According to New York State law, before a divorce can be enacted, it must be preceded by a legal separation agreement at least one year prior, if the divorce is to be considered a no-fault.
A week ago today, Kristi and I met with a lawyer for the first time to hammer out our separation agreement. We both got there comically early, both apprehensive. We shared a leather sofa in the "waiting room," which was the former foyer of the renovated Victorian that served as the law office, and chatted a bit. One of the first things she said to me when she arrived was, "Adam, just know that I'm nervous, too." It did surprise me, a little, and touched me, a lot. We were in our comfortable mode with each other, our conversation clicking in the way that reminded me why I fell for her, and how well we will get on as friends even after this is all over.
Once the lawyer arrived, we got down to the business at hand. What's amazing is how little business there actually was; because we're still more-than-amiable, and because we both want to keep both of our interests in mind along with those of the kids, and because we'd already discussed and agreed on every possible detail, the meeting turned out to be simply a matter of us telling him what we already knew. Household material goods? Already distributed. Cars? The Grand Am is Kristi's; the Honda (with the unpaid loan) is mine. Credit card debt? Card A is all hers; card B is a 50/50 split. And so, and so, and so.
The one part that frightened us was the matter of child custody; We wanted to have joint custody, so that wasn't a problem; what might have been a problem was physical custody. See, we have the next year or two covered in terms of What Will Happen, but after that, it'll depend on factors that we don't have answers for yet. How does one shrug in a legal document? It turned out, though, that since we're working together so well, there was a simple answer: say "Joint Legal Custody," and the rest is none of the state's damn business.
So, really, it couldn't have gone any easier; I think the hardest part was horking up the $500 for legal fees. The lawyer is a terribly nice guy, and he spent a good amount of time trying to warn us of potential pitfalls, of stunts one or the other of us could pull. All were things we're both incapable of, and both of us know it. It struck me how strange this all is, how we can be so close, and yet...
So we left, hugged each other twice before getting in our cars, said we'd see each other at lunchtime that day. I think it struck Kristi harder at first than it did me, oddly enough. It didn't really sink in for me until today, when I went to sign the final document.
The signing itself was quite boring, actually. The agreement draft ran 29 pages (I'd hate to see was a difficult agreement looks like; I was afraid to drop it on my foot), and I had to first read it, and then initial every single page in all four printed copies to prove that no one tried to slip any all-worldly-goods-and-the-limb-of-her-choice clauses in there. And then it was notarized, and then...well, and then.
You know, I'm not in the same place I was in February, when things first started crumbling. I'm not in the same place I was in May, when I was not so much accepting as resigned, secretly hoping beyond hope for a change. I'm looking forward now, accepting that there is a future for me. And I'm even beginning to appreciate the better parts of the single life, some of which I'm sorry I'd never allowed myself when I was single before.
And I'm fine. Right hand to the powers that be, I'm doing well. I didn't flinch once in that office. Not once.
Still. I'm nuts about her. This wasn't supposed to happen at all.
*sigh*
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