Friday, 7 January 2011

Here's Rhonda Carver talking about dating - second time around!

Hi Rhonda, great to have you here!

I love your chosen blog topic - never had anyone talk about dating before, fabulous! Take it away...

Dating after Divorce

Divorce is never easy. It’s one of those things that even if you know it is coming, you still aren’t prepared. And for an appropriate amount of time we go into hibernation. In pause mode. But unfortunately, months later, for me, the big bombshell came with dating.

My first mistake—not having some idea in my mind, some unseen list of expectations, or qualities, that I wanted in a man. It’s like going to the grocery store without a list. You’re standing in aisle 5 and staring at the huge selection of items and can’t remember for a darn what you needed or wanted. If I take the time to write a grocery list, I damn sure should have a mental list of what my prospects are. Shouldn’t everyone??

With this said, it’s very likely we will venture away from this list on occasion. If we are shopping and the ooey-gooey, warm cake grabs our attention, we may just make an unexpected purchase. We will enjoy every bit of that delicious cake, knowing in the back of our mind, it is only a temporary, momentary pleasure. And yet, we still indulge.

It is essential that at times we pull out our list and make corrections, or edits, when and if necessary. Feelings change. People change. Needs change.

I keep hearing that dating is a risk, one we must take at some point unless we choose to be alone. I guess the fact is, we either put on our seatbelt and racing tires and be in it to win it, or we get off the fast track and find the safe lane. I bought a brand new set of radials and wearing my helmet. Ready, set, go…


Carly squeezed her hands into fists. “My poor husband. How difficult it is for him to manage his inflated ego and keep his zipper closed.”
“We’re divorced, remember?” His voice reeked of sarcasm.
She groaned in irritation. Her pulse pounded in her ears like the beating of a drum. Her claws were showing.
Chance didn’t blink an eye as he gazed at her across the room. “Honey, I can keep my pants zipped just fine. Problem is, you can’t keep your fingers off my zipper.”
Carly’s palm itched to slap him. “We live in a small town, Chance. How do you think it’s possible we haven’t run into each other more than three times in the last two years?” She cocked her chin. “Let me fill you in. I’ve done everything in my power to keep from bumping into you. Do you realize how difficult it is to plan my schedule weeks in advance so I don’t have to see you? Is that a description of a woman who can’t keep her fingers off your zipper?”
“No, more like a woman who’s afraid she’ll forget what screwed up our marriage in the first place, realize she’s made a huge mistake and get her ass back home.”
“Humph, fat chance that’ll ever happen.” She fumbled with the sheet in irritation and gave her hair a toss over one shoulder.
Damn, he did have a point, although she’d never admit it to him.
“Yeah, right, Carly, because you can’t ever forgive and forget, can you? You think you’re the only one who has lost, don’t you?” His eyes became steely pools of green. His voice turned low and controlled. “I lost Devon, too. He was my son--our son. How long are you going to keep blaming me for his death?”
Carly swallowed the painful lump in her constricted throat. “I don’t blame you.”
“Could have fooled me.”
“We both know why I left.”
“We do?” His bitter laugh split the air with its razor-sharp intensity. “I know you want to hold on to the belief that I am the bad guy who drove you away, but isn’t it time you took half the responsibility for the failure of our marriage?” A trace of compassion softened his expression. He tugged on his shirt and finger-combed his hair.
“It wasn’t my fault you cheated.” Once she said it, she wanted to yank the words back. Too late, just like their relationship.
“You’re a broken record, sweetheart. It’s not worth denying the accusation any longer. Maybe eventually you’ll believe your words and feel justified in leaving. Devon died, Carly. He’s gone and we can’t change the truth. One of us needed to make the decision to let him go and I made it. I held out hope you’d eventually find a sliver of forgiveness in your cold heart. I guess I was wrong.”
The old wound broke open and her lungs emptied of oxygen. She wanted to lash out at him, tell him to go to hell, but the words didn’t come. Instead, she whispered, “I’m going to the bathroom. When I get back I want you gone.”
“Carly, you’ve become an expert at sucking all the joy out of your life and pushing away anyone who reaches out to you. You’re living in a self-made prison, founded on guilt and pain, and there is no key to unlock the cell door.”

Great excerpt and i LOVE your cover, Rhonda!

Waiting for your comments...


  1. I've got my helmet on, too, Rhonda and Rachel! Great post and excerpt!