Unfriend Him

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

2013-02-01T12:56:00.003-08:00

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

2011-05-16T22:31:00.000-07:00

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?

2011-05-09T19:30:00.000-07:00

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!

2011-05-09T14:24:00.000-07:00

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?

2011-05-07T10:01:00.000-07:00

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

2011-05-06T22:21:00.000-07:00

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

2011-03-28T19:39:00.000-07:00

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

2011-03-27T14:47:00.000-07:00

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

2011-03-26T23:27:00.000-07:00

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)

2011-03-18T21:34:00.000-07:00

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)

2011-03-12T23:37:00.000-08:00

[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

2010-12-22T18:27:00.000-08:00

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

2010-12-19T20:23:00.000-08:00

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

2010-12-07T20:53:00.000-08:00

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

2010-10-17T14:06:00.000-07:00

[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.

27. Where is Happy again? It's not on the map.

2010-09-23T20:37:00.000-07:00

The weekend that D was away with the bellydander on some bellydancing convention in Cityville, I was staying calm by counting my blessings.

I had a gorgeous, terrific, funny, sweet, charming Little One.

I had a house that I could afford to keep, therefore keeping Little One in her home.

I had a good job.

I no longer had to worry about D.

That last one was the one that kept making the most difference, because it allowed me to back the hell up a little and see my life for what it really was. The more I was away from D, the more I started to peel away the layers I'd put on myself during years of self-protection and find me, the me I'd been before the marriage.

I was astounded to discover how much I had changed who I was in order to save my marriage.

And I was ever so slightly more astounded to discover that D had absolutely no idea.

No wonder I'd resented him for years. No wonder I'd been completely passive aggressive. I kept moving, and shifting, and changing, and morphing, the whole time trying to become a woman who could first keep D happy, and then keep D and Little One happy. I realized that I had completely forgotten about myself.

And it showed. I had never lost the 20 pounds of baby weight; in fact, I'd gained another ten. I was drawn and sallow. My laugh sounded forced and slightly harsh. I hated myself for failing in my marriage, hated myself for being an imperfect mother, hated myself for not being a perfect wife.

How had I missed this?

In retrospect, I don't think I did miss it; I think I knew the whole time, but kept my head firmly planted in the sand. I just didn't want to come to terms with what I was doing or why I was doing it. I just wanted to forge ahead, and get to some point called "Happy" which was out there, somewhere, floating nebulously between here and death.

So when D returned from his bellydancer orgy or whatever it was (can you tell how much that stung?), I was able to be even and kind and bored with him. I didn't ask how his trip was. I didn't dig for information. I just kind of existed, calmly, not engaging in any small talk, just focusing on being me. Whoever that might turn out to be.

Interestingly, that same weekend, I got four calls from "Anonymous" on my phone. The irony was not lost on me. I was never home when any of them came through, and they didn't leave a phone number. But part of me fantasized that Mr. Anonymous was calling me for some reason...perhaps he just couldn't wait for the juicy morsels I could deliver?

And so, then it was Christmas. And my present to myself was the strictest of parenting plans. It addressed D's drug use and alcoholism. It gave me license to request a pee test if I ever felt that D had been drinking or drugging prior to having Little One. I could even take him to court over anything I might deem appropriate. And I had explained each of these points to him.

And what did he do when I explained each and every point? You might remember, he nodded and said, Okay, next. That was all. That lack of engagement made me crazy and happy at the same time. On the one hand, I was getting exactly the level of control that I wanted and needed to have in order to protect Little One long-term. On the other hand, HOW DID HE NOT CARE?! I just didn't get it.

Either way, I was getting the divorce I deserved. And so I added to my list of blessings:

I had a devilish little angel named Sally the Bellydancer, and she gave me everything I ever wanted for Christmas.

Of course, that didn't mean I hated her any less. I'm only human, after all.

26. Smug and Untrusthworthy? Who, me?

2010-09-14T21:06:00.000-07:00

Yeah, so...this night, the night before D was going to leave for some fucking bellydancer orgy in Cityville, I was feeling happy that Mr. Bellydancer (alleged) wanted to talk to me and reveal himself. And I was thrilled at the prospect of getting some sense of revenge - even if it was just in my head.

After D brought Little One in, I could tell he was worked up about something. He was doing that chewing-the-inside-of-his-cheek thing which was a direct indicator of shit about to fly. So I waited, patiently, sitting on my couch (throne), as D (my subject) chewed his cheeks and worked up the cojones to say something "important."

(As I look back on this moment now, I know that he was uncomfortable with what he was about to do, on some level, i.e. going away with this married woman while he was still married. Even though she'd filed for divorce a month after I had, it was still just an ugly thing to do, especially the weekend before Christmas. The worse part was, he had voluntarily given up time with his daughter to do it. That part bugged me the most.)

But at this point, I just sat, and waited.

Finally he launched in to some sort of revision of the parenting plan that he wanted - some different hours or nights or weekend days or some such. It was at this point that I realized - quite rightly - that he was baiting me into a confrontation.

So I smiled. I smiled, and it unnerved him. It's actually a good thing that he didn't know me better, because the basis of my smile was this: D, I'm going to fuck you up the ass with your girlfriend's husband. But the end result of unnerving him was to catapult him that much further down the cheek-chewing path to confrontation.

At some point, I came right out and told him that him giving up time with Little One so early into the parenting plan process was not a very good sign for his ability to stick with the parenting plan in the future.

"What, you mean you don't trust me?" he asked. He actually asked that question of me.

I told him I believed he believed he could be a good dad and stick to the plan. "But you think I won’t be able to do it," he stated.

"All I have to base my opinion on is the past. And the present, which hasn’t been so hot, either," I explained.

"What do you mean by that?" he asked. Again, he actually asked that question.

"D, you've had a girlfriend behind my back since September, and that informs my ability to trust you in this moment."

"Well," D fumed, "I don't trust you either. Through our whole marriage, we could talk, and talk, and talk, and talk, and nothing would ever change, and you're telling me that the past doesn't matter, and it's just what I recently did that matters."

"Oh no, D," I corrected him. "Our marriage is certainly on the table when I consider how trustworthy you are."

As I delivered this truth, I just smiled, calmly. It was true that our marriage had been full of things that we had both promised each other we would do for each other, and then not done. I would get in shape. He would stop drinking. I would try to keep the house cleaner. He would stop drinking. I would help him find a job. He would stop drinking.

"You're so fucking smug, sitting there on your couch," he replied.

At this moment, it felt great to calmly look him in the eye from my perch, and simply say, "You know what, D? I think I'm done talking for tonight. This conversation isn't going to go anywhere, and we both know that. So why don't you head on out, and we'll see you when you get back."

A few minutes later, with a couple of mea culpas thrown in for good measure (by him, I mean), he slunk out the door.

So – there you have it. The more he pushed me on stuff like this, the more I could see his “tells” – the quicker speech pattern, the tightening of the face, the one foot out the door (literally). And it’s funny how, in being honest with him, he turned it around and made the whole thing into my fault. How often has he done this in our marriage? I had to wonder. But I also finally knew that it was pointless to try and reason with him, that’s for damn sure.

And so – I decided that night that my new goal was to no longer expect, nor need, reason from him. I was astounded by just how wrong he had been, about everything. He really did see things a certain way, and had no ability to reign in his words when his emotions got the better of him.

And ultimately, he just sounded really dumb. And that was not my fault, I knew that much, at least.

Later that night, I was feeling pretty calm. I just didn’t have it in me to get all worked up about this stuff now. There had been so much that had happened, and at this moment in time, I had ALL the paperwork signed, sealed, and ready to be delivered to the courthouse come the first business day in January. For my own emotional growth and well-being, I had no more to gain from being invested in him, or in how he reacted to me or things I said. What’s more, I had nothing to gain from reacting to him with anything other than calm smiles. That apparently made him NUTS! I loved it!

There was one other point that I realized; during the course of this conversation, he only really started to get defensive when I mentioned the girlfriend.

I didn’t expect any sort of mea culpa on this. I should have probably made that my mantra from now on. Throw it out there, just let it be, and then just shrug when he tries to throw it all back at me. And smile.

I felt so, so lucky to be getting out of this marriage! No wonder I had been so unhappy for so long. D was just so out of touch and unhappy and touchy and defensive and selfish and stupid and hurtful and self-righteous.

Two nights before this, I was heartbroken over the fact that he was going away with the bellydancer. Then, I had the email conversation with Anonymous Tipper, with him/her asking me to help them. So tonight, I felt great when he was here, didn’t really care to be offended or anything. Because I kept thinking, I AM GOING TO BREAK YOU.

Even if I didn't end up actually doing it still felt good at that moment to think that I might.

Oh, and one more thing.

I had purposely left out the new Tiger Woods scandal-laden People magazine cover on the coffee table, directly in D's line of sight. (This was the one for Dec. 21, 2009, and the headline was INSIDE HER ORDEAL: More cheating revealed, etc.) And while he and I were talking about something else, he rearranged two DVDs on the table to cover up the magazine. I suspect that he didn't even know he was doing it.

Like so much in his existence, D had absolutely no idea what he was doing.

I felt exhilarated with this new knowledge until I realized one terrible truth:

This man was still my Little One's father, and I would have to figure out how to protect her from him.

Well, so that would have to come next, in the form of the extremely strict parenting plan.

25. The High Road Sucks.

2010-09-14T20:43:00.000-07:00

Mr. Anonymous was nothing if not relatively time-sensitive. In fact, he responded within 2 hours.

From: anonymous [mailto:husbandishavinganaffair@gmail.com]

Sent: Friday, December 18,  11:14 AM

To: Penelope

Subject: RE: This is (so not) difficult to say...

Absolutely.  I understand, as my situation is also delicate (and parallel in more ways than one :).

Please let me know the best way to handle a call when you're ready.

Ah, so it IS you, Mr. Bellydancer, I thought, as I read the email response. Well. Okay, then.

I wasn't ready to talk to him. I had my eye on a singular prize: a January divorce. I was going to have my divorce finalized on the first weekday in January, so that I could file joint taxes for the year I was in, and still get the divorce done as quickly as possible. Two weeks, I figured, roughly two weeks. I could wait.

So I figured I'd write back right away, letting Mr. Anonymous know my exact timeframe.

From: "Penelope" 

Date: Fri, 18 Dec  11:24:32 -0800

To: anonymous
Conversation: This is (so not) difficult to say...
Subject: RE: This is (so not) difficult to say...

Thanks, I appreciate that. I do have one question for you with respect to timing: do you have a specific date by which you'd like to talk and potentially receive the information you need?

I'm asking because I anticipate having my divorce finalized in court the week of Jan. 4. I am wondering if perhaps it might be better if I wait until after that date to speak with you. Would that work for you? As you can probably tell, I'm extremely excited at the prospect of no longer being married, and want to be cautious about rocking the boat until then. :)

With respect to how to handle a call, I have a personal conference line - seems like the most logical way for both of us to proceed. I can give you that call-in info once we settle on timing.

His response, once again, came within hours.

From: anonymous [mailto:husbandishavinganaffair@gmail.com]
Sent: Friday, December 18, 2:48 PM
To: Penelope
Subject: RE: This is (so not) difficult to say...

Sounds good, Penelope. Let's chat once your situation is finalized. Thank you.

Ever solicitous, this Mr. Anonymous. (Kind of reminded me of D, when he was trying to get something he wanted. And D would become even more like that post-divorce - but more on that later.)

Against the backdrop of D leaving the next morning for Cityville with the bellydancer for a weekend of bellydancing and who knows what all else, I found this recent development with Mr. Anonymous nothing short of elating. Finally, I thought - I will know for sure who this motherfucker/angel is, and I will be able to put all of this to rest! I can't tell you how good it felt, just to think about being the kind of person who would use him to get back at the bellydancer and D.

I say "think about being the kind of person" because, realistically, I'm not a rabble-rouser. Getting in trouble makes me sick to my stomach. The thrill of these moments was rooted in their impossibility. I could never be that person.

And that really, really pissed me off.

The high road is simply exhausting. So what if I wanted to take an imaginary detour every once in a while? I was entitled, I figured. I'd followed the letter of the law in everything related to the divorce. I was a pretty fine mom. I worked hard. I made sure D was provided for in the financials, short of giving him alimony.

So that evening, when D came over to drop off Little One from one of his pre-arranged manny visits with her (I called him the manny - male nanny - regularly, but never to his face), I was feeling rather happy. It was odd, since "happy" was not an emotion I'd felt very much when D was around, not for a long time.

And thus began the final Big Fight of 2009: where D accused me of being "smug" and "untrustworthy." Yep, really. I'll get to that in the next post.

24. "D Needs to Prove He's a Good Guy" Lane

2010-09-02T20:41:00.000-07:00

Right around this time, I decided to count my blessings again. While I was most grateful for my child, our health, and the fact that I could pay my bills and put food on our table, I was exceedingly grateful that the divorce was going so smoothly.

"Have you called a lawyer to represent you?" I'd ask.

"No, I trust you to do everything and to do it right," D would reply.

"We have to work out the parenting plan, to establish what nights you'll have her. Let's sit down and talk through these 18 outstanding points," I'd say.

"Okay," he would reply. And after I'd taken him through each one, he'd say, "They all sound great."

"I can't afford to and won't give you alimony," I'd say.

"Okay, I understand," he'd say.

"The state expects you to pay this much in child support every month," I'd say.

"Okay," he'd say. "When are you giving me half of your 401K again?"

Well, okay. Up until that last point - which came up a lot, and the answer was "not until after the divorce is final, so I can provide the financial firm with the divorce decree" - you can see that we had turned a corner in our conflict negotiation. We'd been on D Wins No Matter What Street so long, I nearly missed the hard right turn around D Screwed Up Big-Time Corner leading into to D Needs to Prove He's a Good Guy Lane. And now that I was there, I was planning on building a house there.

But all was not well. Even though the divorce was going easily and quickly - it appeared that the divorce process would last only four months - I was deeply hurt that D would be going to Cityville with Bellydancer a few days before Christmas. It just plain hurt, for the reasons I outlined in the last post. And it was clear to me that he really didn't get why I would be hurt.

So I tuned him out, as best I could. When he came over, I said please and thank you, but did not engage in conversation with him beyond questions related to Little One. I limited all contact as much as possible. It didn't matter: I could only think of the fact that he was choosing to go away with this whore the weekend before Christmas and give up time with Little One to do it, so fresh into our parenting plan adventures. And the worst part was that he seemed impervious to the emotional ramifications for me.

That’s where I kept getting caught in my thought process: he simply didn’t care about my feelings anymore.

But really, when had he ever? He would say he did, and he seemed to, sometimes. But other times he’d say horrible things and be terrible. Had that person really ever cared about me?

I wasn't not sure he ever had. He hated himself too much to really love anyone else. Or some other bullshit like that.

Whatever. The truth is, he just didn’t care about how I felt or what I felt anymore. I mean, it was clear that he hadn’t during this whole divorce process, although I guess if you count him “hiding” his relationship with the mother-whore, then sure, he must have cared. But I don’t really think he honestly cared about my feelings. He cared about getting caught and being called out on being the cad he is.

I was so, so disappointed in him. And I was disappointed in myself for loving him for so long and for buying his bullshit for years. He never really changed. He never really wanted the life he said he wanted. He rode my coattails for years, occasionally chipping in when he felt like it, but rather than get a job he told me I should just spend less.

I felt so much hate, so much anger about being betrayed - and it wasn't just that the divorce process had brought all this to light. No, with more time spent apart, I was starting to realize how much of my energy and life had been formerly dedicated to keeping D happy and to keeping the peace.

Man, but that asshole didn't deserve it. And oh, how I had tried.

So I reached out to Mr. Anonymous right after D told me about his little Cityville adventure coming up. Only, I reached out in a way I could feel good about:

From: Penelope <>

Sent: Friday, December 11,  9:45 AM

To: d_is_having_an_affair 

Subject: This is (so not) difficult to say...

Hello again. I just wanted to let you know that I still appreciate you helping me to see the situation as it actually was, and not how it was being presented to me. It sparked a rather interesting and bumpy chain of events, the result of which is me getting the divorce my daughter and I deserve, so there was a lot of good that came out of it.

And the two people who caused this will now have each other to contend with.  I can't tell you how much that both annoys me and pleases me. More so the latter than the former, however.

Granted, I still don't officially know who you are. So there's not much I can specifically address. Regardless, I wanted to wish you well, and again express my gratitude for having the balls to tell me what the coward I'm divorcing could not. It made a world of difference.

Penelope

I needed to reach out and thank this person who had helped me to achieve my new plot of land on D Needs to Prove He's a Good Guy Lane. Because it appeared I'd be able to live there quite comfortably for some time. Granted, I knew that Mr. Anonymous's motives were selfish ones, but I really did think the balance with D had tipped in my favor as a result of Mr. A. And I wanted him to know that.

Interestingly, I didn't hear back for over a week. When I did hear back, Mr. Anonymous timed his response to coincide with the trip that his wife and my husband were embarking on.

From: anonymous [mailto:husbandishavinganaffair@gmail.com] 

Sent: Friday, December 18,  9:51 AM

To: Penelope

Subject: RE: This is (so not) difficult to say...

Penelope, I'm glad to know this was helpful to you. I struggled with whether or not to tell you. I did not want to meddle. But it was the right thing to do. I would have wanted someone to tell me.

It turns out that there is a chance you might have information that could help me. I wonder if we might set up a brief phone call sometime in the next couple weeks? I will be happy to confirm my identity then. Not trying to play games, it would just be easier that way.

The more vengeful part of my brain replied, Ah, interesting, Mr. Anonymous - your timing is impeccable, as you must know that I could not be happy about the impending trip. What's more, you want to talk, eh? Well, now. This could be fun.

The paranoid part, the larger part, said in big bold letters, THIS GUY IS FUCKING CREEPY AND YOU NEED TO STEER CLEAR OF HIM UNTIL THE DIVORCE IS DONE! RUN! RUN!!

So, I did what I had failed to do throughout most of my marriage: I put myself first:

From: "Penelope" <>
Date: Fri, 18 Dec 10:02:44 -0800
To: anonymous
Subject: RE: This is (so not) difficult to say...

Glad you wrote back. My interest is piqued, as is my curiosity. If I can, I would be happy to help you.

So - I will give you a qualified "yes," meaning that I'd be happy to talk to you on the phone, but can't really be sure what information I can and will share until I know who you are, and in what context you're asking. Strictly in the interest of protecting myself and the delicacies of my current situation - I hope you understand.

Does that work for you?

23. All I want for Christmas is his two front teeth

2010-08-28T12:01:00.000-07:00

One of the saddest parts of our marriage, for me, was that we never did anything. Try as I might, I could not entice D to go anywhere with me for a nice weekend away. And where we live, there are plenty of majestic, fantastic places to visit. I wanted to take Little One on some little adventures. But every time I would try to broach the subject, I was told, "I don't feel like it. I have too much to do. [!] It's too expensive. I just want to stay at home."

So imagine my surprise when I heard this proclamation from D in early December:

"Just so you know, I'm going to be going out of town on the weekend before Christmas."

Now, dear reader, this is where the internet is oh-so-helpful. See, Sally Lee, Sally's bellydancer alter-ego, had a website, on which she listed her upcoming performances. And on this weekend in question, there was a performance listed at some sort of bellydancer conference (I kid you not) in a large city a few hours away from here. We'll call it Cityville.

So, my response was, "Oh, so you're going to Cityville?"

The shock on his face was instantaneous. He paled. "You - what - yeah, um." Eloquent as ever.

"Yeah, it's amazing what you can find on the internet these days," I said, not exactly letting him know how I knew. That just freaked him out even more.

"Let me get this straight," I continued. "You're actually going out of town - that's surprise number 1. Number 2 - you're leaving for four days, right before Christmas. 3 - you're going with Sally. And 4 - and I love this one - you're going to the same city where we had our Babymoon?" (This was the last trip he and I had taken together before Little One was born, and I was about 5 months pregnant.)

To his credit, he looked like he got it. "Yes," he said.

"Okay, then, have a good trip," I said. As I calmly shut the door behind him (regretting that I was too well-raised to slam it), I had to fight the tears, nausea, and anger, all welling up at the same time. Little One needed me, so it would have to wait. And so it did.

I poured the anger into research. What I needed to know was, did my state consider an agreement created via email to be a binding contract? I was checking because I wanted to make sure this damn bellydancer stayed away from my kid, since it was plain she was going to be around my husband for a while. And while D had been visiting his relatives for Thanksgiving, I had decided I was going to get EVERYTHING in writing. Such as:

D,

My goal is to ensure that you and I are on exactly the same page with regard to matters we have discussed on the phone. Therefore I would like you to respond to this email with your own written response, for purposes of documentation.

1. Sally A. Smith will not be present during any time you and Little One are going to have together, until such time that you and I mutually agree to change this arrangement if necessary and appropriate.

2. We will carefully work together on the parenting plan to ensure that we create something the court will accept, particularly with respect to your substance abuse history and DUI/assault charges. My intention is to ensure that, while the court may consider those as safety concerns, we construct a plan which responsibly addresses both your past, and contingencies with respect to these issues going forward. I appreciate your offer to continue AA and have a record of your attendance, etc.; that may be one good option. I commit to working with you to construct this plan.

3. I will continue to pack your remaining items, including clothing, shoes/shoe racks, toys, and posters, in boxes, with the exception of the items hanging in Little One's closet, which I will leave on the hangers. (Which you can keep, of course.)

4. I will also give you the coffee table in the living room.

5. I believe that you have every intention of keeping Little One safe and maintaining a close relationship with her. Insofar as this is in Little One’s best interest, I will do what I can to help you make that happen.

His response had been, "That all sounds fine." He then went on to clarify what qualified as "substance abuse" and give me a lesson in alcoholism recovery. I won't bore you with it. (I just read it again and my eyes glaze over every time.)

You may notice that the #1 statement, that Sally would steer clear of Little One, wasn't even addressed outright. This was because I had already secured his verbal commitment on this one during a phone conversation. This was also because it wasn't the most important part of the email to him - his drinking/substance abuse was.

Back to the legal research. What it indicated was that I would indeed be able to use emails, such as the exchange above, as a binding contract, should the need arise. In other words, I could threaten to sue him for breach of contract, should he put Sally and Little One together without my knowledge.

That was all I had to make me feel safer in this moment, and so I clung to it. Because I was NOT happy about him going away with her the days before Christmas.

As it turns out, there was someone else who was not entirely happy about it, either: Mr. Anonymous.

22. Cherry Chapstick Capitulation

2010-08-25T21:18:00.000-07:00

During the first week of December, I got to have another one of those "here's how I feel" sessions with D. We had started to get into a rhythm with childcare: I had Little One 100% of the time outside of daycare, except for 3-4 evenings a week when D would take her to his place for a few hours at a time. She never slept anywhere else but home, with me. That was how it needed to be, because I did not trust D at all. It made me crazy that he was alone with her at all, primarily because he had so little prior experience in this area.

I was, in retrospect, rather glad I had no social life to speak of, since this arrangement would not have helped it.

On this particular day, D had discovered, much to his chagrin, that some of his local relatives were not interested in having him come to their house. They did not approve of his behavior, and told him so. His response - no shocker here - was to be shitty to me. This time, however, I called him on it. I pushed him to tell me why he was being short with me, even though I knew. (He didn't know I knew, or perhaps he assumed I was behind the ostracizing. I was not.)

This turned into a loooooong phone call, during which he was also taking care of Little One. (Later, I would find out that she was quietly mashing cherry Chapstick into his carpets while he was on the phone with me in the other room. I love that kid.) I was pissed off and I was no longer going to let him be shitty to me, especially given that he thought it was okay to treat me that way given that it was HIS behavior which had caused these consequences which he didn't find palatable.

During this phone call - which I will not rehash here, because quite frankly, dear reader, you've heard it all before - I accused him of having used Sally to fuck his way out of two relationships. That really got to him. It felt good. Once again, I found myself yelling at him while sitting in my car, in my driveway. Only this time, I was alone, and it was dark, and I had much, much less to fear.

I had been able, once again, to say everything I could possibly think of, and had pretty much done it in a way I can be proud of. No name-calling (except liar, etc. - you know, factually accurate ones), no fighting dirty. I had just said everything that I'd been feeling, all the conversations I'd been having with D in my head for weeks now - all of that, I got to say to him.

All that nasty stuff I had to get out of my system, all the ways in which he done me wrong, I got it out. I told him that I mourned his passing. I felt like the man I had married was dead. Not that he was any sort of prince, but at least I thought I knew who I was divorcing. Turns out that guy didn't really exist, not really. He was a figment of our collective imagination, created by Sally's interaction with him.

I got to clarify that no, Sally was not the reason we were getting a divorce. I got to explain that she was the reason we were getting a divorce at that moment, and the reason that the divorce was now the way that it was. So there, assholes.

I wish I could say that I made him feel bad. But even though he'd tell you I did hurt him and I did make him feel bad about his behavior, I honestly didn't believe he was the kind of person who would ever really get it. He would never be the kind of guy to really truly get what he'd done, and the depth of how it had impacted me. Nothing I could ever say would get me there.

So now I knew from experience.

A part of me - which diminished quickly, with time - wished at this moment that I hadn't had this conversation with him. But a bigger part of me was so glad to have had the opportunity to get this all out in the open.

When the call was done, and I had once again said everything I could possibly want to say, in the way that I wanted, and had him respond to everything the best possible way that he could, I walked into the house.

And right then, I found myself calling up Athena, sobbing to her, telling her I didn't feel any better.

When D brought Little One home, maybe a half hour later, he didn't get out of his car. It was not an offensive he was mounting; rather, I took that as a sign that he understood how little I wanted to see him.

When I had put Little One to bed, and returned downstairs, I realized I felt different.

I was looking around the house, alone there, and suddenly, it doesn't feel so violated or violating for me to be there.

Maybe, I thought, just maybe, one day, I'll be able to walk into that office again, where he and Sally did whatever. Maybe.

Or maybe I'll just sell the fucking house.

As with all emotional states around D, this feeling of hope was short-lived. Because the next day, he informed me about a trip he was going to be taking right before Christmas. With Mrs. Bellydancer. Ah, but this did not go well.

21. Writing Unsendable Letters

2010-08-24T20:45:00.000-07:00

I had tried. Honestly, I had. I had really, really tried to elevate myself above the negative, to be grateful, to rise above, so to speak. I really had.

But I was in an absolute rage. Seething with bitterness and longing for vengeance. When Little One was around, I felt calmer, more at ease - I looked at her, and I knew why things were already on a good path, a better one for her and for me. I knew that she wouldn't have to grow up watching her mother mistreated by her father. And even among all that suffocating, anxious anger, I used that as my anchor: what had happened was right for her, and therefore, was right for me.

What I did not understand - to this day - was how a woman, namely Sally Bellydancer, could participate in deceiving another woman. Was she dumb? Was she mean? She'd seemed perfectly nice when I had met her. And yet, she had not only married a man who saw fit to reach out and piss off her boyfriend's wife via anonymous email (allegedly), but she had helped that boyfriend to completely dupe his wife into thinking that he was a decent guy, dedicated to family and not to getting laid by a tattoo-covered bellydancer.

So the jury was out. But I wrote her a letter - you know, one of those letters that you never send, you just feel better writing it:

Dear Sally,

You stupid, stupid bitch.

What kind of mother does this to another mother?

What kind of woman does this to another woman?

How could you be so complicit in his lies, his deceptions?

Are you so desperate for affection that you would accept a sub-par human being like D?

Do you understand the fact that he "seems" to know himself so well only gives him license to behave however he wants?

Do you realize you don't know him at all, because he himself has no idea who he really is?

Do you understand the damage YOU have caused to my relationship with him?

Did you really think it was appropriate to come into our house and have intimate relations with him?

How could you participate in the breakup of a family when that family so needed to stick together through a tough time?

How could you do this to a child, to a child's mother?

I hope you suffer and hurt and that, when you wake up to who D is, it's too late for you to leave. I hope you drown in him.

You fucking whore.

Love,
Penelope

So. Yeah, so. I was angry. But it doesn't stop there: I was still angry at D, too, and itching to tell him all about it. For now, precariously perched in that "jolly" time between Thanksgiving and Christmas, I was content to write him a "never-to-be-sent" letter, too:

Dear D,

I don't care anymore.

There, I said it. I can't and won't care anymore about how you live your life and who you live it with.

I won't try to fix you anymore.

I won't try to prove to you that I'm right.

I only need you to be a good dad. I need and want nothing else from you.

I don't care who you're with or what you're doing with them.

I don't care if you're sick or if you're well - as long as, when you're sick, you're not with Little One. And by sick I mean in every way, shape or form.

I will no longer invest my emotional energy in whether you are unhappy or happy or feeling guilty or sad or angry. I will no longer have my actions be dictated by your anger.

I will no longer harbor any illusions about you and who you really are: You are your mother's son.

I will no longer try to show you that I'm better than you thought I was. You do not deserve the attention.

I won't engage in conversations with you that have nothing to do with Little One or the divorce. I will also try to apply this rule to the many conversations I have with you in my head.

I will treat you civilly and decently, but I will not go out of my way to make you comfortable or happy.

I will no longer hold your happiness above mine.

I will, however, and probably for a long time, wish you complete and utter suffering in your new relationship and throughout the rest of your life. Though someday I hope to be able to retract this statement.

You are worthless. You are scum. You never deserved me and you never will. I will watch you like a hawk with regards to Little One, her safety, and her happiness. And if you are not precisely synced up on those items I will come down on you with the hammer of the law. Repeatedly and with great glee.

Do not piss me off again, joker. You don't know who you're dealing with.

Very sincerely,
Your soon-to-be-ex-wife-and-couldn't-be-happier-about-it,
Penelope

20. Next Exit: Douchebag Dickhead Parking

2010-08-18T19:51:00.000-07:00

Ugh, Thanksgiving during a divorce. Only to be topped by Christmas during a divorce. I soothed myself by remembering that D was with his not-entirely-approving-of-his-life-choices family and not with his bellydancer; that I was NOT with D; and that I would only ever have one "during-divorce Thanksgiving" to contend with.

Fortunately, Little One was thriving. Deprived only of her parents' unhappiness and fighting, she was able to have each of us to her very own self for hours at a time. This was a new phenomenon, as D had spent nearly no, one-on-one alone time with her at this point in her life. And I hadn't pushed it, simply because I didn't trust him to be a) sober and b) an actual parent.

Sidebar. There was this one time, when Little One was about 4 months old, and I was driving our SUV. D was in the back seat with Little One, and we decided to stop at a grocery store on our way home. It was about 75 degrees and the sun was shining. I left the keys in the car, notated this, and went inside. Approximately 6 minutes later, I returned to the car to find Little One screaming, and D livid. Apoplectic. What had happened, I asked? "She got hot!" he yelled back, freaking out. So I asked the obvious question: "Why didn't you open the car door?" I was told to shut up and "just fucking drive."

It was times like this that made me pessimistic about D's ability to parent independently.

Back to Thanksgiving. So I had conjured up as much gratitude as I could, and I was still feeling like I was carrying a very large weight. I hadn't seen D in about 6 days, other than a couple of iChat episodes which were comical, particularly with his brothers and extended family waving to me uncomfortably in the background. "Hi, Penelope!" they'd say. What I heard: "We're really sorry D is such a douchebag dickhead!"

I waved back emphatically.

For the actual Thanksgiving dinner, I'd gone to D's cousin's house, the cousin whose substantial presence in the house during the Talking Points talk had made me feel like I was relatively safe from D hurting me. I felt safe with this cousin, and his amazing wife and kids. They wanted what was best for Little One, and they understood that taking care of me was a big part of taking care of her. They also knew all the details of D's infidelities, and didn't seem the least surprised when I first told them we were divorcing.

Huh.

In any case, this Thanksgiving, I was most grateful for having them to help me weather this tremendous storm. Whatever I needed, they were there. It was one of the two things in all this miserableness that I completely cherished, the other one being Little One.

They also understood that D was, emotionally speaking, a few cards short of a full deck, a few sandwiches short of a picnic, and all those other wonderful ways of saying "not 100% there."

To wit: During the last of those iChat conversations, he made sure to point out, in front of his family, that he had parked at the airport, so I wouldn't have to come pick him up or anything.

Yes, really. I know, I know.

I politely said, not wanting to embarrass him, "Good."

"Bye, Penelope!" D's family waved in the background. What I heard: "We're really, really, really sorry D is such a douchebag dickhead!"

19. There's something good in here. Now where did I put it...

2010-08-14T21:53:00.000-07:00

I was struggling for gratitude. Here it was, my first holiday season without my husband in nearly eight years. And I wasn't sure how I felt about that. One the one hand, it seemed awfully freeing. On the other, it was hopelessly tragic.

Maybe it was because Thanksgiving was right around the corner, but I was trying really hard to be grateful for what I had, in the midst of the shock and awe campaign my husband had launched.

I'm a pretty sunny person, most often. I haven't committed any major crimes or sins. I have tried to be good to people, I've tried to be a positive influence on those around me. So it felt all the more incongruous that all of this bullshit had piled up around me.

So I sat down and, through my tears, wrote up a list. I tried to conjure up everything that I could that I was grateful for, and I share it with you now.

I am grateful that I now know the truth.

I am grateful that new beginnings are just around the corner.

I am grateful that my daughter is healthy, happy, loving, and the absolute center of my crazy universe.

I’m grateful for the moments of quietude.

I’m grateful for the moments of toddler craziness.

I’m grateful that I have a nice home and that I’ll be able to continue to provide a safe environment for my daughter.

I’m grateful that I am who I am.

I’m grateful that I have so, so many people in my life who care about me, and I’m grateful to finally know that they are there.

I’m grateful to be rediscovering my self-worth.

I’m grateful that I let myself cry every once in a while, but that I never do it in front of my baby.

I’m grateful for my Roomba.

I’m grateful to be leaving an unhealthy relationship.

I’m grateful that I have my health, even if I could do better to take care of myself.

I’m grateful for my job.

I’m grateful that I want for nothing.

I’m grateful that my parents raised me with a solid sense of propriety, morality, and integrity.

I’m grateful that my daughter will likely spend the majority of the next fifteen and a half years with me.

I’m grateful that I have no plans to get into a relationship with someone else for a long time.

I’m grateful that I’m okay being single for a while.

I’m grateful for my family.

I’m grateful for all my cousins and aunts and uncles and Grandpop.

I’m grateful that my grandmother didn’t have to see me go through this.

18. Wait - the bellydancer who what now?

2010-08-14T19:46:00.000-07:00

Two days after the Talking Points talk, D left for that trip I mentioned. He was thousands of miles away, and it was a great time to have some distance between the two of us. It also meant that I didn't have to see him for nearly a week - that was, in itself, extremely comforting.

As I am wont to do, I called my friend Gaia, who was one half of a couple who'd introduced D and I nearly 10 years before. Her boyfriend, Ted, had been friends with D for years. Gaia and D didn't get along very well; she made him anxious, and he made her uncomfortable. But she and Ted knew him like no one else, so I'd been leaning on Gaia a lot recently, asking for her uniquely spiritual perspective on things.

The Tuesday before Thanksgiving, I called Gaia during work on my cellphone, so I could pace. I was having a particularly rotten day, thinking about everything that had transpired, feeling anxious about how the hell things were going to work out in the long run. Ultimately, I couldn't escape that feeling that Little One was going to suffer because her father was such a turd. That was the last thing I wanted, so I was basically coming to terms with what it was going to mean to have to deal with said turd and make him seem like the father Little One deserved, not the father he actually had been, and was.

So in speaking to Gaia, she mentioned out loud about "the bellydancer." And I heard Ted in the background say something (I couldn't make it out). And then Gaia said, "Hey, you said this bellydancer's name was Sally, right?" And I said yes. And she said, "Ted, was that her? Sally?" and I heard him say "Yeah, that was her, no doubt about it." Her what?

Gaia paused a moment before speaking. "So - you knew that D and Sally knew each other before, right?"

"Yes," I said. "She was a friend of his when he went to college."

"Did you know that they were involved back then?" She was referring to the mid-90s.

I paused. Had I known? I thought back. Nope, definitely not. I can pretty much guarantee that this was knowledge that was new to me.

"No," I said quietly.

I heard Ted say something in the background. Gaia said to me, "Yeah, so - I don't know if this is going to make you feel better or worse, but it was D's involvement with Sally that caused April to break it off with him. There was some sort of menage-a-trois thing going on with them, only April didn't want Sally in it. D got involved with Sally anyway, so April broke off the engagement. And she never spoke to him again." Gaia paused. "I'm sorry."

I got that rush of anxiety-ridden adrenaline again, the one that had become so familiar to me. You might call it batshit-crazy-anger.

"Gaia," I said, as calmly as possible, "Thank you for telling me this."

"I'm sorry," she repeated.

"No, really - it's okay," I said. "I didn't know, but given that D has now used Sally to end the two most committed relationships he's ever had, I think this puts things into a bit more context." I was gearing up. "You know what, Gaia?" I said. "I will call you back later - I really think I need to talk to D right now." The pacing had become more frenetic. I'm sure I looked like a lunatic at this moment, walking in circles around the lobby of my big office building. I thanked Gaia again and dialed D's number.

"Hello?" D said.

"D, how are you," I said flatly.

"Good," he said, somewhat hesitantly.

"Great," I shot back. "Hey, I've got a quick question for you."

"Sure, what?"

"Were you involved with Sally back in the mid-90s, and was your involvement with her what caused April to break off your engagement?"

He paused. "Well, yeah, but - "

"That's all I needed to know," I said, and hung up.

Hey, I'm not proud of it. But I knew, if asked a direct question, using the element of surprise, D would manage to tell me the truth. And he did, so bully for him.

It was approximately 4 minutes later that I saw that he was calling me back. I had already traveled up the elevator to my floor, and ducked into a nearby empty conference room.

"What?" I answered the phone.

He sighed, forcefully. "You - what was - what the hell - why - ?"

"D, did it ever occur to you that this was something you should tell me?"

"I did tell you!" I'm sorry, you imbecile, but this is the kind of thing a woman never forgets.

"NO, D, you did NOT tell me. You want to know why I know this? Because if I had known that you were doing 'yard work' for someone that you had FUCKED previously? I can tell you that things would have gone down VERY differently."

He was livid, I could tell, but also knew he was wrong. "I thought I had told you," he said tightly.

"No, you hadn't, D."

"I - I don't know, I really thought - "

"You know what, D? You spend the rest of your trip thinking of anything else that I should know, and we can talk when you get home. Kay?"

"I - look, Penelope, I'm sorry, I really don't know why I didn't tell you."

"Yes, you do know," I said. "You know exactly why. Don't give me that bullshit. Tell your family hi from me. Have a nice trip."

I hung up.