Year 2000
Brett never thought he’d see Jamie Rodriguez again after graduation. Twenty years had passed since they walked the halls of Lincoln High, and life had a way of scattering people like leaves in the wind.
But there she was, standing in line at the corner store deli on Maple Street, looking almost exactly the same except for the laugh lines around her eyes uuuùand the way she carried herself with more confidence.
“Jamie? Jamie Rodriguez?” Brett called out, his voice cutting through the lunch rush chatter.
She turned, and that smile—that same bright beautiful smile that had caught his attention in chemistry class. “Brett Edmond! Oh my God, what are the odds?”
They talked for two hours over coffee that day, catching up on two decades of life. She’d been married once, divorced, worked as a nurse at General Hospital.
He’d bounced between construction jobs and a failed business venture, never quite settling down. The conversation was like
they’d never been apart.
“You know what’s crazy?” Jamie said, stirring her third cup of coffee. “I had such a crush on you senior year.”
Brett laughed. “You? I was too chicken to even ask you to prom.”
“Well, we’re not seventeen anymore.”
That’s how it started. Coffee dates turned into dinner dates. Dinner dates turned into spending time and weekends together.
Jamie had this way of making decisions for both of them—where they’d eat, what movie they’d see, when they’d take things to the next level. Brett found it appealing at first.
She was decisive, confident, and knew what she wanted.
But months turned into a year, and Jamie’s suggestions became expectations. Her expectations became demands.
“We should get married,” she said one evening in 2001, not really asking.
“Jamie, I don’t know if I’m—”
“Come on, Brett. We’re not getting any younger. I’m forty-two, you’re forty-four.
What are we waiting for?”
He wanted to say no. He wanted to explain that he still thought about Nicole sometimes, wondered what might have been if they hadn’t had that explosive fight about her moving to Atlanta for work. But Jamie had already started planning, talking about having the ceremony at his house, keeping it small and simple.
The wedding happened on a Saturday in September. Brett remembered getting ready that morning, feeling like he was watching someone else’s life unfold. He remembered the ceremony being a blur of faces he barely recognized—mostly Jamie’s friends and family. He remembered feeling disconnected from his own wedding.
What he didn’t remember was agreeing to it. Not really. Jamie swore he’d proposed properly, but Brett’s memory of that night was fuzzy, fragmented. They’d been drinking wine, celebrating something—her promotion at the hospital, maybe?—and the next thing he knew, she was showing off a ring to her sister on FaceTime.
“She must have drugged me,” Brett would tell himself later, though he knew it wasn’t true. It was easier than admitting he’d been too weak to say no, too afraid of hurting her feelings to stand up for what he really wanted.
The marriage lasted exactly eight months and twelve days.
Jamie turned out to be everything Brett had feared and more. She criticized his cooking, rearranged his furniture without asking, invited her friends over without checking with him first. She had opinions about his clothes, his friends, the way he loaded the dishwasher.
“You’re too damn bossy,” he finally exploded one morning after she’d lectured him about using a coaster because he was leaving coffee rings on the counter.
“Bossy? I’m trying to make our home nice, Brett. Someone has to care about these things.”
“Our home? This was my house for fifteen years before you moved in!”
That Thursday after the wedding—just five days into married life—Brett found himself parked outside Nicole’s apartment complex. He’d been driving aimlessly, trying to clear his head, and somehow ended up there. She lived in the same place, the brick complex on Riverside Drive where they’d spent so many nights talking until dawn.
He sat in his car for twenty minutes before finally walking up to her door.
Nicole answered on the second knock, her dark hair shorter than he remembered, wearing scrubs from her job at the veterinary clinic. Her face went through a series of emotions—surprise, confusion, something that might have been hope.
“Brett? What are you doing here?”
“I got married,” he said.
“I heard. Congratulations.” Her voice was carefully neutral.
“Saturday. To Jamie Rodriguez. You remember her from high school?”
Nicole nodded, stepping aside to let him in. Her apartment was exactly as he remembered—neat but books everywhere, her cat Midnight curled up on the couch.
“How’s the married life?” she asked, but her eyes already knew the answer.
“Miserable,” Brett said, and for the first time in months, he felt like he could breathe.
They talked until 2 AM, about everything. About the fight that had torn them apart, about the year they’d spent apart, about the phone calls that had kept them close to each other even when they were trying to move on. About Jamie and the wedding and the growing realization that Brett had made a terrible mistake.
“I should go,” Brett said finally, though he made no move toward the door.
“Yeah,” Nicole agreed, but her hand was on his arm.
“I’m married now.” Brett said.
“I know.” Nicole responded.
“This is complicated.”
“Everything with us was always complicated.” Nicole said.
Brett drove home as the sun was coming up, slipping into bed next to Jamie, who was already awake and dressed for work.
“Where were you?” she asked, not looking at him.
“Couldn’t sleep. Went for a drive.”
“You smell like perfume.”
“Jamie—”
“Don’t.
Whatever this is, Brett, don’t.” She grabbed her purse and headed for the door. “I’m working a double shift today. We’ll talk tonight.”
But they never really talked. They fought, they made accusations, they slept in the same bed like strangers. Brett went back to Nicole’s apartment three more times that week. Each time, he told himself it would be the last. Each time, he found himself unable to stay away.
By Christmas, Jamie had moved out. By New Year’s, the divorce papers were filed.
By Valentine’s Day, Brett was free again, but freedom came with a price. His house felt empty, his bank account was lighter, and he’d learned something about himself that he didn’t particularly like.
He’d learned that he was capable of breaking someone’s heart just by being too cowardly to be honest about his own.
To be continued……..