typed back…

lol

You need to decide so I don’t over-pack or under-pack

He then returned…

lol

He then stayed online for a few seconds before going offline.

I was about to put my phone away when a new email notification popped up. My heart stopped as I recognized the name – my lawyer – and the title.

RE: YOUR DIVORCE

I felt numb. Now, it felt really real. With terrible trepidation, I opened the message, my eyes scanning the words. I knew this was coming. Emma had told me it was coming, and yet now here it was:

Dear Jack,

Please find attached the initial divorce papers from Emma’s attorney for your review.

Yours

Will Haley

Knopf Green Haley (Chicago)

There was a knot in the pit of my stomach, and then I sighed and straightened my spine. Man up, I thought to myself. You’re a man, aren’t you?

I clicked on the attachment. A PDF document unfolded before me, full of bullet points and legal jargon: “fair division of assets,”“the irretrievable breakdown of my marriage,” and “bring the matter to a timely conclusion.”

A timely conclusion? I knew that Emma had not written this; her lawyer had. Even so, it felt so cold, so dead. It felt like she had had this in her back pocket for a long while. The conversation we’d had was only preliminary.

I read through its contents carefully. The legal reasons for our separation were laid out, but not the emotional ones, and it said nothing about our history, our hopes, and how they had gone wrong.

Despite my irritation in the moment, I knew that Emma would be fair. She was a good person. She wouldn’t seek to hang me out to dry. She was her own woman, and I didn’t want to screw her over, either. She would get what she was due. Even so, it was all very hard.

Quickly, I drafted a response to my lawyer, acknowledging receipt of the documents.

Hi Will,

This all looks fine. Can you just fine- tooth it to make sure there is no real risk?

I looked at what I had written. Now I was being the cold one, the one who had read too many legal documents. It was then I heard a question in my own head:

When did I get so unhappy?

And then a second question appeared:

And how do I get happy again?

And as I hit Send, I returned to my email inbox. Only then did I see another earlier email, from Emma. I clicked on it:

RE: Regarding the Sale of Our Home

Hi Jack,

Hope you’re doing well. I’ve been discussing our situation with my lawyer and wanted to talk about the next steps regarding our home in Chicago. Given the circumstances, it seems like selling the property is the most practical decision. He recommends splitting the proceeds 50-50 which seems OK to me. What do you think?

I’ve been in touch with a reputable realtor in our area. He is finalizing a price, but it’s very good. If we’d had some kids, we could have sent them to college with the cash.

That sounded like a crack at me, but it wasn’t. It was Emma’s choice not to have kids, one I had not opposed, either.

I understand this is a significant decision, and I’m open to discussing anything that worries or concerns you. Take your time to think about it. You have been overseas for a while, in London, right?

Best, Emma

“Best?” It used to be “Love.”

I wanted to relax and clear my mind, too. I decided to take a shower.

Going back into the bedroom, I undressed slowly. Naked, I walked into the bathroom and turned the shower on to let it run hot. I stood for a moment in front of the mirror, staring at my own body.

I was in good shape. I still went to the gym. My stomach was flat, and my chest and arms were powerfully built. The hair on my chest and stomach was still dark, like the hair on my head. I guess I would be called a good-looking guy. Look, I knew how people saw me. I was not falsely modest.

And yet, I wondered if and when I might be loved again. I was getting older. I was forty-two. I was not the easiest guy to take on. I might be friendly and a good guy, but you take me on, you take on this business, my working life, all of it. I knew that Emma would have traded the big house in a nice part of the city for something smaller – and the happiness we once had.

Steam filled the small bathroom, clouding the mirror so that I disappeared from view. As I stepped into the double shower, the hot water cascaded over my body. It ran over my skin, soothed my tired muscles, and washed away the sweat and musk of the day. I lathered soap onto my skin, let my hands linger over my chest, traced my nipples, and ran down my abs. Touching myself, these days, it quickly made me horny.

Images of bodies, mouths, and skin flickered through my mind. As I soaped up my body, I felt powerfully erotic, felt a stirring within me, that primal male urge that had been so lost within me.

In moments, I was hard in my own hand. I had not had sex for a year. Man, I was ready for that. I wanted to return to something close to normal, especially now that my divorce felt so real.

Then, an image flashed through my mind – of another body, not Emma’s, a slim body, pale, turning and looking at me. It was not sex; it was the proximity of another person. It was light legs, fair hair, blue eyes, a pert pink mouth opening.

I closed my eyes, and the hot water poured over my body, and then suddenly, very intensely, I ejaculated.

I had not done that with such speed and intensity in a long time. It was good to feel…to feel like a man again.

I had missed it, that feeling of being sexual – as a man.

***

Returning to my bedroom, I toweled myself to dry my body, feet, back, and hair. I walked around the room naked, letting my skin cool and dry completely. I noticed a new message notification glowing on my phone, which I had left on the bed. I picked it up and unlocked the screen. It was a text from Paul.

I just looked at my clothes. I think I can take my things in a Whole Foods paper bag haha

I grinned and typed back…

Haha

Whole Foods – that’s outside our daily budget!

He responded with a thumbs-down emoji. I actually laughed out loud.

***

The day we were going to London, I was going to be at the office from first thing and then head straight to JFK to catch the flight. I told Paul to take the day off and head in late in the afternoon so we could go to the airport together. He seemed grateful.

At Spring Street, colleagues buzzed with excitement about us going, as if they were going themselves. Everyone was full of anecdotes about their past trips to London, as if I hadn’t once lived there myself and I needed their guidance. But their words boosted me with great energy, and I was starting to really look forward to going.

So I engaged in airy, excitable conversations with them, and they listed bars that I was too old to go to and restaurants that sounded great, but you weren’t exactly short of places to eat in London.

Sarah, with the infectious enthusiasm that had got her promotions and a lot of clout in the office, had a mischievous twinkle in her eye.

“Jack, London awaits! Are you ready to paint the town red?” she cried happily.

I chuckled, shaking my head at the idea. “You bet, Sarah. Just hope I can keep up with Paul.”

She turned and looked at him, over at his desk, too far to hear us talking.

“Is he a party animal, though?”

I shrugged.

“Maybe I’ll turn him into one,” I said.

Mike, another guy going places, chimed in from his desk nearby. “Don’t forget to pack an umbrella, Jack,” he quipped.

“Right?” Sarah said. “In New York, you can buy an umbrella on every street corner, but when it rains in London, not a single one is to be found! Do those guys not know what umbrellas are and how much they cost?”

I smiled at them, pointing at my packed bags in my office.

“I could have done with the advice before I forgot to put my umbrella in there.”

As the day wore on, the countdown to departure started ticking more loudly. I hadn’t spoken to Paul that day, with him being at home, but that was fine. We were going to have plenty of time to talk.

I tore through emails that needed responses now and shot off a few to the New York and Chicago offices to ask them to keep me on top of this project or that while I was away.

Martine, who handled my schedule and workload from New York, breezed into my office with her usual efficiency, phone in hand, which meant she had some things for me to go through.

She listed people who expected phone calls, and I told her that some of them were going to be disappointed. She laughed and shook my head.

Then, she formed her mouth into an “oh!”

“I’ve got some updates on the apartment in London,” she said.

I leaned back in my chair. “Updates?”

She looked up at me from her phone with a firm stare. Martine and I got along well; she knew how to handle me.

“More like bad news,” she said.

“All right, lay it on me,” I relented.

She looked back at the phone.

“We’ve hit a bit of a snag. The apartment they’ve allocated for us is a one-bedroom.”

I raised an eyebrow, processing the information.

“One-bedroom? What about the two-bedroom?”

She shrugged.

“They’ve given it to someone else. They’re very apologetic.”

“Do they have nothing else?”

She shook her head.

“Nope.”

“That’s not exactly what I was expecting,” I said. “Can’t we twist their arms?”

“Nope, I tried, but they just don’t have it, and they offered a big discount as an apology,” she said. “It’s got two beds in it, you ain’t sharing. But I can cancel and find a hotel.”

I prefer apartments to hotels, and I knew the area this one was in. I was not a grand kind of guy. I could share a room still.

“Well, I suppose we’ll have to make do,” I said. “A discount is a discount.”

Martine shot me another of her looks.

“Well, okay, but do you think Paul will be okay with sharing a room?”

“Is it a sofa bed in the living room situation?” She nodded. “Okay, then we aren’t exactly head-to-toe in a single bed, then.”

She laughed.

“I’ll scrub that image from my head, Jack, thanks.”

Was I being too much of a guy and assuming that Paul would be okay with it? I decided to text him.

Hey, are you OK with a 1-bed apartment in London? They have messed up the reservation

There is a sofa bed in the living room – you can have the bedroom

He came online almost immediately. There was a pause, and then he started typing.

Sure – I’m OK if you are

Yeah, I’m good

A real boys’ trip now lol

He was online for a moment but did not type at first. Then his response came…

When do we get the beer keg out???

I looked up at Martine.

“All right, let them know we’re good to go with the one-bedroom.”

“Good luck,” she said.

I laughed.

“What do you mean?”

“People fall out sharing a room on vacation.”

“We are not on vacation!” I said.

Martine grunted to herself, amused.

“Even worse!”