“For ten years,” I say.
“How much money do you make?”
I look into the gallery. It’s bad enough to have to say this to a judge, but there are all these other people in the courtroom. “About thirty-five thousand a year,” I say, but this is not really true. I made thatoneyear.
“You allege in your complaint for divorce that certain differences arose between you which caused your marriage to fall apart, is that true?” the judge asks.
“Yes, Your Honor. We’ve been trying to have a baby for nine years. And I . . . I don’t want that anymore.”
Zoe’s eyes are glittering with tears, but she doesn’t reach for the tissue box beside her.
We got together two months ago—after she was served with divorce papers—to hash out all the details the judge was going to need. Let me tell you, it’s a strange thing to go back to the house you used to rent, to sit at the table where you used to eat dinner every day, and to feel like you’re a total stranger.
Zoe, when she’d opened the door, had looked like hell. But I didn’t think it was right for me to say that to her, so instead, I just shuffled at the threshold until she invited me in.
I think that—at that moment—if she’d asked me to come back home, to reconsider, I would have.
But instead Zoe had said, “Well, let’s get this done,” and that was that.
“Do you own any real estate?” the judge says.
“We rented,” I say.
“Are there any assets that are worth some monetary value?”
“I took my lawn care equipment; Zoe took her instruments.”
“So you’re asking that you be awarded the items in your possession, and that your wife be awarded the items in her possession?”
Isn’t that what I said, but more clearly? “I guess so.”
“Do you have health insurance?” the judge asks.
“We’ve agreed to each be responsible for our own insurance.”
The judge nods. “What about the debts in your name?”
“I can’t pay them yet,” I admit. “But I’ll take care of them when I can.”
“Will your wife be responsible for any debts in her name?”
“Yes,” I say.
“Mr. Baxter, are you in good health?”
“I am.”
“Do you understand what alimony is?” I nod at the judge. “It states here that you’re asking the court to allow you to waive alimony today?”
“You mean, so Zoe doesn’t have to pay me anything? That’s right.”
“Do you understand that it’s a permanent waiver? You can’t go back to this court or any other court and be granted alimony?”
Zoe and I had never had much money, but the thought of having her support me is completely humiliating. “I understand,” I say.
“Are you asking for an absolute divorce today from your wife?”
I know it’s legal lingo, but it makes me stop and think. Absolute. It’s so final. Like a book you’ve loved that you don’t want to end, because you know it has to be returned to the library when you’re done.
