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BASTARD HUSBAND: A LOVE STORYPreparing the manuscript file has been a nightmare; designing the cover, less so. I’ve made a lot of mistakes in the process and have run into unexpected obstacles (I posted some details for a few hours on Saturday, which I deleted when I was feeling less bitchy). I was beginning to wonder whether this whole project would even be worth all the aggravation.
Today I put my bastard husband on a plane to the other side of the world. He wasn’t always a bastard. He was perfect and I loved everything about him. Well, almost everything. I may never see him again.
There were no last hugs, not even a half-hearted effort to put a few words together. I could have easily come to a rolling stop at the airport and pushed his ass into the passenger drop-off lane; instead, I parked in the short-term lot and stayed with him throughout the check-in process, hoping, I suppose, to see some flicker of caring on his part. But we plodded through the terminal in silence, and when we reached the security checkpoint where I could go no further, he looked in my direction and said, “See ya.”
As he walked away and found his place in line, I gave him the finger, right there in the crowded airport. I do that a lot in public places, usually while trying to coax him off a barstool and away from a new-found friend with tavern wisdom far more compelling than anything I have to offer. Hell, I gave him the finger two nights ago in the Green Valley Ranch casino when I couldn’t pry him from the poker table before he marched off on his own because “the dealer gypped him.” He is never aware of my gesture, and although it’s not my most mature practice, I do enjoy an adolescent satisfaction in my passive-aggressive retaliation. It’s just that it wouldn’t have killed him to give me a proper good-bye.
I've been thinking of Bastard Husband, my Kiwi ex, a lot lately and I’ve often considered how the book might affect his life. (Though realistically, self-published books rarely garner much attention.) BH has read it and he doesn’t deny a word, even though he’s often portrayed unfavorably. Of course, he's not always cast in a bad light; it really is a love story. Sunday night before I went to sleep, I said out loud, “I need a sign. Please give me a sign before I send those files to the printer.” What I really wanted was his blessing.
Sure enough, Monday morning I got an email from New Zealand. I wrote back and told him the book was ready to go to the printer, and sent him the link to the cover (front and back) so he could check it out.
He responded reiterating a comment he made a few weeks ago here on this blog.
Why didn't you put the arrow going through two hearts? It was my only request.And then,
You know Indiana Jones in the fourth movie said to the chick from the first movie, "I had lots of wives, they all suffered from one problem. They weren't you."With that, the files were off to the printer.