“Jessica Gabriel?” The lawyer was wearing khakis and a red fleece pullover with a snowflake dangling off the zipper. It was the end of winter, but her office was chilly. I followed her out of the reception area into her office, where there were files piled on the desk and stacks of yellow legal pads with notes scrawled in pencil.
“Jesus, this place is a shit show,” she said, laughing at herself.
She had to move things around to make space to work on her desk, but once she sat down, she made the kind of eye contact where you either trust them or think they’re trying to pull one over on you. I liked her instantly.
“So you’re divorcing,” she said simply. “I’m sorry.”
“Thank you.”
“How many years together?”
“Four—well, three years married.”
“Any kids?”
“No, the children—well, they’re adults now—belong to me. They’re mine.” I felt like we were divvying up communal property. “Their father left to travel, ah, cross country, but he’s still in the picture, sort of.”
I had no idea why I was giving her the story of my life. She nodded as if she understood, or cared, which I’m sure she didn’t.
“And the house?”
“Also mine.” I tried not to fidget.
A cat appeared out of nowhere and rubbed against my leg.
“Now, you know New York is an equal distribution state. Under the law, he is entitled to half the assets, including the house.” She tapped her pencil on her desk.
“Yes, but he’s willing to sign off on it.”
“Good. Other assets?”
“I’ve split the bank account with him,” I said.
What little money we’d saved over the three years amounted to about $5,000 for each of us.
“Debts? Cars?”
“Just the mortgage, and we each have our own car.”
“Well,” she said, leaning down to scoop up yet another cat. “This is an easy one. All we need is a basic agreement and the court to uphold it.”
“My husband—ex—is hoping to leave for North Carolina in two weeks….”
“Good for him! That won’t be an issue,” she said confidently, scratching behind the cat’s ear. “I’ll have the papers drafted and ready for him to sign in ten days.”
I couldn’t believe it could be that easy to dissolve a marriage. Like antacid tablets dropped into a glass of water. Plop plop, fizz fizz.
As I left, two different cats tried to follow me out, but I was too quick for them, closing the door firmly behind me. When I looked back, one of the tabbies was leaning her paws up against the glass as if trying to stop me from going, to take it all back and try to make it right again.
14
Two weeks later, Bryan loaded up his SUV, filled to capacity with boxes and bins and garment bags, his bike rack and off-road bike on the back.
I’d left the house to drive around. Anything to not be there when he left.
“On my way,” he texted. “I’ll let you know when I get there.”
It was March, a late spring. People call it the mud month because all it does is rain right into April. Some years the rain uncovered hidden blooms in the front garden and along the backshed—sprouts of greenery that would bring purple and pink tulips and bright yellow daffodils.
Not the year Bryan left. That year, winter held on tight.
I worried about everything, not the least of which was money.
I’d been earning enough money to cover the mortgage by freelance writing web copy, SEO landing pages, e-blasts and newsletters for local businesses: dry cleaners, auto shops, solar panel companies, florists. I had also been lucky to get referrals for new clients. Those first terrible days after Bry left, I couldn’t even open my computer, much less finish an assignment. My concentration was shot.
It was like having Adam and Bryan both leaving me at the same time. I hadn’t been able to fall under the crushing weight of grief when Adam took off. I’d gotten busy with the kids and taking care of the house and all the small details that kept my mind busy and my feet moving forward. I exhausted myself to the point where I couldn’t even think straight, much less feel the heaviness of what I’d lost.
This time, after Bryan left, I took to my bed.
Madison came every day and sat near my pillow.
“God it’s hot in here,” she said, waving her hand around. “What are you even wearing under all these blankets?”
“Pajamas,” I said, my voice muffled by the heavy blankets pulled over my head, even though I was boiling hot.
“Your Ben & Jerry’s tie-dye, and those ratty high school sweatpants?”
“They’re not from high school, they’re from college.”
“Well, you can’t just lie there.”
“Watch me.”
“I’m sure this is all normal, but you can’t keep this up much longer,” Madison said. “What’s your plan, anyway? You always have a plan.”
“Not this time.”
“Now you’re being dramatic.”
“Look at this,” I said, thrusting my arm out from under the covers. I had red, itchy, inflamed spots running from my wrist up to my elbow, like poison ivy, but I hadn’t been outside for three days.
“It’s probably heat rash from these damn blankets. Are you even drinking water?”
What Madison failed to understand was that I didn’t care if I dehydrated and shriveled up. I didn’t care about living in pajamas or not showering or even the fact that Penny needed a bath, since she’d been huddled under the covers next to me, never leaving my side.
“Honestly, I can’t believe you’re still in bed. So, what’s your plan?”
I felt like a fool. I was lost. I needed Bryan. What had I been thinking?
What I hadn’t known was that being with someone means there’s a person who cares what you’re doing, how you feel, what you need, at least most of the time. There’s a person frequently within reach. You can go check in with them, sit by them,
