Nobody’s Perfect

Chapter 17

The fateful day had arrived: time to meet my lawyer.

Hurry up! Mom said, reminding me of back when I was in elementary school and we were always in a hurry. I should feel like a slacker because my forty-four-year-old self picked a lawyer from a list her mother gave her, but I d never really lived up to the slacker part of being a Gen Xer until recently.

Since reality really did bite, I supposed I owed it to the world to be a slacker at least once in my life. Now seemed particularly good.

Mom barked directions over the GPS, and I drove. We ended up at an old clapboard house with gingerbread trim near Marietta Square. The sign said it was the law offices of Carter, Gadot, and Lawless.

Lawless?

Ironic, huh? Mom said. But you wisely chose Carter.

We stepped inside the older house, where a foyer had been constructed just inside the door. We went to the left into Ms. Carter s side of the building.

I gave my name to the receptionist. She told me to have a seat, and I whispered to my mother, I don t want to do this.

I know you don t, she said, patting my leg the same way she had back when I was twelve or so and had to get a whole bunch of shots at my checkup.

I d rather have a shot, or five, than see a lawyer about a divorce.

I don t want to think about how much this is going to cost.

Then don t, Mom said.

Mom.

I ve got you covered.

What about your retirement?

Prenups, Vivi dear. I finally learned to protect my assets.

Oh.

Before I could finish contemplating how my mother had already forgotten more about divorce than I d ever learn, the receptionist told me to go on back to the first office on the right. I wanted to bring Mom with me, but I was a grown-ass woman. She moved her hand in a shooing motion and picked up a magazine.

If the exterior of the house was Victorian charm, the inside of Paloma Carter s office was sleek and modern. I sat down on a maroon couch that looked like something from an upscale IKEA.

Hi, I m Paloma Carter, an elegant lady ten years my elder said. Her voice held a trace of accent, something similar to Salma Hayek. Her hair was cut in a glossy black pageboy, and I noted that her diamond studs were each larger than the diamond in my engagement ring. Her manicure? Impeccable. Apparently, I had gone into the wrong line of work.

I m Vivian Quackenbush.

Quackenbush? The corners of her lips twitched upward, but she didn t laugh.

Yeah, I think I ll be getting rid of that, I said.

She shrugged. It s as you wish.

Thank you for making time for me, I said.

She waved away my thanks. Your mother helped me find the perfect house on Maple Avenue, so I owe her.

That and, if memory served, Paloma had presided over two of Mom s divorces. Mom may have funded those diamond studs for all I knew.

She grabbed a notepad and came to join me on the couch. Okay, Vivian. What s your story?

The tears came in spite of my best efforts. I apologized, but she simply passed the Kleenex and assured me she d been there before. I stumbled through everything-even the chicken salad-and ended with the manila folder of incriminating pictures.

I can t say that I ve ever represented someone with her own meme before, she said.

Well, I m not sure I want to be a meme, but here we are, I said with a shrug, sniffling away the last of my tears.

Any kids?

One. He s at college.

She frowned. We can t get child support, but we ll see what we can do. She pointed to the folder. Did he buy her anything?

I don t know.

Find out, because you re owed half of whatever it is. Do you have any assets that are yours alone?

I hesitated. Well, my father s inheritance to me is in a separate account.

Good, good, she said, making a note but not looking up.

And the house is in my name but-

She looked up sharply, causing me to pause.

I m told I can t kick Mitch out. Something about tenants rights?

True, true, she said, looking down to scratch out another note. Hmm. When was the last time you had a job?

I can t remember exactly. The early 2000s?

She nodded and made another note. Then we ll ask for permanent alimony.

Permanent alimony. I did like the sound of that.

We should be able to get fifty percent of marital assets, and we ll see if we can get the house, but a lot of this will depend on how mediation goes.

I nodded as if I had anything other than the most rudimentary idea of what mediation was.

Now, Vivian. I have some homework for you.

She proceeded to tell me to get my paperwork together and said she would send me an email with websites that would be good resources. Oh, and I would have to figure out something to do to get insurance-probably get the kind of job that comes with benefits.

At the thought of it, I started crying again. Paloma tried to be supportive, but she was also looking at the time on her smartwatch as she asked me if there was anything else she could do for me.

I shook my head and wandered out of her office, so glad that I had my mother there with me. When I reached the lobby, Mom wasn t looking at the magazine that lay open on her lap. Instead, she stared into space, her lips pursed and brow furrowed in a worried expression.

My breathing eased. Was that relief? I d been avoiding my mother for so many years that my gladness at seeing her felt . . . strange.

Want me to drive home? she asked.

I nodded and fished around in my purse for my keys in spite of the fact that I hated my mother s driving. I d just close my eyes and say my prayers.

We got into the Mystery Machine, and she adjusted the seats and arranged the mirrors to her liking before turning to me and saying, Vivian, if I could take this for you, I would. I wouldn t wish divorce on my worst enemy.

I dedicated most of that afternoon to online job applications and Paloma s homework. So far I d applied to fifty different positions, but I didn t have much hope. I had to fudge my level of experience often. Trying to find all the documentation I needed for Paloma should ve been easy since I kept meticulous files, but I still had a headache by the time I got to emails, voicemails, and checking on the YouTube channel. I had several interview requests and more viewers, but I couldn t figure out how to spin publicity into gold. Mom let me be. She sat on the couch reading a book, ignoring my sighs of frustration.

At seven she gave up waiting on me to cook and brought me a peanut butter and jelly sandwich with the crusts cut off.

I teared up.

Dammit, Vivian, this was supposed to make you laugh.

Sorry. I-

For heaven s sake, don t apologize.

I managed to swallow a couple of bites of sandwich. I m not used to anyone taking care of me, I guess.

Well, Mom said. That s about to change. You re going to learn to take care of yourself.

I didn t want to take care of myself. I d spent so long thinking only of Dylan and Mitch that I didn t even know how.

Picking at the sandwich, I wondered what taking care of myself even looked like. In the past, things like exercise were about looking good for . . . Mitch. Keeping the house clean and the laundry done was something I did so Mitch and Dylan could have people over without being embarrassed, which might explain why the clutter had begun to catch up with me. Everyone was talking about self-care these days. What even was self-care?

I looked at Mom and simply asked, How?

Think about what you want.

I put my sandwich down. I don t know.

You may have to ask yourself what you don t want in order to figure out what you do want.

The words made sense but didn t make sense. I was still mulling them over an hour later when I stood in my closet in bra and panties looking for something to wear to Sal s Singalong.

Blue. All blue.

My entire closet was various shades of blue. I did not want to wear blue. Blue did not spark joy.

Mitch had always said he loved to see me in blue because it went well with my eyes.

At that thought I started ripping shirts and dresses from hangers. Soon my closet contained more empty hangers than clothes.

I did not like the color blue.

I liked the color red.

Yet my entire closet had been full of blue blouses and blue dresses-even blue shoes. And who in heaven s name-other than Elvis or Carl Perkins-needed blue shoes? A blue belt? Nope. It all had to go.

I streaked through the house to the kitchen and got a couple of garbage bags. I was so intent on ridding my closet of blue things that I didn t realize Mom had followed me until she said, Vivian, what are you doing?

I m getting rid of all the blue. What s it to you?

My words came out harsh, but Mom answered with a measured, Okay.

To her credit, she didn t ask why. She didn t take the bait, even though I was clearly spoiling for a fight. Feeling guilty for biting her head off, I felt the need to answer her unspoken questions. I like red, but Mitch says red is a color for sluts.

Ah.

Then my mother, who I was beginning to think might be an angel in disguise, stepped into the closet with me and helped me get rid of every last shred of blue. I was left with a mostly empty closet but a much lighter soul.

So, a shopping trip may be in order, Mom said. What are you going to wear tonight?

I m going to wear that red sweater I bought for Christmas and a pair of jeans.

Sounds like a plan, Mom said. Her tone was extra soothing, as if she were afraid I might be having a breakdown.

Maybe I was.

But cleaning out my closet had to rank low on the list of destructive things I could do, so I was going to take it as a win. We could call it earning my Marie Kondo Badge.

I m mostly ready, so I ll just get these bags out of your way, Mom said. Where do you want me to put them?

In the foyer, where they can think about what they ve done.

I put on my Christmas party ensemble, pleasantly surprised that my pants were a little loose. I had a chat with myself. Vivian, you re the only one who would see this as a Christmas party ensemble. It s not an ugly sweater. It doesn t even have sequins. It s fine.

From there I took the time to apply makeup and curl my hair. I even sprayed some perfume at my pulse points. Anyone who looked at me tonight would see a well-put-together woman who was going to get through her divorce just fine, thank you very much.

On my way out the door, I fed Lucky once again and made sure her water was at an acceptable level. I paused just inside the garage, causing Mom to run into me.

What? she asked.

Even the damn van is blue.

I thought you loved the Mystery Machine, she said.

I wanted something smaller, sportier. Mitch bought this.

Well, it s going to come in handy tonight, and I can t condone your getting rid of it right this minute. You ll need to save your pennies if you want a new car.

I sighed and headed for the driver s seat. I know.

I tamped down an ounce of resentment. In the past I would ve thought she was taking Mitch s side, but now I knew how she really felt about him. I knew she was looking out for my welfare.

Once I picked up Rachel and Abi, we were off on my latest adventure. Little did I know that I was going to earn my Grace Under Pressure Badge as well as my Spreading My Wings Badge.