Photo-Illustration: Marylu Herrera
In this week’s story, a Los Angeles woman gets settled in her postdivorce life: 35, single, Brooklyn
DAY ONE
7:20 a.m. I wake up in my charming new Brooklyn apartment feeling a mix of excitement and anxiety. I’m new here, both to the brownstone and to New York. I’m lucky that a friend of a friend was looking to sublet her place for a year and her rent isn’t that bad. I just got divorced, and my ex is still in our place in Los Angeles, so I needed to get the hell out of dodge.
9 a.m. I try not to start work until 9 a.m. on most days. I’m in my little home office going through what feels like 500 emails. I’m an interior designer with a thriving business and many high-profile clients, some on the West Coast and fortunately enough here in New York to justify my yearlong sabbatical.
12 p.m. Chris texts me two suggestions for drinks tomorrow night. I’ve never heard of either of the places but after a quick Google, I deduce that they’re nice and “adult.” A good sign. He’s a sexy artist I met online, but I can’t tell if he’s a broke dirtbag or not — the bar selections are reassuring. Honestly, I just want to flirt and have sex with someone. I’m in no position to date or fall in love. It’s tricky to navigate that fact because I also want kids and I’m 35. I’m constantly trying to quiet my anxiety over my biological clock, telling myself that everything will be okay.
4:30 p.m. My mom, who is also a designer but now retired and living upstate, calls me from the Amtrak train to let me know it’s running late. She’s coming in for the night to see the new apartment (which, to our disappointment, came furnished — it’s fine, very Ikea). My mom is my best friend, but she’s desperate for more grandchildren (my brother has two kids whom she sees almost every day in their upstate town), and every time I see her, I feel pressure to get pregnant. I hope she’ll take it easy on me tonight.
My divorce was rough but could have been worse. We were only married a year, but he cheated on me. I found out because the girl turned out to be a full-blown sociopath and she DM’d me more than I ever needed to know — texts between them, a picture of him in her bathroom naked. It was a gut punch, of course, but the craziest part was I wasn’t entirely shocked. He was always kind of a party boy, an epic flirt, and a chef. That doesn’t mean I wasn’t destroyed. Mark was the love of my life. We met because I designed his first restaurant in California. It was a crazy, stupid love, and I was essentially addicted to him from day one. And to the sex. Recovering from our breakup has been a process, but we’ve been broken up for a year and change (the divorce paperwork took half a year), and after lots of therapy and a move across the country, I feel healthy again. Just hoping my mom’s baby-pushing won’t upset me tonight.
9 p.m. My mom got in so late that we end up making frozen pizzas and a salad and not leaving my apartment. I can tell she’s relieved to see me happy and back on my feet. I can also sense that she’s deeply worried about me being single at this age, but we leave that as the elephant in the room. She sleeps in my bed and it’s good to have her here.
DAY TWO
8:20 a.m. My mom goes out to get us some Starbucks, and then Mark texts. He’s been calling and texting about trivial things lately — a bill from a landscaper we used two years ago, a design question about the bungalow we lived in (and he owns), a silly inside joke about a silly inside joke. It’s like, as soon as we settled the divorce, we both fell into this state of “can’t live with you, can’t live without you” friendship with a strong sexual undertone. I’m no longer filled with hatred for him. But I think there’s also something codependent about it. The fact that I don’t tell anyone in my life that we still text all the time is a sign that something about it feels unwell.
10:30 a.m. I leave my mom at my apartment to visit a client who is renovating a massive brownstone in Carroll Gardens. I need to take ugly, horribly lit “before” photos so that the nice, shiny makeover posts will really pop. It’s hard to make this place look ugly, to be honest.
2 p.m. Visiting a showroom in Chelsea to look at tiles. Riveting!
4 p.m. My mom calls to say she’s going back upstate because my brother needs her to babysit tonight. He lives down the street from her. I’m constantly thanking him for scratching her grandmotherly itch so I don’t have to.
5 p.m. Chris texts about the timing for tonight. I almost forgot I have a date. I’m knee-deep in fabrics now, at another showroom, so I tell him the later the better. We decide on 8 p.m. and I pick the place that’s closest to me. The very best part about living in New York after L.A. is all the walking, so I’ll always go wherever is walkable.
8 p.m. Chris is actually just as hot IRL as he is in the photos. He’s tall. He smells good. He’s very emo. After we start talking about our relationship history he tells me he needs to be transparent about something: He’s a sex addict and he’s in recovery. He goes to meetings and everything. It’s a lot for me to process, especially since my marriage was destroyed by an affair. I don’t want to punish Chris for telling me the truth, but there’s no part of me that wants to date a sex addict. My guard goes up and I tell him that I wish him well, but I’m too raw to do this. We both commend ourselves for having such an evolved conversation, but I walk away feeling like he shared his truth and I made him feel bad about it. Well, I have to look out for myself right now.
DAY THREE
8:30 a.m. I’m walking to the gynecologist’s office. I got her name from a client who ended up becoming a friend.
9:30 a.m. We talk about freezing my eggs, which I might do. I appreciate that the doctor doesn’t sugarcoat anything. When I tell her that my mom lives less than two hours away and is hyperinvolved in her kids’ lives, she suggests getting a sperm donor and doing it on my own because I have so much family support. I tell her I’m not there yet but maybe. She also suggests I go on birth control, but frankly, the only person I’ve had sex with since leaving Mark was … Mark. And yes, I made him wear a condom because he’s obviously not to be trusted. It was a few days before I moved to New York, and it was a hate-fuck for the ages. Tears, screaming, slapping, and coming.
11 a.m. I run home to do a Zoom with a client who lives in Puerto Rico. We’re going to discuss some pics she sent me. I really love my work and I’m blessed to be booked and busy. When I was in my 20s, I got very lucky that a project I worked on won some awards and got profiled in a big magazine, and since then I’ve been on a roll.
4 p.m. Mark FaceTimes. He wants to see my new apartment. He wants to know if I’m watching anything good on TV. He’s been extremely attentive to me since I moved across the country. He’s apologized for cheating on me numerous times, and we’re past that, but I really don’t know why he’s still so up my ass. I’ve forgiven him. And we can be friends. But it’s a little bit weird and only amplified in the last few days. My guess is someone he was seeing dumped him and he’s feeling needy.
7:30 p.m. I pour a glass of wine and finish up some work emails. I’m working on a design book. I’m trying to hire an assistant. It’s all positive.
9 p.m. I scroll the apps while watching TV. Someone named Geoff seems kind of interesting. We talk for a long time, make a plan to meet over the weekend at one of the Brooklyn bars that’s on a boat, and then he tells me that he actually lives in Melbourne and is there right now. Fuck you, dude. I want those two hours back.
11 p.m. Open my nightstand and take out a vibrator. It occurs to me that there’s a good chance my mom saw my vibes when she kindly tidied my room. Oh well. I know she had one too, only hers was huge, and it needed to be plugged in with a big cord.
DAY FOUR
9 a.m. I go to Pilates twice a week wherever I’m living. I hate every second of it, but I work out client issues in my head the entire time and then it’s over.
10:15 a.m. On the walk home, I call my friend Erica. We’ve been friends since childhood and she helped me find my new apartment. She’s on maternity leave, so I want to check on her and the new baby. I’m not going to lie, it hurts me to hear about my friends and their kids and pregnancies. I’m not proud of it, but that’s where I’m at. I do a good job faking it, and Erica knows not to overdo the mom talk. She says she wants to set me up with her husband’s friend from work. That means he’s a finance guy. I’ve never liked finance guys. I like chefs, writers, and musicians. But I’m open-minded so I tell her to go for it. She tells me his name — Gary something — and I pretend not to care but I remember it and plan to Google him ASAP.
2 p.m. This Gary man is hot as fuck. He’s been on TV talking about financial stuff, so I can actually see what he really looks like and I’m very attracted to him. He’s edgy-ish for a finance guy. I text Erica a reminder text to set us up.
6 p.m. I don’t want to sound psycho, but no response from Erica yet and I’m suddenly feeling so horny for Gary, and maybe a little lonely too.
9 p.m. Mark texts and says he’s coming to NYC next week for some chef event. Oy. I don’t know how to respond, so I don’t write back.
11 p.m. Go to bed feeling sad that the Gary thing might not happen and the Mark thing is getting fucked up. Nevertheless, I masturbate and I imagine Gary eating me out in some hideous finance-bro fuckpad.
DAY FIVE
9:30 a.m. I look to see if Erica has so much as liked my text. I found Gary on Instagram, so I could just DM him? The truth is, I just want to have sex with him, or with anyone?! This shouldn’t be so hard.
11:35 a.m. Pivot into work mode. I have a few new business proposals to get out, and I’m chasing a contractor I work with who’s ghosted one of my top clients.
4:45 p.m. I’ve been at my desk all day, and I’m starving. I order a burrito from a place I’ve never heard of. I hate not knowing where the good food is here — it makes me feel like a tourist.
7p.m. I’m seeing an Off Broadway play with a friend, Amy, tonight, so we meet for a drink first. Amy isn’t drinking, so I know what comes next — she’s pregnant! She’s been with her boyfriend for ten years, so it was only a matter of time. Happy for her, but it’s never fun to drink a martini with someone sipping water.
10 p.m. The play was really cool and it was a good NYC night. Erica hasn’t responded about the Gary set-up so I’m gonna have to drop it. I still finger myself imagining how dirty-minded and sex-crazed he probably is.
DAY SIX
9 a.m. It’s Saturday, but I always work on Saturdays. Today I’m having breakfast with a client who wants to go over artwork. She’s hired an art consultant who is joining us. I have to admit, my wealthiest clients have the worst taste in art.
11:50 a.m. Erica texts about a dinner party they’re throwing tomorrow night! She’s going to try to get Gary to come. I love the idea of this. I text her that it sounds great and ask what I should bring. She writes back and says I should just bring my sexy self.
3 p.m. It’s a good excuse to bake something, so I Google some recipes for summery things. I used to love baking with Mark. He was the chef, obviously, but I was more of the entertainer at home. We had a good life for a second before he blew it all up.
7 p.m. While I drink wine and bake a cheesecake with fresh berries, I can’t help but text Mark the photos of the mess (I’m a very messy baker and he always called me out for it). I realize he’s in the middle of dinner prep at work, so I know he won’t respond.
10 p.m. I’m in a weird mood, kind of missing Mark, kind of anxious for tomorrow, kind of lonely, kind of empowered. I try not to overanalyze myself.
DAY SEVEN
9 a.m. Pilates.
11:45 a.m. A client who lives near my brother and mother upstate is freaking out because she hates the color of white paint that she chose. It was a color I advised against, so I have to figure out how to help her without saying “I told you so.”
3 p.m. I happened to have a haircut scheduled for today so it’s great timing. I have long curly hair and I’ll get it blown straight for tonight. I always feel most fuckable when my hair is straight. But I have to go right from the cut to Erica’s. So I bring the cheesecake with me. It’s hot out today so this is a bit of a shitshow, but I make it work thanks to a big cooler and some high-level food-packing skills that I learned from Mark when he’d cater events.
5 p.m. Hair blown, cheesecake in hand, I arrive at Erica’s. I’m the first one there, and she joyfully introduces me to the baby, and I realize that I should have brought a baby present. I feel like a selfish asshole. They’re happy about the cheesecake though!
6 p.m. Random couple friends arrive. No one I’m that interested in talking to. I don’t want to stalk Erica or her husband about Gary, but I’m thinking, Where is he? When they start to serve dinner, I say, “Is everyone here already?” That’s when Erica remembers to tell me that Gary has a new girlfriend and they had something else to do tonight. Why does this break my heart? I don’t even know the guy. I try to act casual about it but feel very sad inside.
9 p.m. I’m home. It was a perfectly decent night, but hardly the night I imagined. Single life is hard … it might only get harder. I have to accept that and figure out my game plan.
10 p.m. Mark texts. He wants to know if he can stay with me when he comes to New York. I tell him it’s not a good idea. But there’s a part of me that knows he’ll wind up here anyway. A woman has needs …
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