— I see, Slava, you’ve completely stopped being afraid of anything, right?! While I’m trying to get through this with a psychoanalyst, you’re here sipping coffee with your grandma?!
— Natasha, if you want the conversation to continue, — my new acquaintance coldly stops the girl, — you’ll sit over there at that little table and wait for me.
— And I’ll sit right here! — the impudent girl pushes the chair back on display, and I can’t help but notice the scarlet manicure and the heavy ring with diamonds on her ring finger.
— Excuse me, — I say, standing up, — I’m already in a hurry. Glad to have met you.
— And I’m not! — the girl squeals, and, jumping up, with all her might strikes me on the head with her bag. — There! Now you’ll know what it’s like to go to restaurants with other women’s husbands!
***
I’m impeccable, but an unneeded divorced woman. I have a country house, flowerbeds I tend to, and work that I bury myself in. My life has split into “before” and “after,” and for half a year now I’ve been stuck between them.
Forty is not a sentence. Even if everything has fallen apart and my husband has left for a young nurse.