42. The Good, The Bad, and the Completely Baffling

While it is true that there has been very much since that Disneyland trip which has been very, very good, it is also true that no one is able to piss me off quite so much as my ex-husband.

First of all, the good.

Via that fateful eHarmony venture, I met a brilliant, kind, funny, adorable, and loving man who is everything I could possibly have wanted in a partner. He's the kind of man I wish I had been smart enough to look for 20 years ago.

Our first date was one of those "it must be fate" ways - that's another story, for another time. Suffice it to say, we met, we clicked, we blended our families (eventually). His children and my Little One blend splendidly. He is a model father, and a good, honorable, and noble human being. I consider myself incredibly lucky.

His divorce was at least as painful as mine, but took nearly 6 times longer than mine did to resolve. To say that we meet on common ground is a vast understatement. To say that we, as a result, appreciate each other is yet another such statement.

Now, the bad.

It's not so bad, really. It's just that I'm stuck with this as-was Jay Daniels for, like, ever. D is trying, he is. He finally got a full-time job (his first in many years), he tries and succeeds in many ways to be a better father than he ever was when he and I were together.

And his child support payments arrive on time every month. Little victories.

But I'm often struck by how inescapably connected we are, by our Little One. It's a maddening proposition, to know that the person who has caused you the most pain in your life also helped you create the one person who gives you the most joy in your life. And separating those two people from each other would be in no one's best interest.

Ultimately, the effect of this ongoing, inescapable, frustrating connection is that I have forgone the idea of ever having a child with anyone else - even with the lovely man I am now with. I'm going to call him LM. I can't think of anyone else I would want to have a child with than LM - and yet, the divorce, and D's continued presence, have taught me that while you can start and end a "life partnership" with another person, you can never, ever end a parenting partnership.

Kinda sucks, huh? Because...

...Now we get to the completely baffling part.

Remember Sally, our ever-present bellydancer? Well, during the affair, the fallout, and the divorce, there was one refrain that well-meaning supporters often repeated to me:

"It won't last long. She'll be gone soon."

WRONG.

It's been over three-and-a-half years. And she's still around.

There are benefits; she keeps D from falling completely off the rails. He's drinking again, and I like to imagine that his drinking is tempered by his need for a roof over his head. (Maybe he learned that lesson with her rather than with me.) Sally is also a good mother to her children, and I like to believe that her parenting skills and style rub off on D in positive ways.

In other words, I've tried really, really hard to find the silver lining to this particular dark cloud.

But the best part? The part that is so baffling, it's hard to believe?

She ignores me. Completely, utterly, and with vigor. It's almost as if she hasn't read any of this blog. In fact, if she ever did read it, I wonder how much of it would match with the stories that she's been told.

D says she wants to "avoid conflict." D says she "doesn't like confrontation." D says a lot of things.

Ultimately, I care, because my Little One is amazed when she realizes Sally and I know each other. This is because every time I am at her dad's house, Sally is either in a bedroom, or in a backyard, or - this was the best one, really - seated at a table facing me, and staring off to a point somewhere 90 degrees to my left. With not a word spoken, even though social graces (and the presence of mutual friends, and Little One, and D) would have possibly predicted otherwise, she stared and stared, purposefully saying nothing, making everyone uncomfortable with her persistent non-acknowledgement of the situation around her.

But here I am, assuming that she has any social graces. D says she does. D says a lot of things.

I like to think - and correct me if I'm wrong here - that if the person whose marriage was ended can get over the ending of the marriage, then so too can the people who were responsible for ending it. Hell, it worked out well for me.

I suspect she believes a very different version of these events.

But then I guess I just have to take the bad with the good, swallow the Xanax, and thank my lucky stars every day for Little One and LM.

41. Divorce, Disney-Style

Coming out of The Playground Incident, I was more determined than ever to have the perfect Disneyland vacation. I had already reserved and paid for the key elements: airfare, transportation, hotel, tickets. I had done my research on the area, and knew what times the parks were open and when the fireworks were. I knew where to find a stroller, which rides Little One was tall enough for, and which rides had those fancy Fast Passes.

I also really wanted to prove to myself that I could do this - that I could take Little One on a trip, all by myself, and we could have the time of our lives.

And that, my friends, is exactly what happened. We had what will go down in Disney history as one of the all-time best mother-and-daughter vacations.

First of all, our hotel - the Grand Californian Hotel - somehow got the notion to upgrade us to the concierge level. This meant a bigger room, and free access to their concierge lounge the first night. (This was, honestly, their mistake - I had not paid for, nor requested, the concierge amenities. And to their credit, they actually felt bad enough for their mistake, that they gave us full access the first night. Then they told me that I could keep those amenities, for an extra $150 a day. Given that I was only paying $200 a day for the hotel, I said thanks, but no thanks. But we still got the larger room!)

The first morning we were there, we walked in early during the special hotels-only hour. And who was waiting there for us, with no line? Mickey Mouse. It was barely 8am, and we were getting our picture taken with Mickey Mouse. We were both thrilled. It was like being in one of those Disney commercials.

Then, I whipped out my brand-new camera, only to discover that it didn't come with a strap. (Who the heck sells a camera with a strap holder but no strap? Canon, that's who. Sillies.) I walked down Main Street to the camera store on the corner, and asked the shop keeper if he had one to sell me. "I don't have one to sell," he said, opening a drawer next to the cash register. "But I have one I can give you." I stammered a thank-you, and we were off.

It was moments like this where I felt the lack of a "partner" most keenly. I had no one to turn to and say, "Look at that! Did you see what just happened? We just met Mickey Mouse and then I got a free camera strap and it's barely 8:30 in the morning! This is awesome!" Sure, Little One and I would share these experiences. But that wasn't what I was missing. So - I called my Mom and told her. And that was good, in the moment. I also imagined telling D about this, and rubbing it in. I didn't. But I imagined it, and that was good too. Then I would try and remind myself how lucky I was, and not sharing it with a partner didn't mean that it wasn't real and wonderful anyway. (This is a theme I've come back to often since this trip.)

Each day, we had breakfast with the characters. The best one, by far, was the Princess breakfast at Ariel's Grotto. Little One, decked out in her finest Belle nightgown (she got to choose the dress, so that's what she wore!), gasped in delight as each princess's name was announced. The pictures from that brunch are priceless, each one sweeter than the last. My camera - with its handy, free strap! - captured the joy and bewilderment that Little One shared with everyone around her.

My Little One was fearless. Haunted Mansion? Sure, three times. Thunder Mountain? Yes, please. Two times. Thunder Mountain? Three times, once at night. She was boundless with energy and enthusiasm, which we mirrored back and forth to each other throughout the trip. Mommy was never cross, and Little One was never grumpy. In that, it was the perfect trip, and every little fortune accumulated along the way felt that much more like validation of the path I'd been taking all along.

For five bright, shining, all-too-brief days, I had Little One all to myself, and we were in one of my favorite places. I was finally giving her the experience I'd dreamed of since I was little: taking my own family to Disney. Okay, so it hadn't exactly turned out the way I'd thought it would. But it was still pretty damn terrific. And while this was not my first trip to Disney with Little One, the first one had been pretty damn tragic in its timing, what with the whole bellydancer-coming-over-when-we-were-in-Florida thing that I found out about later. (That kind of tarnished the memories of the trip, as you can probably imagine.)

When I came back from Anaheim, however, it was nearly a year to the day after I'd had The Talk with D. You remember, the one where I'd confronted him about Jay Daniels? Yeah, that talk.

I couldn't think of a more perfect testament to where that talk had brought the three of us: Little One and I, exhausted, bonded, and happy to have gone to Disneyland together. And D, not there. Just - not there. This trip was the biggest game-changer I could have asked for. It marked a corner turned: I was no longer the Penelope I'd been, and I had no idea who the Penelope was I would eventually be. But I kinda liked the Penelope I'd become so far, and that was plenty.

Emboldened by my success, I did something else that would mark a corner: I enrolled in eHarmony, and started to stretch myself outside of my comfort zone - in all directions.

40. The Final Fight?

I heard D's truck coming up the hill, bringing my Little One home, and I felt safe. So when he brought Little One inside, and refused to make eye contact with me, I said, "Okay, Little One, say goodbye to Daddy." "Bye, Daddy," she said from the other side of the room. I turned to D, and smiled politely.

"You can get the fuck out now," I said quietly, smiling an all-too-evil smile. (It felt really good to do it, but even then I knew it was not the kind of behavior I'd be proud of. It also jump-started his defensive reflex, ensuring that we were in for a fight.)

And - if you've been reading this blog for a while now, this will come as no shock! - he actually looked surprised.

"What do you mean?"

"Goodbye," I said, trying to close the door. I closed it, with him still standing right there. Essentially, I closed it in his face. He waited about 10 seconds before starting to knock.

I swung the door open. "What?" I asked.

"What the fuck was that?" he said. We were still trying to speak in hushed tones, hoping that Little One couldn't hear us from her place in the other room.

"What the fuck was THAT? What the fuck was THAT?" I repeated, aghast. "What the hell did you do today? You brought Sally into Little One's life within three hours of our conversation where I TOLD you how upset I was about this, and you didn't tell me ahead of time? What, were you going to tell me about it later? Or maybe you were never going to tell me. You do that best, don't you? Never tell me things until I have to find them out from other people. Or - and this is even advanced for you! - until I drive by the fucking playground and your car is parked right in front of it. THAT's where you chose to have Sally come play with Little One? In the playground that you KNOW I drive past on my way home every single fucking time I get my haircut?"

He was blinking like a deer in headlights. "Get OUT," I said as ferociously as I could muster.

I closed the door again, almost slamming it. 5 seconds, then the knocking began again. I swung the door back open, and didn't say anything, just crossed my arms, watching him.

He sputtered for a moment and I let him. Then he started yelling about custody and lawyers. He was going to fight me for full custody of Little One, he said. "Good luck with that," I replied. He was going to get his dad to help him pay for a lawyer. "Are you going to fucking bury me?" I asked. He balked, and stopped talking. I could tell he remembered the last time he'd used that phrase against me, roughly a year prior to this conversation. "Please," I said horribly, "please give me something I can tell a judge about. Come on, please?" My voice dripped with disdainful sarcasm.

[Sidebar. When I think about this conversation now, the thing I'm struck by is how unafraid of him I was at this point. I no longer had the fear I'd had a year, or even 6 months, before this. And that lack of fear emboldened me, as did the knowledge that D really, truly didn't give a shit anymore about what I thought - not until he got caught doing something he shouldn't. Was I overly controlling? Maybe. But in this moment, all I knew was that I wasn't afraid of him anymore. And that is part of why what happened next, happened. End sidebar.

I was baiting him so badly. I regret it now. But right then? It felt good. Really good. And then I kept talking. "You want a fight?" I said. "I gotta tell you, I'm good for one. In fact, after what you did today? I'm ready for all kinds of fun stuff. All you and Sally do when you're together is lie, cheat, and manipulate. Are you proud of yourself? Is this how you want to be perceived?"

I was speaking rapidly, harshly. I was speaking in tones that I never, ever speak in. I was speaking in ways that my Little One simply could not process, and did not equate with her mother.

So she walked over to us, standing in the doorway, and - physically - put herself between D and I. Ironically, she stood in exactly the same place that I'd stood all those months and months ago, when I'd tried to keep D from driving drunk, right where he had grabbed my shirt and pushed me down, right before the police had come and taken him away.

She didn't look at D. She looked at me. "Mommy," she said, firmly. "Stop yelling! Why are you so angry? Don't be angry."

Aside from feeling like the shittiest parent in the world at that moment, it was also not lost on me that she didn't bother to tell her father the same thing. (Later, I would come to process this as, it was much more of an odd event for me to behave this aggressively than it was for him, and so she focused her need for stability on me. Later, I would feel okay about that. In this moment? Not so much.)

So I looked at her. "You know what, honey?" I replied. "You are absolutely right. I shouldn't be yelling. I'm sorry."

She pointed her sweet little finger at me. "No more fighting," she said to me.

I smiled. "No more fighting." She walked away, back to her toys.

I looked at D, who was now fighting back tears. "I'm so sorry," he said. And then he just let it all out, tears, fears, and all.

Among the things conveyed in this conversation:

- He "missed me every day" and that he would get mad at himself and Sally for how they treated me, and it was starting to affect their relationship. I replied, "I appreciate that." Inside, part of me felt sad. Another part was elated; another? Just pissed.

- He wished now he'd been able to ask for time away from our relationship (a separation) rather than plow our way right to divorce. (You could have asked, D. I wouldn't have given it to you.)

- I told him that he hadn't been a cheater or a liar until Sally came along. He realized that there was a pattern there, and that it undermined my ability to trust him to take care of Little One when Sally was around. He knew it had to stop. (So he said.)

- I will always be the mother of your child, I told him. No matter how long his relationship with Sally or anyone else lasted, he needed to carve out some new, respectful way of treating me in this area because I WILL ALWAYS BE AROUND. Sally or whoever else may not be. (This part, sadly, is true. And while D being in my life for the next couple of decades feels very much like a jail sentence, I am cautiously optimistic that it will continue to feel better than it has.)

- I knew that Sally had two kids, and I proposed that he integrate Sally into Little One's life as "someone's mommy," not as "Daddy's special friend" or some such crap, because Little One had no context for romantic relationships. Mommies and daddies and kids, though, she got. He agreed, but it took a while to get to the point where he'd listen to me about "what's best for Little One and how that may be different from what's best for D." That part was hard for him, because he said he has no other friends besides Sally, and when he has Little One he wants to do fun stuff, but doesn't know where to go, and Sally could help him, etc. You get the idea. (Essentially, he needed his new sugar momma to help him figure out where to take his own kid.)

- I also told him that if he wanted this to work, he and Sally had to stop going around me and start working WITH me. All they'd done is go behind my back to get their way. They had to make me a part of what happened to Little One when she's with him, and he agreed to that too, by providing information on what they'll be doing and whether Sally would be there.

- He told me he nearly crapped his pants when he looked up and saw me standing behind Sally at the playground. (I had figured as much, but he had a good poker face.)

- I asked him how Sally manages when he shows his temper. He said, without irony, "She does it differently than you do. She comes from a history of abuse in her family, and she has a different perspective." (There's so much there, I don't even know where to begin.) What that did tell me, though, was that she hadn't really seen his temper yet. Otherwise his reaction would have been much different. It also told me that there is much yet to play out here. But I would continue trying really hard to disassociate myself from that and just have it be about Little One, not be about wishing them ill.

- Sally had had to move out of her house (her husband was living in it), the divorce was still going really badly, and she'd been living in a one-bedroom apartment and would likely have to file for bankruptcy. (I will admit that this made me feel better. I'm not proud of it, but there it is.)

- I told him I lied to him about having the emails that he'd asked me for. I explained that the reason I had lied was a) I didn't want to argue about it and b) I didn't want to get involved in their divorce the way they'd gotten involved in ours.

- I told him to be careful about integrating Sally too much into his time with Little One, since I had concerns about the long-term health of a relationship that started the way theirs did. He actually seemed to understand this point, though I doubt it'll make a difference since it's probably just once a week that Sally and Little One would overlap, and hey, it's D we're talking about here.

- And last but not least, he planned on moving in with Sally sometime next spring or summer.

So.

At the end of the conversation, we hugged. It was a very cathartic talk, and I heard a lot that actually made me feel better. (I promise you that 50% of what I typed above - things that D told me - are simply lies that he told me, and himself, in the moment, to make the conflict go away, and to keep himself from looking like a total shit-head cad. But lies or not, him saying them still felt pretty good.)

Little One overheard all of it. At the time, I was so entrenched in that moment, I didn't really think it would matter. Looking back, I wish I hadn't taken that risk, though it does seem like she remembers nothing about this night.

Seeing Sally in person, too, and understanding her situation a bit better, forced me to humanize her, and that process quickly stripped away some of the superhuman qualities (bellydancer! cheater! liar! husband stealer! family killer!) that I had ascribed to her. She simply became...human, and damaged. I didn't feel kindly towards her, but I maybe felt slightly more indifferent than I had before. I certainly wasn't going to thank her for getting me out of my marriage. But even though her presence had helped me in some ways, it still...hurt.

And so I found myself, once again, in a situation where D's irresponsible behavior, and me finding out about it through circuitous means, had tipped the power balance in the relationship back in my favor. This time around, it didn't matter nearly as much as it had the last time. But at least I knew that he and Sally would be more responsible going forward, in paying attention to what they needed to do to (once again!) earn my trust.

We have not fought since this night, which was 7 months ago.

But after this fight, things started looking up. I still had the trip to Disneyland to look forward to, and that started the ball rolling towards other events. As did an unexpected Facebook exchange with someone who was keenly interested in D's past.

All in good time.

39. Meet-up at the Devil's Playground! C'mon, everyone!

When I got out of my car at the playground, I could feel the adrenaline coursing through my chest. I was so angry, yet I actually appeared calm on the outside. I walked carefully, deliberately, slowly. I was so mad at myself for having relinquished control of this situation. But mostly, I was livid with D for having pulled the bellydancer into Little One's life within hours of our conversation.

"Responsibly" was simply not a word that registered with D.

I walked steadily towards the scene. It was a playground with older equipment, including a serpent which undulated up and down from ground level up about 3 feet. On one high point, sat Sally, wearing a page boy cap, white pea coat, jeans, and brown leather knee-high boots. She was watching D and Little One, turned away from where I was. So she didn't see me.

On another part of the serpent, D was holding Little One's hand, helping her climb up and down the waves of the serpent's body. He was intently focused on her well-being, watching her, which meant he knew that he was being watch by someone whose opinion he valued. I knew he was showing off for Sally.

So he didn't see me either.

Neither of them actually saw me, standing there, cold, and furious. But Little One did. She looked up, and saw me, standing about 30 feet away from the serpent. "MOMMA!" she exclaimed happily. Sally visibly startled, and looked over to where I was. I didn't acknowledge her. I was watching D for his reaction, and it was not a disappointment.

His head snapped up quickly, like he'd been hit in the jaw, from looking at Little One, to find me standing there. He looked me in the eye, and as Sally watched us both, back and forth (I have excellent peripheral vision), she tried to keep her face calm. She watched him much more than she watched me. She actually looked concerned.

I watched his face change as he realized the implications of what he'd done. Then I watched as it dawned on him that he had no idea what was going to happen next. I wish I could say I didn't relish the moment. But I did. I was thoroughly, and completely, in control.

Except for one beautiful, three-year-old, bright-eyed factor: Little One.

She was, thankfully, oblivious to the adult dynamic happening around her. "Mommy!" she yelled again, letting go of her dad's hand and racing over to me for a big hug. "What are you doing here?" she asked.

"Hi sweetie!" I said, trying to keep my voice as normal as possible, but projecting loud enough so Sally and D could hear me. "I was driving by here on my way home after getting my haircut. And I saw Daddy's truck, and wanted to come say hi."

My daughter, who is, and always will be my favorite person in the whole world, said, "I like your haircut."

I fought back tears.

Little One's next move was to run back to her dad and proclaim, "Daddy! Mommy's here!" He was still watching me, warily, not smiling, and very, very scared.

Then Little One ran over to Sally, and looked at me, and pointed to Sally. Little One's face was happy and open. I tried to mimic it as best I could. "Is that your new friend, honey?" I asked her.

"Yes, she's Sal-ly," she said carefully, enunciating each syllable. She smiled coyly, like it was a secret. "Can you stay and play with us, Mommy?"

"Oh, sweetie," I said. "Even I'm not capable of that, I'm sorry." I paused. "I just wanted to come by and say hello. I'll see you when we get home."

"NO!" she yelled. "You have to stay! Watch what I can do. Daddy, Daddy, show Mommy what I can do!"

And so I now found myself standing 10 feet away from the bellydancer, who still perched atop the serpent. (I'm sure there's some lovely mythological analogy I could push here, but it escapes me at the moment.) Little One held her dad's hand as she climbed up and down, up and down the curves of the serpent. She looked to me to make sure I was still watching. So I made small talk in the meantime. I was not going to play invisible.

"So, Sally," I said politely and evenly, not quite looking at her, not smiling. "It's been a while. What's it been, a little over a year? How are you." That last sentence is not missing a question mark. I actually said it as if to say I'm simply making small talk. I don't really care how you are.

I could see D watching us as he held Little One's hand. I kept my eyes on D as I conversed with Sally. Sally replied, nicely enough, "Doing well, thank you." It was then that I looked at her for the first time, I mean, really looked at her face.

She looked awful. And I don't mean that in a snippy way. I mean, in the 14 months since I'd first met her, she looked like she'd aged about a decade. Her previously smooth, bright face was gaunt, and bags had appeared under her eyes. Her bright red hair, peeking out from under her cap, was now a muted, dull auburn. Mostly, she just looked concerned for D, and sad. Unfortunately, I could not glory in this moment, because all I felt was sorry for her. Fucking good upbringing, I thought. I wish I could enjoy this more.

We made some more polite small talk as we both watch D with Little One. I honestly don't remember what was said. I was operating on a polite level, but only because I knew I was going to nail D to the wall when he came to my house later that afternoon to drop off Little One.

I called out to Little One to come over to me. I bent down on one knee, and put my eyes level with hers. "Listen, honey, you have fun here with Daddy and Sally," I said. "I have to go home now and let the doggies out."

"No!" she said. "I want you to stay here and play with me and Daddy and Sal-ly."

"I'm sorry, honey, I can't," I replied. She looked crestfallen, and I hated myself for it. "I just have to get going now, because the doggies really need to go out, okay? And Daddy will bring you home real soon."

"Okay, Momma," she said. She ran back to her dad, who was watching me.

"We'll talk later," I said to D. I nodded towards Sally. "Goodbye," I said.

I walked solidly back to the car, turned it on, backed out of my parking space, drove home, and found that I had exactly 38 minutes until D would bring Little One to my house. That was, I knew from previous experience, just enough time to have a hell of a good cry and still clean myself up enough to where it wouldn't look like I'd been crying.

So I used that 38 minutes to do exactly that, and was ready for battle when I heard Loud n Dusty come up the hill.

38. Really? This playground? Really. Really?

Through the fall of 2010, D had become increasingly insistent that Little One should be able to start spending time with Sally. I, in my infinite wisdom, had vilified Sally to the point where I could almost picture her with fangs, horns, and a pitchfork. Almost.

And so yeah, mostly on principle, I was determined to keep that crazy-ass, two-timing, husband-stealing, inappropriate-texting, [gasp] BELLYDANCER away from my kid.

Yeah. Even then, I knew this was going to have to change. But it pissed me off that D kept asking about it. Like, at least once a week, through September, into October. My therapist and I had talked about this extensively.

"What are you trying to do here?" he'd ask.

"Control the situation," I'd reply.

"Why do you feel you need to?" he'd ask.

"Because I can, and I hate what they did to me, and I don't want that woman near my daughter," I'd reply. "I hate the thought of her being near someone who is so wonderful."

"You don't really think she's a threat to Little One, though, right?" he'd say.

"No," I would honestly reply. Try as I might, when pushed, I could eventually find the objectivity.

"There's nothing for you to gain in that conversation with her," he'd say.

"I know," I'd reply, resigned. And then I would sulk for a while, knowing he was right.

But this dialogue - whether with my therapist, or simply in my head - continued to haunt me for weeks. And every once in a while, D would poke at it with that fucking stick, pushing at buttons that I was still hard-pressed to turn off.

And so, one afternoon in October, I just...snapped.

I was dropping off Little One at her dad's for a late afternoon visit, and he asked me once again, nicely enough: "So, I was hoping that you could maybe talk to Sally sometime soon so that she could start spending time with Little One. She really just wants to touch base and make sure you're comfortable with her being around Little One."

I took a deep breath. "You know what, D?" I said, aggressively. "I don't want to meet her. I don't want to look at her. I don't want her near my kid, but it's going to happen whether I like it or not, isn't it? So what's the fucking point of me having this conversation with her?" I stopped and took a deep breath, relishing the startled look in his eyes. "There is nothing for me to gain from that conversation whatsoever," I said. "You two need to figure out the most responsible way to incorporate Sally into Little One's life, and we can talk about that. But I want nothing to do with her."

I think - no, I know - he was shocked. "Well, fine," he said. His startle reflex had popped up and led him quickly to its destination, Defensive Corner. "Whatever."

"Fine," I said. "Just stop asking me about this. Just - whatever. Okay? I'm tired of you asking me, and you're just going to do it anyway. Just do it responsibly, and give it some thought, and we can work it out."

Somehow, he stepped out of Defensive Corner long enough to look at me kindly and - miraculously - get where I was coming from. "Okay," he said. I felt a mild sense of tenderness in that moment, because it seemed like he was understanding the pain that this was causing me. I'm so freaking naive sometimes.

I turned to Little One, who had barely maintained any level of interest in our conversation, thanks to the football that was on D's TV, and gave her a squeeze goodbye. I told D I'd be going to our local mall to get a haircut, and would be back home by 7.

So I left and went and got a haircut. Haircuts were fun those days. Whenever I had a new stylist (which was frequent because I could never seem to plan ahead and get someone I've had before, so I'd take whoever was available), I could regale that new person with the story of the Husband and the Bellydancer. It was usually a hoot, actually, and got me to laugh at it. But it still stung every once in a while.

During this particular haircut, I told the patient stylist the story, and the follow-up: "And now my ex wants this bellydancer to be a part of my Little One's life." "No. WAY. Oh my GAWD that SUCKS!" was the generous reply. Yep. Sting.

With the haircut over, I made my way back home, traveling along the main roads. On that main road back to my house, there's a playground, which I knew D sometimes took Little One to. And sure enough, his truck Loud n Dusty was parked there. My first thought was, warm fuzzies. I'll surprise them, and we can all play together. Won't that be nice.

My second thought was, "Huh, that SUV parked next to Loud n Dusty kind of looks familiar. And it has a bumper sticker that refers to the part of town that Sally lives in. And - you have got to be fucking kidding me."

And so, with the knowledge that D had waited approximately 3 hours to "responsibly bring Sally into Little One's life," I felt that familiar surge of adrenaline course through my chest. I did a u-turn in the middle of the road, and parked in a different lot at that same playground. I girded myself for battle, turned off the ignition, got out of my car, and started to walk towards them.

37. Walt Disney's "The Brave Divorcee," Coming Soon

So I continued to lie to D about the whereabouts of the emails he'd asked me for. Missed your chance, buddy, I thought spitefully. I tried to give you those emails way back when we had the Jay Daniels chat. But you couldn't look at them then, and your bellydancer girlfriend or whatever you call her certainly can't have them now to make her divorce easier. Sorry.

Part of me didn't like that I was lying. But the rest of me was appalled - appalled, I say! - that he'd even asked me for them, especially in the context of her wanting to met me but not wanting to talk about her part in my divorce. Yeah, sorry, lady.

[Sidebar. Yes, I remembered that D had been lying to both of us. But in my mind, she had taken on the visage of the villain. See, I was still royally pissed about what a douchebag D had been during the marriage, during the divorce, and now - after the divorce, too. But I had to play nice with him, because, well, I had to. Little One needed me to treat him well, so that her world could be as normal as possible. I was hell-bent on giving her the dad she deserved, and not the one she actually had. This was how I justified my generally pleasant demeanor towards him. It was also how I justified my rage at the bellydancer. That rage had to go somewhere, I figured. Best that it fit on the head of the person who was not someone I had to deal with everyday. That would change, eventually, however. More on that later. Fini sidebar.]

I relished the fact that I could still control one aspect of D's life, namely, whether he was spending time with Sally and Little One together. I wasn't ready for that. But I knew it was coming, and it was. It was a freight train, and while I couldn't really point my finger at what exactly was bugging me about it, I knew myself well enough to know that principle and pride were two giant factors for me.

In September, which is now a year out from me filing for divorce, I decided that Little One and I needed a Disney vacation. What better way, I reasoned, to spend her couple of days off from preschool around Veteran's Day, than to fly to Southern California, bask in the sunlight, and chase furry animals around the park? So I planned out the most exquisite of Disneyland trips: a stay at the Grand Californian Hotel (built in my favorite architectural style, Craftsman), airline flights which worked with our sleep schedules, a car to drive us to the park and back. I mean, I totally worked it. I was proud of myself for having made enough money to treat us both to a dream trip like this, and I was even more proud of myself for thinking that I might just be brave enough to pull it off.

So I planned it all, paid for it up front, and thought, Okay, I'm really doing this. And yes, I need to prove something again, but this time it's more proving something to myself than to D. And I guess that's something. I guess I figured that, if I was brave enough to get a divorce - and have survived that - well, then, I could certainly take my Little One on a trip all by myself. This would be the first time ever - with flights involved - but I had a feeling I could do it. I was emboldened by my suddenly-discovered balls. And I enjoyed the feeling.

[Sidebar #2. In late June, I had tried to do a beach weekend for us which, for four glorious hours, actually felt like a beach weekend, because that's how much sun we actually got during the four days we were on the coast. The rest of the time, we rolled around in the damp, cold sand, flew kites, tried to keep our hoods from flying off our soaked heads, and watched movies in the cabin. All in all, not a bad trip. But certainly not the ideal that I'd made up in my head.]

In September, I also decided I was ready to change jobs at my company. I'd worked on the same team for 5 years - nearly unheard of in my industry - and I realized that I needed to clean out that last vestige of my married life. So I found, applied for, and, eventually, got a job in an area of that industry which I LOVE. Things were firing on all cylinders. I was starting to feel really steady, rock solid. I had successfully damped down the need for male companionship, about which I felt really good. (I mean, honestly, who needs them. Right? [crickets] Right.)

It was a really good thing that I had that Disney trip to look forward to in November, because one event that happened in October...really kind of sucked. Hard.

36. An Inconsistent Woman

July was mostly nondescript. But August was tough. Things at work had become immensely challenging. I was coming up against the one-year anniversary of the "I think we should divorce because I found text messages and you're a lying, cheating bastard" week. And while I didn't think that the anniversary would have that much meaning, as it turned out, it did. I was experiencing something like muscle memory - as we started to enter that week, I couldn't stop myself remembering what I was doing on those days or how things had played out.

I tried, I really tried, not to wallow. But it was truly like part of me was remembering it without my will. All I could do was ride along.

So one night during this exact week, almost a year to the day when we decided to divorce, and at the end of a particularly shiteous month – which I had told D all about, in a misguided effort to find comfort in the old familiar – he was dropping off Little One from yet another 2-3 hour stay at his apartment. After making small talk for a while, he looked at me anxiously and said, "I have something to ask you."

After the week I had at work, and the 2/3 glass of wine I’d already consumed, I looked at him with no reaction and said, "Okay, what?"

Now, I have to tell you – on the way home from work on this same day, a Friday, I had thought to myself two things: 1) I was very appreciative that D had been kind that week, and had listened to me about work and about a few other difficult things that had happened that same month, and 2) I had a very, very strong suspicion he would be asking me for something, because he knew my defenses were down.

This is what I had come to expect from D. It wasn’t a matter of lowered expectations, it was simply having learned to expect the worst from him.

And in this case, boy, was I right.

"I wanted to know if you could provide Sally with copies of the emails that you received from that anonymous emailer," he said. With a straight face.

My heart began to pound, but I showed no emotion. I could feel that old adrenaline rush begin in my chest and spread like hot lava to my extremities. I looked him calmly in the eye, steadying myself on the one piece of furniture nearby. "I’m not sure," I replied evenly. "Why would she need them?"

D became more uncomfortable, and started speaking quickly. "Her lawyer asked for them, it’s something legal, I don’t know, there’s something going on with mediation, it’s because of the divorce," he replied, rapid-fire. I didn't do it, the check is in the mail, it wasn’t me, is what this sounded like.

So, Sally the bellydancer wants something else from me. Interesting.

In this moment, I was so tired, I tried to approach indifference. I wasn't thinking clearly when I said, "I will have to see if I still have them. They're on my work account, so they might have been archived or deleted. I just changed computers, recently, too, so they might not be there."

This was, in part, true. I did have them in text – i.e. I had copied them into a word document – but I was not about to do that bellydancer any favors, especially when it was her anonymous emailer husband who had helped me in so many ways during the divorce.

He looked slightly disappointed, but said, "Oh, okay."

Me, tired, still hoping to fend off this latest request with kindness: "I’ll check my work computer on Monday," I said. I had no intention of doing so; I had copies of everything. But I just wanted to make this go away.

"You can’t check it from home or anything...?" he replied. To his credit, he was being cordial, but he had finally pushed me past my position on Indifference Corner. Now, I couldn’t believe what I was hearing.

"Look, D," I said politely. "This is a big ask you’re making here. I am happy to investigate whether I have them, as a favor to you, but that’s it."

"Okay, I understand, thank you," he said. But that wasn't enough for me. I had to keep going; now I was getting riled up.

"Great timing, by the way," I couldn’t help but throw in. He looked at me questioningly. "You know, there’s nothing more I like after a tough week like this than to get requests from Sally." Yep, I had jaywalked from Indifference Corner over to Sarcasm Street.

He was as chagrined as he knows how to be. "Oh. Crap. I’m sorry, you’re right. Geez."

He was being surprisingly non-confrontational, and that made me nervous.

Which is why his next requests were out-of-this-world batshit crazy, given what I had just said to him.

"By the way," he said, "Sally would like to meet up with you sometime soon to talk about Little One, and them spending time together when I have Little One," he said.

Now, this was not a surprise, as it was something we’d talked about before. I'd been doing my best to fend off her involvement with Little One by pushing off the inevitable. I hated thinking about her spending time with Little One. And D knew this. Again, I had to applaud him for his timing. Idiot.

"I understand," I said evenly, and slightly condescendingly. "I think it will be good for her and I to meet, since I have some rather big concerns about her character, given what happened last year. I mean, I do feel like I need to understand how much of that duplicity she was responsible for." To be honest, at this moment I wasn’t even sure that I did, but I knew this would a) make him squirm, and b) put off the discussion with her even longer.

He started to looked cornered and slightly defensive. "She doesn’t want to talk about that," he said quickly, and firmly.

Now, you have to understand my reaction. SHE doesn’t want to talk about THAT? Seriously? The woman who was texting my husband – sexting, I guess they call it – who was having intimate relations in my house with him, who made our divorce the shitstorm it became, whose husband was so pissed that he brought ME into HER divorce – really, SHE doesn’t want to talk about THAT?

You don’t say.

"Really," I stated, managing to keep most of the sarcasm out of my voice.

“Nope, she doesn’t,” he replied, completely serious. “She wants to focus on the now, and on her interactions with Little One, and with reassuring you that she will be a positive presence in Little One’s life.”

“Well.” I started to say something, then changed direction. “D, while I can understand why she might not want to have that conversation, I believe it’s important, since it informs me on who she is, what her level of responsibility is, what her character is. I don’t see how we can get away from talking about that.”

“Well, that’s not what she wants to talk about,” he replied.

Having walked up Sarcasm Street, I was now firmly on Victory Lane. “You know, that’s so interesting to me,” I replied. (We were having this entire discussion in polite, how’s the weather, modulated voices, with Little One playing in the room. It was at moments like this that I realized how far we’d come.) “It’s so interesting to me because, on the one hand, she wants me to provide her with documentation which led me to understand how you two were fluttering around behind my back, and on the other hand, she doesn’t want to discuss what those documents told me or what they mean.” I looked him in the eye. “You can see where that presents a rather distinct disconnect for me.”

He blinked. Like, his whole body blinked, not just his eyes. I had him, and he knew it.

And then, I finally realized, without any doubt: he’s been lying to Sally this whole time.

It was him, lying to both of us last year, and she really isn’t the villain after all. Dumb asses, all of us.

He remained silent, only nodding in agreement. So I asked him, “How much was she involved in all the lying and irresponsibility last year? How much does she know?”

His response was indirect, but told me everything. “She doesn’t know that you haven’t wanted her to see Little One.”

Oh my god, I thought. His whole relationship with her really IS predicated on lies. Oh, man, is she in for a ride. He had told her only that she couldn’t spend time with Little One because it wasn’t working time-wise, or because it was “too soon for Little One to see him with someone else.”

He had not told her that he had agreed, last November, in writing, to not have her anywhere near Little One until he and I had renegotiated a new understanding.

Wow. One wonders what else she didn’t know.

“I had a feeling that was the case,” I replied. On the outside, I was stoic. “So, like I said, I’m happy to have that talk with her, but it’s going to HAVE to involve some discussion of what happened last year. I’m not out to get you – I’m not out for vengeance. But it’s important for me to distinguish who she is, because right now I still have some pretty grave reservations about her, given her behavior last fall.”

He nodded, saying only, “I understand.” We then discussed a bit of why he wanted this conversation to happen, and how her kids would be involved with time spent with Little One. At one point, he actually said the words, “I have no desire to be around her kids at all. It’s just not going to happen.” I asked him if that was because of her own divorce proceedings, and he replied, “No, not really, sort of.” Yeeeeaah, okay.

Finally, I laid out what I needed as succinctly as I could: “If you, and Sally, want to spend time together with Little One, you need to create a structure for that time. And that structure has to be a responsible one, and it has to be adhered to. I want the both of you to understand this going in, and I want you to both be completely transparent with me about the time that is spent with Little One, what happens, who’s there, and have absolutely no lying about any element of it." D had started to tear up, but I had to keep going. I was almost done. "Last year only taught me that the two of you together are irresponsible, hurtful, and duplicitous. So I’d like you both to work to change that perception for me. Good?”

He nodded, as now he was crying in that way he does when he’s made to remember the bad things he’s done.

I was stunned that he had asked for the emails, even more that he thought he could get away with telling me that Sally didn’t want to “talk about what happened last year and wanted to focus on the now.” Sadly, however stunned I was, I was not surprised.

Of course, you have to understand by now, I’m no sucker. All I could think after he left was, Sure, buddy, I’ll send her those emails. I’ll just give her the URL to this blog and let her find them. And a myriad of other new discoveries.

You may have noticed that I didn’t exactly say “no” to him when he asked me for those emails. I waited to do that, a few days later, as if I had gone to work, checked my Outlook, and discovered, “Aw, shucks, I really don’t have those pieces of evidence anymore. Oops, sorry, bellydancer!”

What I did was, I casually told him, one night when he was dropping off Little One, “I don’t have those emails anymore.” He looked startled, then composed himself enough to say, “Oh, okay. Thanks for checking.”

Can you believe that this was NOT the last time he’d go and ask me for those emails?

35. Piercings, Patriotism, and Pride, Oh My

It was July 4, and it was my first post-divorced Independence Day. [Insert divorce joke here, go ahead.] As such, there was the "who gets Little One" question to consider. While I had spelled out the answer to this precise question in the parenting plan I'd spent months, and thousands of dollars, crafting, D almost never followed it. And that was fine with me - that meant that Little One was almost always with me. That was exactly how I liked it, and really how I needed it.

On this particular holiday, D offered to take Little One in the morning to go swimming at his apartment complex, and then he'd bring her back to my house for her nap. Then, that evening, we'd go - together - to our town's local fireworks display, hoping that Little One could make it to the late 10pm start time.

The first big revelation on this fine holiday came when I went to drop off Little One at D's house that morning. This is exactly how it went down. I know this because I wrote it down word-for-word, laughing and squelching my nausea even as I typed it.

D: "Little One and I were swimming the other day and she was wondering what I had on me. Because I got some more piercings, you know."

Me: [swallow] "Oh?"

D: "Yeah, you know, my nipples. So she was wondering what they were."

Me: [Complete and total poker face intact, showing no emotion or reaction.] "Oh? And what did you tell her?"

D: "I told her they were like earrings, but in a different place."

Me: [At this point, not sure whether I want to guffaw or throw up.] "Ok. Well, gotta go. See you two later."

I said goodbye to Little One, and turned. All I could think was, I need get out the door. Go down the stairs, go around the corner, show no emotion. Show no reaction as I get in my car and swiftly drive away. Then I pulled over and called three people, one of whom said, "No straight man over 40 gets his nipples pierced!!"

Precisely. Happy Independence Day, wheeee!

I had a good time regaling my new crew of friends with this story. My older friends already knew that D had a Prince Albert piercing, and a couple of tattoos, in addition to some ear piercings that (shockingly) had just become used again after years of atrophy. It was like his hard-edged, smoldery, bad-boy rebel was re-emerging...just in the body of a middle-aged man.

Ew.

Later that day, he dropped off Little One, and I made as little eye contact as possible. I really struggled with what to say, and then decided that saying nothing was the best possible option. I knew that what D had told me, and the way in which he'd told me, were both fashioned to get a rise out of me. And so I gave him nothing, and it felt good.

7:00 rolled around, and D came back over to the house to begin our "Family Fourth" outing. (I really just wanted Little One to have a nice evening with the two of us; she'd lately become keenly aware that there were very few times that the three of us were together, and she seemed to be looking for three-time. I wanted to give her that.)

Alas, on this night, it was not going to happen, which leads to big revelation #2 of the day. When D dropped came in, he was being, well, a temperamental douchebag. Critical of Little One and her every attempt to interact with either of us. Snapping at me or her for anything we said. Chewing the inside of his cheek. Pacing.

Knowing this mood of his - but now knowing that I had nothing to do with it, because really, I had no control over this guy, never had - I thought I'd just ignore it and let it pass. (While this was my best coping strategy, I also knew that this was hard for him, because I was no longer doing the "D, what's wrong? What can I do to help? Can I fix it?" routine that I'd become so accustomed to. Nope, this time around, I was letting him do his thing, waiting for him on the other side. But this time, he never got there. So I pushed a little.)

"Little One," I said, "Come say goodbye to Daddy, honey. He's got to go." I looked at D, who was looking at me with an absolutely amazed stare of wonder.

"What?" he said.

"I think Daddy's got to go, Little One," I continued, in the nicest, most regretful voice I could conjure. I looked at D, trying to silently convey the real meaning behind what I was saying.

Miraculously, he got it. And he at least had the grace to look chagrined.

"Mom's right," said D. "I have to go."

Little One looked at both of us. I feared that she might get frustrated about the fireworks, but she simply looked back and forth at both of us, looking kindly at her, and said, "Okay. Bye, Daddy."

He looked as shocked as I felt. Could it be that our three-year-old already knew how to manage him and his moods? Ugh. In that moment, and in many moments before and since, I hated him for that, for being the kind of father whose kid was going to have to "manage" him. What a prick.

But in this moment, Little One was watching carefully. So I escorted D to the door, smiled as he ambled out, still looking shocked. I felt proud of myself for being able to so quickly and covertly subvert his moodiness and its impact on me and my kid. I wished him good-night, then played with Little One until it was her bedtime. When the fireworks started up down the hill, booming and shaking the house, she didn't wake, and I didn't regret my decision to "suggest" that D leave.

No, not at all. Not on any level.

34. June-uary Party

Up here in these parts, we have all kinds of names for the months we think should be nicer to us than they actually are. Take June, for example. As I may have mentioned at least twice, June is my birthday month. Therefore, it is special and sacred to me. Ergo, the weather must be nice.

Mother Nature, however, has a different idea during this time of year, most years. And so June has become "June-uary." The locals find it funny, until about the third week of the month, when they all start to bemoan their soggy existences, cry, and plot new lives in California which never actually happen.

When I returned from the East Coast Roadtrip Adventure, with my defensiveness mostly gone and my senses returned, I came back to some piss-poor weather. All through May, and into early June, the weather could only be described as nondescript. That is: it was gray, mid-50s to low-60s, and it didn't do much of anything except sit there. For weeks.

Well, fuck you, weather, I thought. I'm throwing myself a goddamn party this year. No, it's not a special birthday in terms of numbers or anything. But it's my first solo birthday in years, so get in line and get behind me because it's gonna be outdoors, yeah, that's right.

Here I was, at a rather inelegant, albeit empowered, place in my personal development. During the 6 months of downtime I gave myself post-divorce - and coming out of that successful 10-day journey up the East Coast, complete with facing my extended family - I had suddenly come to discover that I actually had some real power over my existence. And I could change many things about it, not just The One Big Thing.

As I sat in my house, the one I'd bought with D, there were many quiet moments, where I would just sit in my living room and listen - and I would hear only the electronic drone of Little One's monitor, and perhaps my kitty cleaning herself. And that was all. It was the most pure, most beautiful silence I could have conjured, and it helped me heal. There was no more D crashing through the halls, slamming doors, hitting walls, punching desks, throwing bottles. The black hole that I had so tried to keep from sucking up everything I cared about was no longer the center of gravity in my existence.

The biggest surprise was that I wasn't scared to be alone anymore.

Still, I felt a bit foolish, honestly, about throwing myself a party. I mean, I love cake, and I love presents, and certainly I love having them both in my honor. Another year, I might have thought my party-throwing tacky. Not this year. Hells, no, I was going to have a real party. And D was coming. That's right. I was going to invite that bastard, plus everyone we knew, and they could all see how things had played out. (I also knew that Little One would question why he wasn't there, so I figured, why not just bring him along.) And no, Sally would not be invited. I mean, I'm not a masochist.

So yeah, I still had the chip(s) on my shoulder. I admit it. But I had a lot to prove, mostly to myself, and I still cared a lot about what other people thought of me.

On the day of my party, we had our first sunny day in over four weeks. Four weeks! The temperature quickly rose to 70, and the flowers in the yard raced each other to bloom. And when dozens of people showed up at my house, played in my yard, celebrated my birthday with me, and made me feel like I might just be likable - I know, I know - it felt like the sun had decided to appear just for me, as a sign or something. As in, The sun's back out, so shine, lady, shine.

Okay, I thought. I will. And so began my journey to having a social life. I started to creep out of the quiet cave I'd carved out during the marriage and through the divorce. This birthday party, this crazy idea I'd had where I'd invite people and they would actually show up - that was the first step. Somehow, during my marriage, I'd become convinced that no one would want to hang out with me. Like, ever. So the fact that so many people came to my party was the first chink in that "Nobody loves me, everybody hates me, I'm gonna eat some worms" armor.

Nobody at the party knew, but the truth was, the fact they'd all just showed up was the biggest present they could have given me. I was starting to make friends again. Like, real friends - not just people I would hang out with at work, but friends.

And D was well-behaved. That was the other present, having him there, and showing everyone - and myself - that we were all better off for the divorce. And hey, if anyone at the party thought that D was NUTS to have let me go, well - I wouldn't argue with them, certainly. But I needed them all to know that I was finally starting to see my way to real happiness. These people cared about me. I was astounded - I had friends.

So by the time August rolled around, I had plenty of people to tell about D's newest hijinks. What a maroon. But we'll get to that soon.

33. The Reckoning (Part 2: The Deluge)

I have a large family, and most of them I don't see more than once a decade or so. (Except on Facebook.) This is not by design, it's simply a matter of distance: I moved West, they stayed East. I travel, they don't. When I travel, I don't always visit where they are. And so on.

For this grand event that I was attending in upstate New York - my aunt and uncle's 50th wedding anniversary, at a restaurant right on the Hudson River - I would be seeing nearly everyone who I'd ever really counted as family on my mother's side. That would be, oh, about 80-100 people in one place. About half of them had been at my wedding. And none of them - save two cousins, my mother's first cousins - had ever been divorced.

That put me in the 2% error band. Excellent.

There was one person missing, and that was my grandmother. For years, she'd been my biggest fan. And she'd died about a year before I'd filed for divorce. To be brutally honest, I was so keen to please her, I never really entertained the possibility of divorce until several months after her death.

I was nervous. We got there fairly early, so I'd be greeting everyone as they came in. My cousins were throwing the party, and I LOVE my cousins. They are a big part of my childhood, and I just adore them. So I was just going to have to have fun, no matter what. Then I realized what an asshole I was being, thinking only about me and how people would react to me.

Ultimately, what it came down to was, I had to get the hell over my big bad self. This was a party for my aunt and uncle, and I just needed to get a grip. So I did. But I still felt like I was poised for battle, ever vigilant, in case someone felt the need to judge.

I focused conversations on Little One. When people would ask me how I was doing, I'd say, "Great! And Little One is just fantastic." Pointing to her would invariably keep the conversation away from what I really didn't want to talk about: I had failed to keep my marriage together. They would judge me, I knew they would. Hell, judging is like a spectator sport in the Northeast. If you're not judgmental, you're just plain wrong.

And yet - there was something extremely liberating about just going balls-out in the face of it all. Part of me - this previously quiet, strong, let-it-all-hang-out side which I had narrowed down to the tiniest speck of my married existence - really wanted to just yell, "I'M FINE!!". I wanted them to know that I was just peachy, thankyouverymuch, and Little One and I were much better off without D.

Can you smell the defensiveness? It oozed out of me. So much so, that when one of the two divorcee cousins above said something she thought was supportive ("I know it can be really tough, I feel like I failed at my marriage") - what I said was, "Well, unfortunately, I couldn't change the fact that D is an alcoholic, and so I try not to feel like I failed." I cringe even now, knowing that it was all kinds of the wrong thing to say to her. I had worried myself into this constant state of rawness, and it was doing me absolutely no good.

Through the course of the day, though, I started to remember that I was among friends here. I got down off my defensive post, and started to breathe a little. No one treated me any differently. No one pointed at me and whispered at the pariah in the room. Other than simply asking me, "How're you doing?", they didn't treat me any differently than I remembered. My daughter was charming the crap out of everyone, dancing like a maniac on the dance floor with her older second cousins. And when I finally realized that I was actually having fun - for real, not just because I was intent on doing it to show everyone I was just peachy - I could feel my shoulders drop, and I could relax. My family are good people, and I was reminded of this fact again and again throughout the day.

I went outside for a few minutes, to enjoy the view from this particular restaurant. It sat perched on the Hudson, overlooking the cliffs and perilous roads across the river. Brown water swirled around the based of the rocky coast, and suddenly from the north came a huge military transport plane, a C-5, flying low down the river. It was enormous, and grand, and for a moment, I thought, I had to go get D and show him, he'll love this - and then I remembered.

This would continue to be a theme that would play out over time - allowing the black and white parts of the marriage and divorce to merge into varying shades of gray. But in this moment, realizing D wasn't with me, the moment became one of complete liberation. I stood there alone, and I watched that plane fly down the whole damn river till I couldn't see it anymore.

Because I could.

32. The Reckoning (Part 1: The Setup)

[Hello, all. I've been dating, and trying to put this whole "divorce thing" behind me. Turns out, that's not so easily done. And so I return to this saga in the hope that I will cast out these remaining demons. Bear with me, Dear Readers.]

As you know if you have read, like, any of this blog (including the title), Facebook has been a constant presence in this story. Before, during, and after the divorce, Facebook became the pivot point for many of the interesting twists and turns.

There is one particular knife twist, which is what happened when Facebook changed some of its settings, and how information was displayed to your Facebook friends. This was roughly, oh, October of 2009. We suddenly went from simple status updates to things called "news feeds." News feeds contained information about things you'd recently done. "Penelope B. is now friends with Jackie O." That sort of thing. It was magical. (Not really, but then again I've never really understood why Facebook feels the need to tinker. Alas, I am no Zuckerberg.)

In November of 2009, during the week of the big "Don Jeremy Fake Facebook Account and Ensuing Discovery of the Affair" affair, I suddenly decided I was going to change my relationship status, and fuck all to D if he noticed. Well, he didn't.

Unfortunately, many, many of my relatives did. Because now, the "News Feed" (and - this was certainly news) read:

"Penelope B. is now single." [heart]

Did I know this at the time? Nope. The way I discovered this was when my mother called me to ask why my cousin had just called my aunt, with the question, "Is Penelope getting a divorce?" This question, unfortunately, came as a great surprise to my aunt. Which, by the way, came as a great surprise to me, since my mom had told me she would take care of telling her sister (said aunt). Long story short, yeah, that hadn't happened.

But Facebook's news feeds sure did! Oh boy, did they ever. And so this is how most of my extended family - the very people whose opinions of this entire matter mattered most - found out that I was getting a divorce.

By a fucking Facebook news feed. Oh, Facebook. You are a fickle bitch. While I quickly deleted the post once I knew it existed, the damage had been done. A couple dozen of my most important family members had found out about my divorce from a news feed. [Give me a moment here to, again, hang my head in shame.]

I knew them all well enough to know that they'd forgive me for it. What they'd have a harder time with was trying to figure out what the hell was going on with me. And these folks were all waiting for me - all 50 or 60 of them, at one big, giant party - in upstate New York. As we made our way up the coast, I became more and more agitated. The text message from Mr. Anonymous had reminded me that, even thousands of miles away, I was still beholden to the reality that I had divorced my husband. And this, Dear Readers, was something that just simply isn't. Done. In. My. Family.

So, we drove. Little One was a dream, my mother was understanding. I was simply panicked.

31. The Reunion Episode

At the end of May, I decided to take Little One on an East Coast adventure.

Okay, it wasn't really an adventure per se. It was the combination of two family events - one weekend in North Carolina, followed by another weekend in New York. So I combined the two into one long trip, split by a road trip from the south to the north, including my mom and Little One.

On the whole, this was a good thing. First, I got to see my granddad, on his 90th birthday. And he got to see me, and my daughter. And he was utterly in love with her, and she adored him. Seeing my daughter with my grandfather, who hadn't exactly been able to be a solid fixture during my childhood, immediately granted me the right to feel sentimental.

And that set the tone for the rest of the trip. On the way from North Carolina to New York, we stopped in Washington, D.C. Now, that's a place that I grew up within a few hours of, but had not visited more than two or three times in my life. So, this would be my first post-election, adult visit.

We did D.C. during a mammoth tourism day - first to the National Zoo to see the pandas, then over to the White House, another kind of zoo entirely. We sat across Pennsylvania Avenue, watching an Italian dignitary visit the president. As I sat there, watching Little One dance to no music in her new pink panda t-shirt, I heard the rotors before I saw them: it was Marine One, and it was bringing the president to the White House from Air Force One and his trip to San Francisco. It flew right over us, and it was truly an awesome sight.

Part of me reveled in the prospect of calling D, a big Obama fan, and telling him what he had just missed because he had been such a dickhead husband. But not right then. However, this had become an unfortunate refrain in my head, a rut worn straight into my brain: Hey, D, look what you're missing because you're an asshole! It would take months before the rut started to dissipate.

Right then, we started walking again, heading down the east side of the White House, along Executive Avenue, where rows of primroses, planted with military precision, lined the walls of the Treasury. Ahead of me was the Washington Monument. To my right, the White House lawn. Off to my left, the Capitol. Part of me just wanted to open up and shout, "This is SO COOL!!!" I didn't, but I really, really wanted to. And I knew, in that moment, that the reason I was having so much fun was beacuse it was my trip. If D had been there, something would be wrong. His back would hurt, or he'd be in a bad mood, or he'd want to go in some other direction, or he'd be mad at me for some inane reason.

At that moment, I realized I was a tourist from my old life, and with D nowhere to be found, I could actually enjoy it.

And then I checked my work email, as I did on my Blackberry fairly regularly. (My superstitious work philosophy: if I check it several times a day, then no one will need me. If I never check it, or check out completely, there will be some horrible calamity for which I am responsible and which only I can resolve and my vacation will therefore be blown. So I check.)

The email had just come in to my work account in the last hour. And you'll never guess who it was from. Actually, if you've read this entire blog from entry #1, you'll know exactly who it was from.

Penelope, read the email from Mr. Anonymous, I hope you're well. I was wondering if you might have some time to talk, about a matter which would benefit us both.

Here I was, standing on a street corner two blocks away from the White House, about to descend into the bowels of the DC subway system, and enjoying every single moment - and NOW he wants to talk. Of COURSE it would be NOW when I've actually just - almost - maybe - started to feel like I can escape.

I knew I had my out-of-office message on, so he'd know that I was out through the week. This was a Tuesday, and I wouldn't be back till the following Monday. Now what? I thought.

I looked at the message again, looked at my mom, looked at Little One, and pushed "delete mail." I took a deep breath, told my mom "Nothing" when she asked what was wrong, and got on to the escalator into the subway.

But I knew there was going to be more when I got home.

[Sidebar. I would like to wish everyone who has been tuning in to my blog a safe, happy, and healthy holiday season. I will be back with more chapters to this never-ending saga soon.]

30. The Imperfection Juggernaut

You might wonder what I did those first few months. To be honest, looking back, even I wonder what I did.

There was a brief, fun, but ultimately ill-advised reunion with an old boyfriend. It started a few days after the divorce was final, when he moved back to my city. It felt so normal, so natural! It was great! I was thrilled to find out that D had not actually broken me, I had just felt broken.

But then I came to realize that the person that I had re-found was ultimately the same one I'd split up with nearly a dozen years ago. And there was nothing left there but memories - I needed to either have something new, or nothing at all. So I chose nothing, and in doing so, chose myself and Little One. But I didn't figure that out until much later.

[Sidebar. I don't want to diminish the importance of this particular romantic venture of mine. It was cathartic, and romantic, and altogether validating. It was sweet, but too intense, and I found myself scrambling to incorporate this new/old man into my new life. It felt good to have someone take care of me for a change, and it felt great when he was there and D was there too. But after a month and a half, it was too much, and I realized that there was no way that he and I could be together. Somehow, no matter how hard we tried, we just weren't right for each other. Me being me, and him being him - neither one of us ended up feeling very good about ourselves, for various reasons. The hardest part was, I had this figured out within weeks, and now it's nearly a year later and I'm not sure he's ever going to really understand it. He's a wonderful guy, terrific in fact. He's just not for me, and I hurt him, and therefore I don't want to draw out this section in case this story ever gets further than you, dear readers. He deserves happiness, and he will not find that here, sadly. Fini sidebar.]

So, I will fast-forward through the spring, and will give you a sense of what I did, outside of the aforementioned brief affair.

I slept.

That's right, I slept.

For months, I would do the following:
Wake up. Get ready for work. Get Little One ready for daycare. Pack lunches. Drop off Little One at daycare. Go to work. Work. Come home. Pick up Little One (or not, depending on if it was D's day). Bring her home. Have dinner. Bathe, brush teeth, put on pajamas, read a book, Little One's asleep by 8. Take one or one-half of a Xanax. Spend an hour doing chores around the house. Go to bed. Sleep hard.

Blather, wince, repeat.

On some level, I knew that I was going through a phase, or process, that I needed to go through. I also knew that I was just dead tired from years of D, and from months of trying to extricate myself from a horrid situation.

I also knew that food was a wonderful way to cure my in-the-moment blues and anxieties.

So I made a deal with myself: just get through to June. June has always been my month. It's my birthday month, I love the time of year it represents, and it's my birthday month. (Yeah, it's worth mentioning twice, it's that important to me.)

My idea of getting through was to a) sleep; b) take care of Little One and be completely devoted to her; c) show zero interest in being with the opposite sex; and d) eat whatever the hell I wanted, but figure out an exercise regimen. I pretty much did all of those, though not in equal measure all the time.

But the ultimate point was this: I had to just cut myself some slack.

After a lifetime of trying to be perfect, and failing miserably, I had the ultimate black mark: a divorce on my record. Therefore, anyone who might know me, or might ever know me, would know one very important thing about me: I...am not...perfect. ThereIsaidit.

And hey, maybe that - in retrospect - might not be - a bad thing...? Could it be? Could it possibly be that not striving to be perfect might, in the long run, actually prove a healthier, more fulfilling posture for me?

Well, hell, I thought - anything's possible, might as well try this on for size.

Armed with an ongoing prescription to Xanax, lots of new sheets and pillows, junk food, and a treadclimber, I jumped into the breach with both feet.

But then came May.

29. The Opposite of a Wedding

New Year's had come and gone. Symbolically speaking, I had made the break I needed to make, between a shitty 2009 and a (hopefully) better 2010. I figured, hey, it probably couldn't get much worse. But just in case, I thought I'd try and be grateful for what I did have: a sweet, smart, firecracker of a Little One. A home that I could pay for. A job I didn't hate. Friends who rather patiently waited for me to start engaging with them again. And, most of all, I had a court date to keep.

The court date was sandwiched right in the middle of the workday. As a precaution, I opted to forgo mascara.

At 11:50am, I posted to my Facebook account: "I'm hurtling towards the finish line."

At 12:50pm, I started the walk to the courthouse.

The courthouse in my city is a large, imposing, ornately Greco-Roman structure with multiple floors. It's both austerely imposing and aesthetically pleasing. It toes the line between "You're here because you did something wrong, and we're here to punish you" and "You're here because someone else did something wrong, and you have to clean up after them."

On one floor of this building, it's where families are created, and families are also broken apart.

Today was January 4, the first business day of the new year, and I was damn ready to get divorced. I was sad, and slightly anxious, but D was nowhere in sight - he'd opted not to attend the proceedings - so I had only my whip-smart lawyer to keep me company. For $300 an hour, I actually saw her as a bargain against the alternative.

I waited in the lobby next to the "Family Law" court. This was a couple of floors below where I'd taken that parenting seminar, but no less depressing. I was the only woman in a long line of despondent faces.

My lawyer arrived, and we went in. You know how courts always appear in the movies or on TV, where, no matter what the infraction or matter to be addressed, there's always a stately wood-paneled, high-ceilinged room with multiple guards, agitated lawyers, solemn defendants, and pew-like benches? Well, this was exactly the opposite of that. Except for the pews, they did have those.

1:00 came, and we sat down. My lawyer approached the judge, a kindly-looking grey-haired woman in a black robe, seated on a dais of justice. One supposes. My lawyer gave the judge's clerk some paperwork, then came back down and sat with me.

One couple after another approached the judge. She would ask them each three questions: Are you so-and-so and are you such-and-such? Do you have any children? Do both of you agree that you are to be divorced?

Each couple uttered the right words. Each couple parted, sadly smiling. Then there was me, walking up to the judge, alone. So appropos, I thought.

She asked me the questions. She smiled as she asked them, and I smiled back. Yes, that is my name. Yes, we have a child. Yes, we agree to divorce. My lawyer uttered some legalese.

Stamp, sign, a nod to my laywer - and I was divorced. Wow, I was divorced. I was officially a divorcee.

My lawyer stamped, then gave me a stack of papers. She escorted me to another part of the floor. Ever practical, she said, "I would happily wait here with you, but I'd charge you to do it. It's up to you."

I gave her a hug and said "Thanks, I'm good." She left. Expensive, but I liked her. I was sorry to see her go.

And so I stood in line, waiting for a clerk to take my paperwork and certify it, and file it. All that pomp and circumstance to get married, and this is how it ends, I couldn't help but stand there thinking. I didn't even wear mascara!

After the paperwork was done, I called my parents and told them that all had gone well. They were subdued, but I could tell they were delighted for me to have finished this part.

I returned to work. I hadn't shed a tear. Opening my laptop, I logged back in to Facebook and wrote, "I am all done. Finito. Free."

28. My least favorite holiday suddenly doesn't suck

[Sidebar. Alas, dear readers, I have not posted in some time, primarily because this drama that I have been writing about is, much to my surprise, still unfolding. I'm actually writing blog entries now which, chronologically speaking, won't be posted for some time. But the material is just too damn good not to share. We'll get there, and thanks for reading. Fini.]

I love Christmas, but I HATE New Year's.

I can think of nothing that I hate more than celebrating the passage of time. The only exception to this rule is if I am getting a bunch of presents with which to soften the blow. And then it's my birthday, so there's cake. And frosted baked goods make just about anything better.

I also hate the whole "having someone to kiss at midnight" schtick. So I was determined - obsessed, really - to enjoy this particular New Year's Eve.

Fortunately, my soon-to-be-ex husband's cousin's family - those intrepid angels who had intervened in various ways during the divorce process to keep everyone sane - had a plan. Thank God.

Their neighbors, a nice couple with two small children, were having a New Year's party on East Coast time. This meant we could celebrate the ball dropping at Times Square without keeping the kiddoes up until the "actual" midnight for us. And D had expressed no interest in having Little One to himself on this night - I figured there was some bellydancer orgy somewhere that he'd be afraid to miss.

We arrived at the house on time, as I am wont to do. I felt completely socially awkward at this point. Here I was, not-yet-divorced, feeling rather alone in the world, dancing with my daughter, at what was a pretty great party, actually. But I could barely say two words to any of the adults all around me. I felt like a pariah. What did I have in common with these "happy couples," all of whom were couples, me feeling like a 19th wheel?

So I danced with the kids, and watched Little One have the time of her life, dancing up a storm with these kids, big and small. When we counted down to the new year and watched the ball drop, I swept up my Little One and gave her a big kiss...and it seemed so fitting, given how much of what had been happening would directly benefit her in the long term. Me too, of course – but I figured her life would be very different now, for the better, by seeing her mother healthy and happy. Maybe a little lonely, sometimes too, but that was okay for now, as far as I was concerned.

In just a few days I would be single again. Then what? Admittedly, I didn't really think anything else would change. There would be no bellowing chorus, no blaring trumpets, no shaking earth. Just...another day, no longer married. I had my Become Single Again appointment: January 4 at 2:00 at the courthouse. D would not need to be there, and since he had no lawyer, it was pointless anyway. There was nothing more to be done. Paperwork was signed and ready for submission. And I had gotten everything I wanted. (Except for being able to completely write him out of Little One's life, a situation that I still fear I will have to change once D starts drinking again. Because he will.)

It was time, finally, to focus on me. For real, this time. Not care about D and his shenanigans, or about his relationships or anything that didn’t directly impact Little One’s health and safety. I promised myself that I would yank my head out of the sand for her, and would watch him like a hawk watches her prey, waiting for the deadly blow. All he had to do, I told myself, was get out of line once, and it was done. Well, at least it made me feel better to think that I could do that.

Anyway. About me. I needed to focus on me now. I would be the better for it. D just didn’t matter anymore. He really, really didn't. It was like he was transparent to me now, there was nothing there when I looked at him other than some shaggy-haired guy who used to mean everything.

You mean nothing, D, I thought. You are nothing. Goodbye to you, and to the marriage.

Hello, 2010. Nice to meet you.