Free There's Cake in My Future by Kim Gruenenfelder Page A

him to give me a night or two to cool off.
    Then Scott came back to Seema’s and tried to cheer me up as I continued writing my list of things I hate about Fred.
    I had written sixty-two things down and left room at the bottom of the last page for more. The list zigzagged from petty to huge: his blaring U2 I guess is minor—his lying and cheating is gigantic.
    And now, sitting in bed alone, I look through my list and add number sixty-three.
    63. Knew if I ever found out that he had an affair, it would break my heart. Did it anyway.
    I begin to cry again. Soon, my crying turns into loud sobbing, and my stomach hurts again from my violent hyperventilating.
    Seema is through my bedroom door in no time flat and pulls me into a hug. “I know…” she says gently. She hands me a box of Kleenex, and I quickly pull out a fistful of tissues.
    After a few more minutes, I stop crying enough to blow my nose and dry my eyes. “I think I might be running out of tears,” I tell her through my stuffed-up nose.
    “Do you want me to get you some water?” Seema asks me. “Or a cocoa or something?”
    “Water,” I say weakly. She stands up. “You want to try and get some food into you too?” Seema asks. “I have tons of leftover cheese and crackers.”
    I shake my head. “If I eat, I’ll throw up.”
    “Booze?” she asks.
    “If I drink, I’ll throw up.”
    “Cigar?” Seema asks.
    I raise one eyebrow. She found my weakness. I might be pathetically clutching at straws for any way to make myself feel better, but I do love cigars. They are decadent, and bad for me, and Fred hates them on my breath.
    Perfect.
    Two minutes later, we’re on Seema’s front porch, sitting in her side-by-side white wicker chairs. As she lights my cigar, I suck in deeply, attempting to enjoy the intoxicating caramelly aroma of a good smoke. I can taste it, but I still feel like crap. I hold the smoke in my lungs, then slowly exhale out.
    “I just didn’t even see this coming,” I say to Seema, as she lights her cigar. “I mean, I knew he had a problem committing, but I just figured it would happen eventually. I figured if I could just stick it out long enough, he’d realize he couldn’t live without me.”
    Seema gives me a sympathetic look. She doesn’t say anything. How could she? What can you say when your best friend gets cheated on?
    I take another puff of my cigar and try to savor this treat that usually brings me such joy. “God, I’m such a fucking idiot,” I say angrily.
    “You’re not an idiot,” Seema assures me, as she sucks on her cigar to get the whole thing lit. “You’re a woman in love. It happens to the best of us.”
    “You’ve never been this stupid,” I point out to her.
    Her cell phone beeps a text. She lifts up the phone so I can see Scott’s text. “Wanna bet?”
    “What’s it say?” I ask, unable to focus through my watery eyes.
    She reads the screen, “Just got home. Is she okay?”
    “Nice someone cares,” I say.
    “A lot of us care,” Seema says while texting something back.
    “What are you writing back?” I ask.
    “Just telling him we’re smoking cigars,” Seema says. She hits send, then tosses the phone onto the white wicker table between us. “So when do you want to move your stuff in?”
    I love that it’s not even a question, it’s a statement. It’s not an offer, it’s a given. I’m family, I’m wounded. And I’m home now.
    Nonetheless, Nic just moved out six months ago. I feel guilty for intruding on Seema’s new life without roommates. “I don’t want to cramp your style,” I tell her. “What happens when you finally begin your torrid affair with Scott? How’s it going to look that first night? I can just see it: the two of you are making out in a frenzied heat on your front porch. Clothes are unbuttoned, but still on. Tongues are flying everywhere. You unlock the door, bursting into the living room ready for a night of passion … and the two of you see me, in my