Weekend (20 page)

       
JOE

Joe spent an hour sobbing in a lawyer's office for $450, Rebecca's hourly rate, telling Rebecca that nothing made sense, and that as far as she knew, Elliot had been perfectly happy.

“Okay, not perfectly happy,” said Joe, patting Scout, sniffling, “but not
unhappy.
How did we go from long-term couple to an acrimonious divorce without passing
go
?” The lawyer said it often happened; one spouse made plans to move out and didn't mention it in order to gain the upper hand.

“But that's cruel!” Joe said. “I don't want to have to think she's a shit-head when I've just spent the bulk of my life being crazy about her. How can this just happen unilaterally, and I get no say?”

“You have to defend yourself,” said Rebecca, passing Joe a list of documents she'd need to prepare—three years of tax returns, bank statements, investment information, real estate holdings, health records, marriage certificate, duration of her maternity leave, and Employment Insurance. “And, remember, you'll have two children.”

“Two children?”

“Elliot's child will be born while you are still married, so you will be its other mother.”

“Oh my god. Are you kidding me?”

Rebecca shook her head.

“Scout's hers, biologically!”

“Where the law is at all dicey on that, it comes down on
your side as the mother who carried. Of course Elliot will be expected to contribute to her welfare. We've received notice that Elliot intends to sue for shared custody.”

“
Excuse
me?” Joe pinched her leg just to force a sensation that wasn't fear.

“Given the infant's tender age, there are likely to be adjustments until she's weaned.”

“No!” said Joe, half standing. “No! My daughter and I aren't adjustments. How is my life falling apart without me having any say in it? I'm married! I want to be married! It's not fair that Elliot can just drop us. This is our life we're talking about. This is everything we are. This is our future. She can't just kick us aside like we're garbage.”

“I'm sorry. I know it's hard. But the law says that indeed she can. Do you have keys for the cottage?”

Keys for the cottage?

“Because the law says that what Elliot brought into the relationship stays with her. Of course there will be modifications because of the time you cohabited—you'll get half of the increase in value during your relationship. Her lawyer is advising her to have the cottage locks changed. And you should do the same with the matrimonial home.”

Cohabited? Change the locks? Matrimonial home?

“She wants to clear out her things. I have three dates that will work from Elliot's side. You need to pick one and vacate your premises for three hours.”

“But who says what belongs to her?”

“You should do an inventory.”

Elliot's voicemail remained full. She'd blocked Joe on Facebook and Twitter. Joe's only means of communication was by letter, so she sent a bulging, plaintive letter to Elliot's office marked “Private and Confidential,” begging Elliot to reconsider on behalf of their child—their children, if you considered Elliot's pregnancy a child.
Elliot, pregnant! Elliot, with a guy! Elliot, gone! Elliot, fighting her in a court battle that her lawyer warned her was very likely to get ugly before it was resolved!
What was the point of battling it out and making lawyers rich? Joe asked. Couldn't they just agree to split things equitably? Couldn't they just remember their vows? Couldn't they just remember their promises? What happened? she asked in her letter. What did I do wrong? Was it something I said? Something I didn't say? Something I did? Something I didn't do?

Did you fall in love with him?

Were you plotting to leave me the whole time?

Were you even a tenth of the person I thought you were?

She thought of all the dozens or probably hundreds of times that they'd resolved problems with shy grins and laughter. The fun they'd had. Their jokes with language—the times they'd cracked each other up learning German. Their trips, their gardening, their renovating. Was a mid-life crisis automatically worth heeding? Was whatever this was for Elliot—a psychotic break?—more important than the jewel of their marriage? Was she really so naïve as to think her problems would be solved by
leaving—that she wouldn't take her discontent, her inability to be satisfied, with her? Didn't she know that any woman's, any man's, halo would tilt within six months, and she'd be right back where she'd been with Joe—living in reality? The problem Elliot was having was inside Elliot.

They had been each other's backbones, each other's blood, each other's hearts. They'd supported each other through every kind of life event. Why on earth was Ell willing, eager, to toss it all aside now? Maybe Elliot needed to turn Joe into a pile of shit in order to make it possible for her to walk away.

Joe asked Logan to be at the house while Ell was there, but also asked them to stay after to pick up Joe's pieces. When Joe knocked—on her own door, no less—Logan let her in. Almost everything had been taken—the antiques, the dishes, the cutlery, the furniture, the rugs, the art.

“What the fuck?” said Joe. The baby was in her Snugli, sound asleep, her neck slicked with sweat, head kinked at an odd angle. Joe couldn't stop touching things—door frames, countertops, door knobs. “Did you talk to her, Logan? Did she say anything?”

“She had movers and she directed them from room to room. She didn't say anything personal to me the entire time. Didn't even really look at me.”

“She's actually doing this, isn't she?” said Joe.

“Please don't ask me to explain her.” Logan kissed her
forehead. “Any fool could see the mistake she's making. Any fool would love you.”

Joe followed Logan from room to room like a hurt puppy, tail between her legs, mewling. In her office: “She took my desk?” In their bedroom: “She took our bed?” She slumped against the wall as Scout woke. “Jesus. Did she leave anything? They took this in three hours? Without packing?”

“She hired specialists.”

“There are people you can hire to move you out when you're leaving your wife?”

She just said, “Take it all.”

“Christ,” said Joe. “Can I get something, a court order? Where the fuck am I supposed to sleep?”

“She left the crib.”

“I see that,” said Joe.

“And your books. I guess they're your books.”

“They're my books,” said Joe. “But fuck a duck, Logan. Taking everything is legal? What the hell am I going to do?”

She knew what she was going to have to do. Temporarily, until she got furniture, she was going to have to move in with her mother.

       
AJAX

Ajax was released from hospital two days after Simone and Vivi's arrival with her left arm in a sling. She was gobsmacked that being hospitalized had run her so far down; even though all she wanted was to cuddle up with Logan, alone, without bars on the bed, without hospital personnel around, she was tired to her bones and crawled into bed to sleep straight through until the next day, when Logan woke her up to feed and water her.

“Honey, I don't know if I can go out,” said Ajax, peeling a banana in the kitchen. Toby thumped his tail beside her. “Where are the children staying?”

“I've got them in at one of the hotels I'm building,” said Logan. “I offered a room to Joe, too, but so far, she says no, she's fine licking her wounds at her mother's place where she can get help with Scout.”

“Poor, poor Joe,” said Ajax. “Divorce is a cruel business.”

“She doesn't even know how she can pay her lawyer,” said Logan. “Elliot cleaned out the accounts, and when Joe's lawyer asked Elliot's lawyer how Joe was supposed to survive, she apparently just said,
Really not my business
.”

“Not her business? What, does she think Joe can pull money out her asshole? You can't support someone for all those years and then take a pass. What kind of cretin would even consider financially dumping someone in need? Support may be inconvenient, it may leave you hurting for cash, but I'm sorry, only a mega-creep would try to hold it back.”

“I don't think Elliot thinks. Because otherwise it would occur to her:
Can't work, completely dependent on me, mothering my daughter
. But no.”

“Cruelty is not on. It's only fucking money. God, if you have it, share it. Make sure the people you love—”

“She says she doesn't love her.”

“People's needs don't vanish because you did.”

“Well said.”

“Ell is a douche-canoe.”

“Don't get riled up,” said Logan.

“I really wish there was such a thing as fucking karma. I would like to see people get theirs. Joe's a reasonable person. Couldn't Ell have sat her down and said,
I've fallen in love with someone else?
”

“She's always felt entitled. She thinks that no one else's troubles matter. She had breast cancer back in the Pleistocene epoch and therefore seas should part for her.”

“If I got an iota of the special attention for my cardiac disease as Elliot got for a cancer long gone …” Ajax sighed. “I'm so tired.”

“Go nap. There's time before dinner.”

“I'm just fed up with what turdy shit-heads people are.”

Toby had flaked out near the foot of the bed. Ajax stared down at her hand. She could still make out the magic marker line, but her fingers weren't yellow, just scabby and rough, the skin peeling back to red skin underneath. She'd lost three fingernails, which hadn't hurt.

“I want to see the kids, but maybe just downstairs at Le Lapin, because I'm going to need an early night.”

They met Ruth, Logan's mother, and Joe at the restaurant, sat outside on the patio with Toby tied to the railing. You could see right away that Joe had been crying; she passed Scout around.

“She's so adorable,” said Ruth.

“Isn't she sweet?” said Ajax, baby-cooing. Logan twisted in their seat. They yanked their ball cap off, crammed it back on. They ordered vodka tonics, two, while Ajax and Ruth sipped Sauvignon Blanc and Joe a nursing-friendly lemonade.

Ruth was in her eighties, but easily functioned as someone younger. A retired professor, sharp-tongued, and brusque, she was perplexed by her “daughter's” life choices.

Ruth said to Joe, “It's a pretty stupid time to break up your marriage, don't you think? I remember having this one”—she pointed at Logan—“and I couldn't have done it alone. Of course, Erika was forever a handful. That never stopped.”

Logan made a disgusted noise, wouldn't look at their mother.

“Who's Erika?” Joe said.

Ruth pointed at Logan.

Logan said, “Mother, please stop. Just stop. You know my name.”

“I'm doing fine, thanks,” said Joe.

Ajax wondered what it would have been like to grow up with censorious Ruth as your mother

“You think you are,” said Ruth. “But you're on what? Week
two? You just wait.” She looked from Joe to Ajax, reached over and poked Ajax's arm. “I told my Erika not to get involved with you. She wants to rescue you. You're a poodle to her, Ajax. To my daughter, you're just some dog from the pound she took home. She'll be sick of you before you can snap your fingers. I know. I've watched her all her life.”

Logan tossed back their drink, grabbed the other one, drank that back too.

Ajax reached for Logan's thigh under the table, squeezed it. “I don't need rescuing by Logan. I've been rescuing myself for twenty years. Fifty, if you count more than just the time I've had a bad heart.”

Ruth made a sucking noise. “Erika didn't even go to work while you were in the hospital.”

Joe said, “Hey, now. If your husband or kid was in the hospital, would you go to work? It's not different because we're queer, you know.”

“The words you young people use.” Ruth ordered more wine. “I don't have to have this conversation.”

“Mom,” said Logan, stopping Ajax with their hand. “You don't get to be nasty. Whether you like what's going on here or not, Ajax and I are—goddamn it, Mom.” Logan pulled off their ball cap, threw it on the table, moved Ajax's hand up to kiss it. “We're getting married. Actually, we're getting married tomorrow at two p.m. on the lakefront.” Their voice rose and almost squeaked as Ruth's face crumpled. “You suspected this was coming.”

Ruth turned back to Ajax. “Ajax, you would do this to my girl? You're ten years her senior. You're—whatever you are. Dying. You would steal my daughter's life from her?”

Ajax kept her voice firm, low, steady. “We'd like you to be there with us.”

Ruth pushed up from the table. The heat pressed in like a suffocating pillow.

“Mom, sit the hell down. I've been in the same building looking after you for twenty years. Don't you want me to have a chance at the brass ring? Don't you want me to be happy?”

Ajax saw her children approaching, pushed up and waved.

Logan said, “Mom, just lay off. This is supposed to be a celebration.”

“You'll be crawling to me by Christmas saying you made the biggest mistake of your life! And don't say I didn't warn you! I warned you!”

The girls looked questions at Ajax as she hugged them.

Logan stood up, held chairs, said, “Mom, these are Ajax's kids, Simone and Vivi. Girls, this is my mother, Ruth.”

Ruth bitterly said, “Erika, how many times have I told you not to get married until after I was dead?”

Ajax slapped her good palm on the table. “Can't
someone
celebrate with us?”

“I will,” said Joe, raising her lemonade. “You bet Scout and I will be there.”

Ajax said, “We're really over the fucking moon; we're happy. Can't you please, please put yourselves and your worries aside,
and just be with us? You're all right, of course; it might not work. It might be a huge honking mistake. But who knows? It also could be fabulous. And Ruth, it would mean the goddamned world to Logan if you'd get over yourself and show up. Just
show up
for your kid.”

“Whoa,” said Vivi, putting up her hands to ward her mother off.

“Look, we brought bubbles,” said Simone, swirling her index finger. “Mom's getting married. Woo hoo.” She pulled out small white bottles for everyone, blew a bubble.

“Well, I'm for it,” said Vivi. “Why not bet on love?”

“Thank you, Vivi. You show up for us tomorrow, Simone, Ruth. Now, I have to go to bed. C'mon, Logan, come upstairs with me.”

Ruth said, “
I'll
leave.”

“
We're
leaving,” Logan said. “I have to walk Toby. You all stay here and talk about how horrible it is that the queers have found true love. We'll catch you on the downside.” They threw cash on the table to cover the drinks.

“You okay?” Logan said to Ajax as they walked away.

“No,” said Ajax. “You?”

“Not very,” said Logan.