Now that the options were literally on the table, I stood up to leave. I desperately did not want to go before Robert agreed to my terms, but this was a calculated move. He was prone to risk-taking when he was rushed.
Both men sat in silence as I grabbed my bag and casually slung it onto my shoulder. I wasn’t looking at them but felt their gazes on me as I turned to walk towards the door, which made me want to run out of the room. I stepped slowly to give Robert more time to stop me but didn’t want it to be obvious I was trying to linger.
“Wait!” Robert’s voice called as I was passing through the threshold of the door. I halted, and turned to face him, grateful he hadn’t let me leave. Mindlessly sliding the single sheet of paper back and forth across the surface of the table, he looked at me and shrugged, “I accept.”
I leaned against the door frame and crossed my arms, arranging my features in the most neutral face I could before I looked at Joseph.
“What is the process from here, Mr. Kavinsky?” I asked.
“I will submit the divorce request and the terms that have been agreed on,” he began cautiously, holding my gaze, “but the state requires a ninety-day waiting period before the divorce can be finalized. During this time, the existing terms can be modified without penalty, but after ninety days any changes will require us to start over. Once the waiting period is over, we can file the state approved form to officially finalize the divorce.”
“Is this meeting complete then?” I asked, ready to get out of the room with these two men.
Joseph’s breathing was measured, and he just stared at me, as if trying to will me back into my seat. The longer he looked at me, the more desperate I was to go.
“I can take it from here,” he said, as he broke eye contact with me to look out the window.
His eyes looking elsewhere seemed to free me from my panicked need to flee. My gaze shifted to Robert, who was visibly trying to hide his satisfaction. I knew he would be thrilled about the terms if he could manage to not be suspicious about them.
“Robert, will you be home for dinner?”
“I have plans to take the boys out to talk about things,” he said, the optimism falling from his face at the mention of our sons.
“Good luck,” I said with a chuckle, as I turned to leave.
Nyx and Ethan had been furious at their father about the divorce. I tried not to fuel their anger, as I had long expected this event, but he was right about them being momma’s boys. They would need more time before they saw the situation for what it was. Accepting that their parents weren’t happy together, and would be better apart, would take more than a week.
The secretary didn’t even look up from her coffee as I left the office, probably accustomed to dramatic exits from angry spouses. Making my way towards the stairwell, I did feel a bit lighter knowing that what I needed to accomplish had been successful. Not that I truly expected Robert to decline, I was asking for a lot up front, but relatively little in the grand scheme of things. Anxiety ate away at my mind, though.
Reaching the door to the stairwell, I turned to look back at the closed office door. My mind was morbidly curious as to what Robert and Joseph might be saying about me, making the ache in my chest rise and my breath catch. I pushed the thoughts away before the emotions made their way to my tear ducts and threw open the door to start down the stairs. I had almost reached the second floor when I heard the door above me open with rushed aggression.
“Tiffy, wait!” a voice called urgently, followed by the sound of rushed footsteps.
The old nickname made me freeze on the steps. Only a few people had ever consistently referred to me that way. However, I stopped letting anyone refer to me as Tiffy years ago, telling everyone I preferred Tiff instead. One of the many ways I tried to bury my memories of Joseph. Hearing him say it made my arms prickle, and I was grateful for the long sleeves.
Joseph was running down the stairs towards me, stopping a few steps above where I had unintentionally ceased my descent. He looked a bit panicked, shallow breaths making his chest heave slightly.
“What are you doing?” he asked, his voice was laced with condescension, and it made me bristle.
“You said the mediation was over, so I am leaving,” my voice snapped.
Joseph opened his mouth and raised his hands, as if ready to hand me something important, but then his shoulders drooped as his hands fell back down to his side, lifeless. It appeared as if he were rebooting, like he needed to restart how he was going to have this conversation.
“For the twelve years I’ve been doing this, I am usually preventing wives from asking for too much; however, you are asking for far too little.” His tone had started out calm, but as he spoke, frustration seemed to seep into his words. “Do not agree to those terms. Go get a damn attorney and we can have another mediation. I can submit new terms before the waiting period is over. This is madness. This—”
His voice trailed off and he just stared at me, eyes full of concern. Once upon a time his unsolicited advice would have been welcome in my life, but that ended twenty-two years ago. Now this was just another man’s opinion of my choices that I had no need for.
“It is not very professional of you to act in direct opposition to what is best for your client.”
My voice was a low, condemning tone. A dark whisper that made him take another step towards me, the gap between us shrinking, and my neck craned up to look at him.
“You never finished school and you haven’t had steady work for two decades,” he began, with a tone so soothing that I was almost disarmed by his words. “Don’t turn away assistance that you need to get yourself started. It is unwise.”
His assessment was accurate and that is precisely why it made me furious. How dare this ghost know relevant things about my life right now. It was offensive that he, who was once my closest friend and also the person that consistently abandoned me, would show up after decades and know my painful truths.
Bitter anger filled me, and I ascended the stairs past him and then turned to face him. One step up above him and wearing high heels put our eyes level with one another. I was so close that I could smell his cologne and it was achingly familiar. His hazel eyes looked apprehensive and shifted nervously at my proximity.
“Joey,” I whispered, the old nickname falling from my lips with more familiarity and warmth than I intended.
At the sound of the old name, the tension in his jaw and lips softened. During his brief contact during my marriage, he had said that he started going by Joseph for professional reasons. I might be the only person that knew him by this name now. Which is why I used it, to drive home my next point.
Maintaining eye contact, I leaned in ever so slightly, and said, “I have no need for pity from a stranger.”
The tightness returned to his jaw, and he leaned away, but I had already turned to descend the stairs. My shoulder brushed against his as I passed him, and the electricity I felt generated a dissonance of desire and irritation in my stomach. I listened for him to head back up to the third floor, but no sound came before I exited the stairwell. Even after all these years, the ghost and his silence continued to impress.
I thought having a turn walking away from Joseph might feel good. It was his turn to be abandoned. However, it didn’t make me feel good, it just felt empty. Maybe it was because I wasn’t truly through seeing him yet. In ninety days, I would have to meet him and Robert to finalize the divorce. Once it was over, maybe then walking away would feel better.
Until then, I needed to focus on getting my life back in order. The first step being the meeting happening one street over. Another man held my future in his hands, and I was desperate to know what surprise the dapper widower had in store for me.
My next meeting was a short walk away and I had intended to leave my car parked here, but the fear of running into Joseph when I returned was too palpable to ignore. Besides, my feet were dying in these heels. When I reached the car, I finally stopped to look at the parking job that I had gone to the pains of adjusting before the meeting.
Crooked.
All that shifting around and second guessing, and it was still crooked.
How fucking poetic.
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