I signed the divorce papers on Sunday. I haven’t seen or spoken with Chris since, and don’t expect to do so. I’m renting a suite of rooms from a friend.
I’m guessing you don’t realize it, but you’ve scored tremendously this week. I’m telling you because I want you to know you mattered. I rarely leave the protection of Tara Taylor Quinn. She’s how I’ve survived. Tara is in hiding a good bit of the time. I guess it sounds schizophrenic, but I’ve come to learn that it’s really quite normal. Especially when you have to be in the public eye.
Over the years, TTQ slowly overtook the majority of my persona. I know she can handle anything. She’s the one who told Chris, after ten years of marriage, that I could only be his friend, nothing more. I moved my things out of our room and into the second master suite twelve years ago.
You think I was deliberately withholding stuff, making you drag it out, and yet I was putting more out there than I ever do.I just don’t want you to think I was being disrespectful to you or demeaning you in any way. Whenever I write to anyone—with the exception of two or three people, my posts are signed TTQ. Always. That’s me. You got Tara right from the start.
She didn’t sign her name.
I didn’t pretend to work while I waited for his response. I dusted the bookshelves. Took a walk in the desert. Drove to the store for more diet cola.
And when Tim’s letter came, I accepted that I was in way over my head and, heart pounding in my chest, sat down to read.
Tara:
Just for the record I’m not trying to score points or keep score, but explain what the meaning of “you’ve scored tremendously.” I don’t scare easily, so be assured of that. You made my day, when you said “you mattered” and by letting me know I had your special signature. I’m sitting at my desk smiling. By the way, I want to give you some emotional homework for this weekend. Go and rent the movie The Notebook and watch it and tell me about it afterward. Talk to you tonight.
Tim
The sun was shining brighter again, like we’d weathered the storm. I wrote right back to him.
Tim,
I own the movie The Notebook. Just saw it again about a month ago. My feeling afterward . . . I screwed up. I’m never going to have that. Followed by, it’s just a movie. And then, damn that was good storytelling. And then, okay . . . I think that’s the most important thing on earth—to share a love that deep. And that made me sad. At which time I turned on Without a Trace. And then Mary Poppins.
Scored tremendously, didn’t mean as in keeping score, but scoring something, as in obtaining something.
It’s good to picture you smiling. You had the greatest smile. I think it’s only fair that since you’ve seen my website—and therefore a recent picture of me—you should send me one of you.
And something else I want you to know is that I’ve only, to this day, dated three guys more than once. One was Chris. One was James. And the third was you.
Tara,
Ok, here is a picture of me at the finish line of a marathon I ran in Oct. Be warned, I’m showing some leg!!!!!!!!!!!!
Tim,
You aren’t smiling. And I can’t see your eyes. But you still sweat as much as you used to! You’re in great shape!
Tara,
I’m not smiling because that is when I hurt my leg. . . . Send me a recent of yourself, but send to my home e-mail.
I don’t want my work monitor to catch on fire!
Tim was flirting with me. And I’d responded. I felt guilty, there was no doubt about that. In twenty-two years of marriage I hadn’t given Chris a single innuendo. I was leading Tim to think I could give him something I wasn’t capable of giving.
And the repartee felt damned good.
&nb
sp; We’d come twenty-seven years into the future, and yet we hadn’t traveled a step. He wanted me. I was bone-deep in love with him. And I wasn’t going to be able to sleep with him.
He’d mentioned fire. Like he knew I was sitting in it. Needing him there. And I knew better than to trust anyone to be there. Except me.
He’d asked me to call him.
I couldn’t.