I’m so sorry for subjecting you all to that nonsense, but y’know, I had to show you that it’s not ALL honey and roses and wine in my life. Snort. Now back to our regularly scheduled program.
Part 1 — Part 2
Part 3 — Part 4
Part 5 — Part 6

And then there was 2.11 of us. I was an unwed undivorced, married to the wrong guy, mother-to-be. With no money.

Karen filed for divorce from Mr. Hot. In order to save costs, they used the same lawyer. The lawyer acted fairly and tried to protect the interests of both sides. Mr. Hot gave up his part of their house and really got nothing but a child-support bill and his clothing. He left his tools (which he misses to this day) and his telescope. I’m sure that there was so much more - but he never complained (well, except about his tools). He was sorry that he hurt Karen, and he wanted his children’s lives to be as unchanged as possible. They continued to live in the family home, follow their routines - but their Dad didn’t live there anymore.

I started looking for a divorce lawyer. I had no money to hire someone. The lawyer that the girlfriends recommended wanted way too much, and after I refused to follow their advice, I couldn’t go ask either of them for a loan. I probably wouldn’t have been refused, but I couldn’t do it. So, I let my fingers do the walking.

I finally found a guy willing to take a $75 deposit - and the rest of his fee out of the money from my settlement.

In March, I had to talk to Practice about getting my clothes. I was still wearing the same things that I took when I left back in January. Early January. And although Huntington, West-by-gawd-Virginia doesn’t have the kind of frigid winters that we have here in the midwest, I couldn’t keep wearing sweaters. (Although with my boobs growing, Mr. Hot’s t-shirts weren’t huge…just long)

We arranged to meet at his church. He told me he attended Mass every.single.day. (Believe me, it was a change. We did go to church, but it was usually once or twice a month and on Christmas. We weren’t active members of any parish by any means.) It was raining when I pulled up behind his car.

“I need you to sign the tax forms, too. We owe money. I’m paying out of what I have deposited in Michigan”, were the only words he spoke. “That’s fine”, I replied, and signed.

Then he took my clothes out of the trunk - clothes that he had shoved into black garbage bags - and threw them into the street. Into the gutter. Where the rain was running into the drains. And then he got in his car and left.

I had gone alone, because I didn’t want any problems between Mr. Hot and Practice out on the streets of Charleston, W-b-g-V. In front of the only Catholic church in the county. So, I picked up the bags, and put them in the back of Mr. Hot’s Bronco II. And drove home. I was soaked. At least only a couple of the bags had ripped while he was tossing them to the ground.

It was strange that the first bag I selected to open contained my wedding gown and veil.

Six weeks had gone by without a peep from my lawyer. Mr. Hot and Karen had a court date. She was going in front of the Judge, he wasn’t. He wasn’t going to contest anything. I remember sitting in a Systems Analysis class one day and he kept looking at his watch. I knew what he was waiting for and yet, I didn’t want to ask. I only knew that it was the day. I didn’t know the time. Finally, he leaned over and whispered, “I’m divorced. It has to be over by now.” It was mid-April. They had filed in early February.

My pregnancy was easy. Truly, amazingly easy and I know that many, many of you out there will shake your heads and hate me and/or envy me. I never (not once) threw up. I didn’t crave any strange foods. I gained weight very slowly and the doctor kept telling me I was right on target. The only way I even knew I was pregnant was my Oh Mah Holy Hell inability to stay awake from 2 pm until about 4. I did have to have a diabetes screening (another Oh Mah Holy Hell moment, I hated that orange drink…and I couldn’t hold my pee BEFORE I got pregnant, what the fuck made me think I could walk the four blocks to the clinic without pissing my pants?). I had to call my Economic Math professor to tell him I wouldn’t be in class that day, that I was going to have some tests done. “Are you ill, I notice you tend to nod off during my class?” I wanted to say, “Duh. You teach Economic.Math. Bor-ing.” I said, “Actually, I’m pregnant. It’s just a really bad time of day for me.”

I did miss smoking though. Oh Gawd, how I missed smoking.

Finally, in May, my lawyer came through with a court date. It was scheduled for the end of May. I dressed in a dress that covered my tiny baby bump. I walked into the courtroom. Practice was there. We sat down and went through the documents. The Judge asked if I wanted to return to my maiden name. I lowered my head and said, “Yes”.

One page of the divorce decree had to be changed because I wanted my old name back. Other than that, it was done.

I drove home from the divorce hearing, walked in the door, and introduced myself to Mr. Hot. “Hi. I’m Ree Maidenname.” He opened his arms, much the same as I did the day I called him back to my car. And then, I cried. I cried for us. I cried in relief. I cried for the past and for the future. I cried for the baby I was carrying.

I had to make arrangements to pick up my furniture and the rest of my belongings from Practice’s house. Mr. Hot and I rented a U-Haul and arranged a pickup time. It was Memorial Day weekend. When we got there, Practice was gone, but he had two of his friends there to make sure that I didn’t take anything to which I wasn’t entitled. Some things were broken (the antique frame my parent’s had given us as a wedding present - containing our wedding picture, the side piece to my desk - the one he hadn’t wanted to give me in the settlement), but nothing was missing.

Only one of the friends (the watchers), offered to help. Practice knew I was pregnant (late library book notice sent to my old address - “Pregnancy and Childbirth”), so I’m sure that these friends did as well. This kid (who I later found out was also a Narcotics Anonymous member) helped Mr. Hot load the heavy stuff onto the truck. He was a sweet kid, and I really hope that he made it through the program and is doing well.

We were also moving from our little 1-bedroom Camelot to a 2-bedroom flat across the street. Our apartment landlord owned both properties, and offered us the house for little more than the apartment. Everything suddenly started moving very fast.

…to be continued…

—- MomandDad met Mr. Hot for the first time after we were both divorced and we had moved into the house. Mom was, as usual, her loving and welcoming self. Dad, understandably and characteristically, was reserved and politely interested. We went to dinner. They took me shopping for maternity clothes. Nowdays, they call him more than they ever call me. —-

I need to clarify something from the previous chapter. As far as I know, Tom was not killed in the first Gulf War. We just never saw him after all of this happened.

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