The Split by Penny Tyler

silent for a moment.  I can tell that Derek is thinking long and hard about something important, weighing the pros and cons in his head.  “Hey, are you hungry?”  He finally asks.
                  I smile.  “Sure, let’s grab something.”

5
     
     
                  The din of the restaurant feels good within my ears, a pleasant hum to momentarily block out all of the anxiety I’ve been swimming in over the last few days.  The place is inviting, a classic kind of late night diner where the waitresses never forget to come back and refill your coffee.
                  Derek sits across from me in his usual confident relaxed state, leaning back against the booth with one arm draped lazily behind him.  He has the incredible ability to fit in anywhere, from a cheap burger joint to a five star restaurant.  I can’t imagine the guy being anything but comfortable in his own skin, the exact thing that I’m not these days.
                  There lies an intensity behind his eyes, however, that’s unmistakable.  Derek is interested in me, and not just as a sexual being (although, that’s certainly in there as well). He’s curious; excited.
                  “Remember the first meeting?”  Derek asks.  “When I asked you about your job?”
                  “Yeah, I do.”  I tell him, taking a sip from my coffee.  I crack a smile.  “Why?  You want to know about my job now?”
                  Derek laughs.  “No.  I just want to know about you.”
                  I can feel a slight tugging within my heart, a tiny chill that runs down my spine.  “What do you want to know?”
                  Derek is silent for a moment, his eyes narrowing a bit as he sizes me up.  He’s trying to determine my tolerance for his prodding, but it doesn’t take him long to make up his mind and dive in; a true risk taker.
                  “Tell me about why you’ve been going to meetings for two years.”  He says.
                  I look down instinctively, my identity exposed and dragged up onto the chopping block.  You’d think after all of this time, all of this sharing, I would finally be about to express myself about what brought me to this sad, lonely place in my life.
                  “I was married once.”  I tell Derek. 
                  He seems slightly confused, but does his best not to show it.
                  “I know,” I laugh.  “We we’re only eighteen years old, high school sweethearts, actually.”
                  “Sounds kinda nice.”  Derek says.  “Settling down that early and not having to worry about all of this bullshit.”
                  I nod.  “I was, at first.  But the thing about getting married to someone that early in life is that you really don’t know them, and people can change a lot.  Even the sweetest men can get dark and bitter, especially when they come from a family of alcoholics.”
                  “Don’t I know it.”  Derek tells me.  “My father was the perfect American man until he had a couple of beers in him.”
                  “There’s two sides to everyone.”  I say, throwing his own line back at him.
                  Derek continues listening, but instinctively pulls out his coin as I speak, and then starts flipping it across his fingers quietly.
                  “Anyway, as we got older, my husband, Chet, started to change.  In our youth his petty jealousy just came off as childish, something that would eventually blow over as he matured and started to figure himself out, but it only got worse as time went on and the liquor kept flowing.”
                  Derek is listening intently, hanging on every word that comes out of my mouth.  There’s something incredibly charming about his