Life just gave EMERSON VAUGHN the middle finger. When her husband leaves her for a younger woman, and then her daughter heads off to college, the Facebook perfect life she identified with is gone.
At forty-three years old, Emerson is a divorced jobless empty-nester who needs to reinvent herself and revamp her libido. Her best friend offers her a luxurious post divorce gift, an all expense trip to New York City, with one contingency. Emerson will have to see a Sex Therapist to deal with abandonment and self intimacy issues.
Prominent Sex Therapist, DR. ALEXANDER JAMESON is known for his unorthodox therapy sessions. He incorporates physical experiences into his counseling. Putting aside her conservative views on sex, Emerson embraces everything she finds sexually taboo: tantric massage, voyeurism, and adult toys. Set in eclectic locations in New York City, Emerson realizes her divorce and age arenât an expiration date on her sexuality, but an awakening. With palpable chemistry and sexual tension during their discussions, Dr. Jamesonâs avoidant personality emotionally gravitates towards Emersonâs smart mouth.
As their week comes to an end, Dr. Jamesonâs sessions not only serve as a catalyst for healing Emersonâs broken heart, but his own.
Life just gave EMERSON VAUGHN the middle finger. When her husband leaves her for a younger woman, and then her daughter heads off to college, the Facebook perfect life she identified with is gone.
At forty-three years old, Emerson is a divorced jobless empty-nester who needs to reinvent herself and revamp her libido. Her best friend offers her a luxurious post divorce gift, an all expense trip to New York City, with one contingency. Emerson will have to see a Sex Therapist to deal with abandonment and self intimacy issues.
Prominent Sex Therapist, DR. ALEXANDER JAMESON is known for his unorthodox therapy sessions. He incorporates physical experiences into his counseling. Putting aside her conservative views on sex, Emerson embraces everything she finds sexually taboo: tantric massage, voyeurism, and adult toys. Set in eclectic locations in New York City, Emerson realizes her divorce and age arenât an expiration date on her sexuality, but an awakening. With palpable chemistry and sexual tension during their discussions, Dr. Jamesonâs avoidant personality emotionally gravitates towards Emersonâs smart mouth.
As their week comes to an end, Dr. Jamesonâs sessions not only serve as a catalyst for healing Emersonâs broken heart, but his own.
My divorce will be finalized today. I cringe thinking about all the times I ignored my Spidey-sense. My imagination is replaying random instances from my marriage like film clips. I stop myself from recounting every little red flag, like cruel, looping mental memes.
The sun blazes through the uncovered cracks of my window, burning through my eyelids. The sun is bold, sparkling on every object in my room. It illuminates the quiet, dark areas awake, including myself.
The aesthetics outside do not emulate my internal feelings. After forcing myself to leave the comfort of my bed, I enter my bathroom. It was time to assess the damage to another sleepless night. My gaze fixates down to my circular vanity mirror. The unforgiving vibrant light flicks on as it senses me. It has no mercy on my reflection. I mumble, âWhen did I get old?â I look like someone who just had their mugshot taken after an all-night bender.
My green eyes are bleary from fatigue and stress. The area around my eyes retains hefty, emotional baggage. I examine the lines mapping my face. Each flaw signifies gained wisdom. Am I aging like an expensive bottle of scotch? Or an over ripened avocado? When your husband runs off with a younger woman, you analyze imperfections.
I gather my hair up into a bun, then examine my body in the long bathroom mirror. I hold my breath, sucking in my stomach. This is what my thirty-year-old body resembled. I exhale. My stomach returned to its normal girth. This is my forty-three-year-old body. Evaluating my physical mileage, I wonder if I wasted all my pretty years. Leaning in closer to my reflection, I can see a few strands of gray hair. With my natural espresso-colored hair spiraling around my oval face, I see a ghost of a once-vibrant woman.
My self-deprecation ends with the ringing of my cell phone. Startled, I answer quickly to hear, âMom...are you okay?â The voice of my eighteen-year-old daughter, Harley, is full of concern.
When you have a child, all your best features are infused into one person. They appear to be your âmini meâ but with their own personality. She has an emotional fire that I wish I never lost.
âI didnât overdose on antidepressants...but I sure as hell look like I did.â I clear my throat to sound more upbeat and positive. âYes, I am alive. Itâs nothing concealer and Xanax canât fix.â I begin stroking my mascara wand onto the roots of my head to cover my gray.
Harleyâs voice is soothing. âI just wanted to make sure you were okay.â As a way to make me laugh, she turns into a lively caricature of happiness: âToday is the dayâŠmy parents will be officially divorced.â She pauses, then shouts with glee.
I close my eyes when I hear the word, âdivorced.â I spent half my life being identified with this man. He was a huge part of my existence. He left so unapologetically. I was disposable after all. I felt like an epic failure with no way of understanding how it even happened.
âYesâŠtoday should be a celebration. Christmas is coming twice this year! Happy Divorce Day to me!â
I let out a nervous laugh. How do women celebrate divorce? I didnât date or have gratuitous sex. My desire to be alone had me holed up watching John Hughes movies. Reliving the innocence of teen love, from the â80s, was addictive. These movies helped me realize that I wasnât unlovable in fact, it was the opposite. I was just in love with the wrong person. Repeatedly watching the movie Sixteen Candles made the love story between Samantha and Jake enviable. Love is a series of unfortunate events, layered on top of determination to make it work.
Feeling foolish for thinking of Sixteen Candles, I state the obvious, âI never thought your father and I would get back together, but [DC4] I never thought we would be divorced either. How stupid does that sound?â
Harley is quick to respond. âThatâs not stupid. You were married to a koala.â
Iâm puzzled. âKoala?â
She giggles, âYou know, super cute and cuddly but probably has chlamydia.â
Her silly comment changes my mood with laughter. âDonât forget the sharp claws to stab my heart.â
âDad was actively dating while he was still married, so this isnât hard for him. Your replacement was on hand. Some people are afraid of being alone. Maybe you arenât having a divorce party, but I bet he is.â Harley goes from being sarcastic to sounding hurt. âI canât even remember the last time I saw him. At one time, I had this super dad. Now I have no dad.â
I process her statement. âOne day, you will have to forgive him, because heâs your dad. Forgiveness from me is something that isnât owed to him. It will be a processâŠof the utmost longevity.â
She quickly corrects me. âJust because I have his DNA doesnât mean heâs entitled to my love.â
I look at the clock and panic at the time. âHarley, we will talk more after court. I have to officially make myself single again.â My name will now be known as Miss Emerson Vaughn, and not Mrs. Emerson Vaughn.
After hanging up, I digest our conversation. He probably would celebrate today. And we would still be married if he didnât have someone waiting in the wings. He was probably miserable for years and stayed out of commitment to his daughter. I always thought the adultery was about me, but it wasnât. It was about him. Itâs funny how the person who retains the most pain thinks they brought it on themselves.
******
Time can dismantle what we hold ideal. My body trembles walking into the courthouse. Itâs that roller-coaster-induced nervousness that sparks adrenaline. Your stomach clenches in preparation for the drop-off. You scream to release the sensation of free-falling. My anxiety isnât from the divorce hearing but the fear of seeing my soon-to-be ex-husband, Dylan Vaughn. I cringe knowing he may be lurking around the halls. Dylan now has the ability to make me feel full-blown PMS, just from the sight of him. I consider this his X-Men superpower: cramps.
My divorce attorney, Olivia Henry, waves at me to come over. Olivia is a spunky, young mocha-skinned beauty, with a weave that can rival BeyoncĂ©âs at Coachella. Her pristine, fabulously styled whip-smart confidence quiets my fears. She is pumped about getting âwhat is owed to the wife.â This means my husband is about to get fucked by another woman who charges $500/hour. Divorce becomes a game of who has the biggest dick, and Olivia makes me feel like Ron Jeremy.
Every divorce is unique like a snowflake. It isnât just the variations in design but also how it lands before dissolving. My brain recounts the past year in a split second. Olivia puts her hand on my arm. I instantly snap back to reality. She guides me into the courtroom and explains the procedure. I look around the courtroom as she speaks. She says, âDonât worry. Itâs just us. Dylanâs presence is not required. Only one of you needs to appear in court.â
I say, âWell, that sums up the last two years of my marriage. His presence wasnât required.â
My clenched jaws absorb an internal wildfire, raging, swirling with emotions. Iâm relieved not to see him with his smiling younger girlfriend. But Iâm angry at how he couldnât show up to his own divorce. After twenty years together, there is some expectation to see it to the end.
When the judge enters the courtroom, we stand up. Olivia introduces my petition for divorce. After reviewing the case out loud for ten minutes, the judge directs a question to me. âIs this marriage irrevocably broken and unable to be fixed?â
My reaction to such a preposterous question is to burst into laughter. Olivia and the judge are not amused waiting for my response. I must appear deranged. Pulling myself together, I answer, âYes, this marriage is beyond repair.â
At the crack of the gavel, I become single. I am no longer married. I wasnât a Missus, but now a Miss.
Olivia pats my hand and cheers, âWell, thatâs it. Letâs go downstairs and get a certified copy of your divorce papersâŠand then you can celebrate!â Itâs only 11 a.m., and Iâve heard the words divorce and celebrate twice. I never associated those words together until today.
Before leaving the courthouse parking garage, I sit idle in my car. I look down at the notarized copies of my divorce papers. I can now call myself âcertifiable.â I have a certificate of divorce. Crying would be expected, but thereâs nothing left but emptiness. My situation isnât unique, but I feel alone. I turn on the car, and the song âEverything Is Everythingâ by Lauryn Hill is playing. It is a moment of clarity.
Butterflies tells the tale of self-discovery - a woman on a journey after a failed marriage and the loss of identity. It was an easy read with likeable characters, a different type of romance development and a pinch of spice.
The build-up between Alexander and Emerson was fantastic, I was on the edge of my seat waiting for the moment of when they kissed, and when they eventually did, it was just a teaser for what was to come. Their relationship felt different to what I usually read - its execution unique and fun and I enjoyed the dynamic of a younger man/ older woman couple.
"I don't just want to show you pleasure. I want to give it to you."
Dr Alexander Jameson. I loved him. As the younger person in this coupling, he exudes powerful energy and is confident in his own skin. He is fun, confident and well educated. He was probably the best thing about Butterflies. The thing I really appreciated was how well Alexander's was presented as a British person. Often, the dialect is overdone and but here it was done brilliantly. There are subtle differences in his language to indicate his heritage.
Although there were aspects of Alexander and Emerson that I loved - the dialog between the main characters felt slightly stiff and too much on the formal side, and that slightly hindered my ability to connect fully with the characters. The plot was narrow - I would have liked some subplots or an extra something, but at times it felt as if the plot was on a single track without anything else happening.
That being said, Butterflies is a brilliant debut from L.A Nettles and I appreciated how the author gave me a different type of romance. I look forward to any future books.