Total pages in book: 87
Estimated words: 85888 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 429(@200wpm)___ 344(@250wpm)___ 286(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 85888 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 429(@200wpm)___ 344(@250wpm)___ 286(@300wpm)
The internet confirmed the place existed, but I needed to see it for myself. And there it was. As with everything to do with the document, there were no answers, just more questions. I wondered what my frame of mind would be when I walked through those doors in ten years’ time. How broken would I be, heart and soul?
Insert sigh here.
I hadn’t told Lars about my plans. This was something I wanted to do on my own. Every morning I stared at the certificate. Made sure it still existed and remained this cryptic weird ass mystery. That I would, one day, feel so much for someone that it would overcome my abhorrence of marriage. And that my hopes and dreams would be rewarded in the worst damn way. Love sucked.
It was helpful of fate to put a hipster bar next door to the legal offices. No doubt, many sought solace there and I decided to do the same. The inside of the place was cool with a neon sign saying Ballard. Just in case you got so drunk you forgot where you were. The lunch rush was over when I took a seat at the bar next to a woman in a pink blouse, and ordered the bread with goat’s cheese and honey. Along with a glass of sauvignon blanc, for medicinal reasons.
It was hard to think of the divorce certificate without feeling down. In the beginning it had been a mystery. Something sort of thrilling. But now...were we truly doomed before we even began?
“You look so sad,” said the girl behind the bar when she passed me the glass of wine. She had a shaved head and the best eyebrows I’d ever seen. “Next drink is on the house.”
“Thank you.” I smiled and folded up the certificate. “That’s kind. But I’m okay.”
“Divorce, huh?”
I just winced.
The woman beside me was eating a wedge salad. She dabbed her lips with a napkin. “Better things ahead.”
“Right. Yes.”
“Any regrets?” asked the bartender with a suddenly serious gaze.
Apparently I was in the mood to pour my heart out to strangers because I said, “My feelings for him are...complicated.”
This was quickly turning into one of those random personal conversations with strangers that tended to happen in bars. They usually took place in the bathroom late at night under the influence of alcohol, but whatever. Such conversations were enduring proof of the sisterhood.
“Charlotte here is a divorce lawyer,” said the bartender, nodding at the woman in pink.
“Oh,” I said. “Do you work in those offices next door?”
Charlotte smiled. “That’s right.”
“You must get sick of talking about this sort of thing.”
She gave an elegant shrug.
To think, I could be sitting next to my future legal representation. I didn’t know what the rules of time travel were, but the certificate didn’t disappear or anything due to Charlotte and the document being in the same place. Guess that was as good a sign as any that I wasn’t breaking the space-time continuum.
The bartender leaned in and rested her elbows on the bar. “When I need relationship advice, I go to Charlotte. She’s seen it all. Knows exactly how to get to the heart of any problem. And she’s not bitter.”
“I wouldn’t have thought it was a job you could do without becoming cynical,” I said.
Charlotte shrugged. “I’m a romantic. But I’m also a realist.”
“How does that work?”
“She has a healthy-relationship list,” inserted the bartender.
“I do indeed,” confirmed the lawyer.
“Can I hear it?” I asked.
“Sure.” Charlotte took another bite of her salad, chewed, and swallowed. “You cannot change them. Assume anything you don’t like is here to stay. The same goes for their friends and family.” She ticked off the items one by one on her fingers. And her French manicure was immaculate.
“Ugh.”
“That’s not a good sign,” she said. “But I’ll continue. They might be hot stuff now, but do you have other things in common to help sustain the relationship? Sex and intimacy matter, but it’s only one part of the whole. How good are you at communicating with one another?”
“I think we’re okay. We’re getting better at least.”
“Do you feel comfortable discussing potentially toxic situations or behaviors with them before they escalate?” she asked. “Can you problem solve together?”
“Sort of. Sometimes.”
“Are you both willing to work on the relationship? Are they putting an effort in that is at least equal to yours?”
“Good question. I’m going to have to think about it.”
“Then you move on to having the unsexy discussions about finances and children—if you’re going to have them and how you plan to raise them.” She was running out of fingers at this point. “If you do get remarried, you’re going to need insurance. Have a prenup, an escape plan, and know how marriage affects you legally. Then be prepared to choose each other and keep choosing each other. Every day, week, month, and year for the rest of your life. It’s just that simple and that hard.”