35

Friday morning I find a pair of navy pants and a short-sleeved white blouse in the back of my closet. At the last minute I add a belt. I could wear my navy blazer, but it’s August now and I have enough reasons to sweat. My kids won’t be up for a while, and neither will Phyllis. So it’s just Ferris and me in the backyard watching the sky brighten over the creek. The air feels wet from the dew coming off the grass. My coffee is warm in my hands.

I have been feeling so good lately that I am letting myself be hyperaware of how I am actually feeling. When I was married I learned that all of my feelings were wrong. I should have felt grateful, not overwhelmed, to be home with three kids. I should have felt relieved, not mournful, that I didn’t have to go to work anymore. My mom in particular painted a picture of my life that I felt guilty not embracing. I had everything she’d ever wanted. I think for a long time I just sat in that disconnect. What was wrong with me that I wasn’t ecstatic? I adore my children with a ferocity that astounds me. But I did not love Pete. And I missed my job. My mom saw me so clearly; she had to have seen that.

“I don’t want Ethan to leave,” I tell her. I say it so quietly that the geraniums almost miss it. This is a thing I cannot unknow. What else? she asks me. And I sit in the silence of that question for a minute. I feel the hard edges of the binder I’ve been clutching since I got up this morning. I open it and run my finger over the columns of numbers, left justified. “I want to work,” I whisper. Unless they build fifty new exceptionally messy houses in Beechwood, my organizing business is going to dry up. I’m definitely going to need more income, but I also want to be that person again. What else? I want a job with a desk and endless spreadsheets. In the same way I don’t know how I’m going to have a relationship with Ethan when he lives four hours away, I also don’t know how I’m going to find meaningful work in a small town while being the mostly-sole parent for my kids. But this morning, that’s okay. It just feels good to sit here and know what I want.

Ethan texts: Can’t believe we’re almost done with Pete

I smile at my phone. Me: Same

Ethan: I’m going to meet you there, if that’s okay. I have a call at 9

Me: Take your time, I can totally handle this

Ethan: Wow, okay

Me: Seriously, I’ve got spreadsheets. And a belt

Ethan: A belt? Pete’s not going to know what hit him

After I get my kids to camp and make Phyllis’s eggs, I take my laptop and my three-ring binder and head for Lacey’s office. I am aware that it’s not confidence that’s holding me up right now. It’s information. For sure, being prepared is self-care.

I sit in the parking lot for a second to take a few breaths. “I’m going in,” I say. You’re going to knock ’em dead.

I walk into the office and Pete and Lacey are waiting. I say hello and catch Lacey looking over my shoulder for my attorney.

“He’s coming,” I say. “But it’s fine. I have what I need.” I gesture with my binder and sit down.

“What’s that?” Pete asks.

“Our bills, a list of expenses. That’s what we’re going through today, right?”

“Yes,” says Lacey. “Let’s get started. Pete made copies of your household’s expenses and has made a preliminary offer of support.” She hands me a spreadsheet.

I look over it, line by line. “You left out cable and home maintenance,” I say without looking up. I refer to my binder and add the numbers in the margin.

Lacey looks at her copy and says to Pete, “That makes sense to add. Do you agree?”

“What are you trying to pull, Ali?” Pete’s leaning forward.

I fold my hands on the round table. I lean in. “I’m trying to make sure the kids and I have enough to get by. And I don’t think you want our house falling apart, since it’s half yours.” I’m being even, and I love the evenness in my voice. I love my binder. I look back to his spreadsheet and compare it to mine. “You’ve estimated utilities by annualizing the May bill, which, as you know, is the lowest of the year. I have the winter bills going back to November.” I pass my open binder across the table to him.

Lacey makes a note. Pete is silent.

“Hey, sorry I’m late.” Ethan is standing in the doorway. He’s in a dark blue suit and a crisp white shirt, and he looks breathtakingly handsome. I like that today is the day to drop the costumes. He takes the seat next to me and places his legal pad and pen on the table. I squeeze my hands together because I am afraid I am going to reach out and touch him.

“We just started,” I say, and try to refocus.

“That’s fine,” Lacey says for me. “We are just adding a few of Ali’s line items to the monthly expenses.”

Pete’s leaning back in his chair, and I know he sees something between us. I say, “Okay, let me see if there’s anything else.” I take my binder back from Pete and run through my summary page. I tick off line items as they match.

“She used to be an accountant,” Ethan tells Lacey. They’re quiet as I go line by line and then replace Pete’s numbers with mine and add up a new total.

“This is the right number,” I say, and slide the paper back to Pete.

“Is that your dad’s suit too?” he asks Ethan.

Ethan smiles. “No, it’s mine. Kind of a bore, I know.” He holds Pete’s gaze.

“You’re a weird guy,” says Pete.

“For sure,” says Ethan.

Lacey steps in. “Pete, can you agree to that number? Because if you can, we can move on to formal paperwork and I can get the divorce agreement filed.”

“Fine,” he says.