“Stop!” I said before adding in a softer voice, “Please stop. Just for a minute. Or argue without me for a few minutes. Please.”
I pushed my chair back from the conference table and went to the bathroom even though I didn’t really have to go. I made it only halfway up the hall before hearing voices, a clear indication they’d decided to continue arguing without me.
I pulled out my phone to look at the comments and drank in the positive ones:
Great job, Vivian!
You’re so funny, Vivian!
That dress looks so good on you.
Ma’am. You are a MILF!
How brave to even talk about lice.
Where’s Mr. Always? You should totally hook up with him.
Thanks for making my day brighter. I even earned my Stand Up for Myself Badge today.
Saw your interview onRise and Shine Atlanta—you should be on television!
There were hundreds of supportive comments, and I lapped them up, each and every one.
“For God’s sake, get off your damn phone, Vivian. We’re paying these people by the hour.”
Mitch had poked his head out the door, and I looked at him in wonder. There had to be a time I’d looked at him with love. On our wedding day. On the day Dylan was born. That Valentine’s Day he brought me an impossibly large box of Godiva chocolates. The cruise we took to the Bahamas where we did nothing but drink and read and make love ...
When had I stopped looking at him through that lens and instead started seeing him as he was now: scowling, impatient, angry?
How did he see me? Could he not remember the last time he’d looked at me with love? I tried to think of the last time I’d felt his love, really felt it.
I couldn’t.
There had been pecks on the cheek, special dinners, mechanical sex.
To say everything had changed when I found the divorce worksheets wouldn’t be accurate. Somehow, I’d fallen into a false contentment long before that.
“Vivian. Seriously!”
I rolled my eyes and flipped him off as I entered the office. Juvenile? Sure. Did it make me feel better? Marginally.
“Well, it’s looking like we’re going to have to go to court,” Paloma said.
“If your client would just—”
“You’re not budging on anything, Ms. Robbins! For heaven’s sake, we’re not going to compromise if you’re not willing to.”
We’re not going to compromise.
As if these lawyers were really part of our struggle.
Paloma gave me a pained look of sympathy, and I felt awful for such uncharitable thoughts. By “we,” she meant her and me. Sure, I waspayingher to represent me, but I could tell that she cared about me, too.
Did Ashley care about Mitch?
The jury was still out on that one.
“Fine. We can try this one more time in a week,” Ashley said as she slid papers into her satchel, “but that’s it.”
