Almost Married

Steph took a long drink of water. “He’s in L.A. last I heard. We’ve been separated for most of that time, but neither of us ever bothered to officially call it off.”

Jaz shook her head with a small smile as if she couldn’t quite believe it. Steph mostly tried not to think about her failed marriage in her day-to-day life. She’d moved on, even without the official paperwork.

“Jaz, last night Dave said the L word. And I said it back and meant it.” She met Jaz’s eyes, looking for judgment, but saw only sympathy.

“You have to tell Dave right away,” Jaz said. “Deception is not the way to go. Dave’s a nice guy. There’s not too many of those out there.”

Steph watched Jaz get out the stuff for tea and mentally reviewed her night. She vaguely remembered going back to her apartment. Dave walking with her to the bedroom. Then nothing. She'd woken up in her underwear, the blanket tucked around her. Dave had neatly folded her dress and left it on her dresser. For a moment, she'd thought maybe they'd fooled around, but came to the conclusion that Dave would never take advantage like that. They’d spent six weeks just kissing. He was the real deal. Dave was the reason she desperately wanted this divorce. She was terrified that if she told Dave she was still married, his gentlemanly code of honor might make him leave her on moral grounds. She should be glad he was that kind of man. It meant he'd always choose the high ground. He'd never cheat on her. Yet he might think she was cheating on Griffin. Not that Griff was Mr. Squeaky Clean himself. What with all the groupies and supermodels.

“I'm not a totally horrible person, am I?” Steph asked. “I filed for divorce the first chance I got after I met Dave. Before that it never seemed to matter since things never moved past a couple of dates.” Her throat got tight. “I knew right away Dave was special.”

Jaz turned. “Wait. You already filed for divorce? Then what’s the problem?”

“Griffin hasn't signed the papers. I have no idea why.”

Jaz’s eyebrows scrunched together. “That's weird. Do you think he wants to stay married?”

“If he does, he has a funny way of showing it. He hasn't picked up the phone in years. I mean, I know he travels a lot, but it’s not hard to call or text.” She closed her eyes as her headache took a turn for the worse, a pounding in her head to go along with the ache.

Jaz put a hand on her arm. “Are you okay? You don't look so good.”

“I feel like shit.”

“Lie down on the sofa. I’ll bring the tea when it’s ready.”

Steph gratefully headed for the sofa, flopped down, and threw an arm over her eyes.

A short while later, Jaz returned with a cool washcloth that she placed on Steph’s forehead before handing her the tea. The medicine she’d taken just before she walked the few blocks over finally kicked in. She slowly sat up. “Thanks.”

“Call Griffin after you finish your tea. I’ll be your backup. If he doesn’t listen”—Jaz made a fist—“I’ll let him have it.”

Steph found herself smiling. Jaz didn’t even know Griff, but she was willing to step up for her. Unlike Steph, Jaz didn’t back down from confrontation. Just look at how she went toe-to-toe with Will Levi this summer. Will had stepped in for his dad as the pianist for the Eastman community theater’s production of The Pirates of Penzance. To Jaz’s extreme aggravation, she couldn’t get Will to slow the tempo of the music to accommodate the two left feet of a lot of the men in the cast, and she couldn’t get him to ever stop the music to correct anyone who was out of tune. Will was a bit uptight, a bit of a rule follower, insisting on playing the music exactly as written and refusing to step out of his role as simply the piano player. He was basically the anti-Jaz. And, unfortunately for Will, Jaz’s dance studio shared a wall with his orthodontist office—a surprise to both of them when she moved into the building last month.

“You still fighting with Will?” Steph asked.

Jaz’s eyes flashed. “The man has no clue! He’s all”—she mimicked in a deep, surly tone—“turn down the music, don’t park out front, there’s too much noise at night.” She shook her head and her curls bounced. “I need the music. It’s a dance studio! Parents have to park out front because there’s not enough room in the back for both his patients and my students, which I explained.” She gestured wildly. “And what does he care about noise at night? His office hours end at six!”