Page 68 of The Frog Prince
“So, Hol, what’s new with you?” Katie asks as we sit down and rearrange our place settings more to our liking.
I nod to the busboy who has come to fill our water glasses. “Not much.”
She laughs, a burst of short, explosive sound. “Not much? Holly. I got your wedding invitation.”
“Mmmhmm.”
“But you’re not wearing your ring anymore. And you’ve made no mention of Jean-Paul—”
“Jean-Marc.”
“Jean-Marc,” she corrects impatiently, “and that means…?”
“It means we’re not together anymore.”
“You’re getting divorced?” Katie asks, eyeing me over her menu, but I can’t say much more, because our waiter has arrived and he’s giving us the specials, and I’m barely listening because I saw disappointment in Katie’s eyes. Disappointment and… what? Disapproval? Sadness? What?
I order pancakes—easy enough to eat with knots in your stomach—and wait for the waiter to leave. “Yeah, we’re getting divorced.”
“You’ve filed.”
“Yes.”
Katie doesn’t say anything for a minute. She just taps her spoon against the wooden table. Finally she drops her spoon and leans back in her chair. “You were the first from our crowd to marry.”
And the first to divorce, I mentally add.
“So what happened?” she asks.
“He… we…” I try, and I stop. I honestly don’t know how to explain, and I feel that wave of confusion and helplessness, the same one I felt in St. Tropez when I lay on the chaise longue in the sun and everyone was drinking and smiling and I felt cold and sick in my gut, knowing that something was wrong but not knowing how to fix it. “He wasn’t in love with me.”
Katie shoots me a you’ve-got-to-be-kidding look. “What?”
“He didn’t want to be married. He told me on our honeymoon.” I swallow. “Told me on the fourth night. Said he didn’t…” I smile. I don’t know why. I guess I figure if I smile, laugh, no one else can laugh at me; no one else can hurt me, because I’ve done it first. “He didn’t feel that way about me. We were better friends than lovers.”
“I don’t understand.” Katie shifts in her chair, arm hanging over the back. “You’re smart, pretty, funny–”
“You’ll change your mind after you marry me.”
“Holly, I’m serious.”
“So am I. But it’s okay. I’m okay with the divorce.”
But Katie doesn’t move; she just stares at me, but her expression is serious, and she looks hard. Fierce. “It’s not okay.”
I bite the tip of my tongue. I’m not going to cry anymore. I’m sick of crying, sick of sad feelings. It’s time to move on. “I can’t blame him, Katie. I should have paid attention…”
“Attention to what?”
“The signs… the signals… I rushed him. Rushed the relationship. I was just so happy to be in love. I couldn’t wait to get married.”
Katie gestures curtly. “Don’t ever say that again. Jean-Marc, Paul, whatever his name is, didn’t have to marry you. He’s a man, has all kinds of degrees from all kinds of prestigious universities, and he bought you a ring, and he showed up at the church, and paid for a honeymoon.Blamehim. He screwed you over!”
“I know, but—”
“No. No buts. No more. Holly, stop being a frickin’ doormat. You’ve always been too nice for your own good. Stop letting people walk all over you. Get off the floor and get a life!”
I start laughing. Coming from anyone else, this would have hurt me, but from Katie—formerly pimply, somewhat stocky Katie Robinson, who looked hideous in the bright blue polyester gym shorts we used to have to wear for PE (her thighs were so white, even I couldn’t look at her when she ran)—it’s a relief.