I do remember the wedding vows, the first house, the first baby. I remember waking up at night every two hours, I remember walking with a colicky, screaming newborn when I couldn’t put another foot in front of the other. I remember trying to get infant cereal in my stubborn infant’s mouth. I remember diaper rashes and ointment, teething, first teetering steps, and potty training. I remember the tearful first days of preschool and night terrors and the artwork brought home that I taped to the refrigerator. I remember the wet kisses, the baby hugs, the tantrums in the middle of the grocery store.

I remember loving my husband and children. I remember loving them, and somewhere I must have stopped loving me—because I look at these people on the patio, in the sun, and I don’t feel anything like them anymore. Or if I ever did.

And standing there at Duke’s, I want it all back. The me that doesn’t exist anymore, the me that doesn’t laugh as much or know how to sit back in a chair and just relax.

I want to smile. I want to laugh. I want to stop looking at my watch and worrying about the time. Worrying about losing time. Worrying about not getting enough done and still being overwhelmed.

I have worked so hard my entire life, so why do I feel as if there’s always so much more to do, as if what I’ve done is never good enough?

How does one find peace?

Satisfaction?

Contentment?

How does one stop pushing so hard, because what is on the other side of achievement? What is success if it means nothing? What do I want that I don’t already have?

And I know that answer, it’s the same one that let me walk away from Daniel when the marriage turned sour.

I want more. More happiness. More love. More laughter. More sex. More of everything.

I want to be a lover and a mother. Sexy, not just maternal. I want to be everything I know I am.

Everything I’ve never let myself be.

I’m just about to leave when a group of guys enter Duke’s, and the guys are gorgeous. Mind-blowingly gorgeous. All GQ models or something equally otherworldly and so not part of my Seattle world, where we’re attractive but settled, solid, dependable, and rapidly reaching forty and above.

These guys are nowhere near forty and appear to be from Beautiful Planet, and I wonder if they’re here for a bachelor’s party. You know, maybe one last fling of the young and free before the marriage noose tightens.