Diana Page Jordan | Book Reviews and Inspiration

Edited by Candace Walsh

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Published June 2009 (Paperback) by Seal Press

“It’s our divorce-iversary,” my ex-husband tells the waitress.  She smiles, confused.  He persists, “We got divorced six years ago this week.”

It wasn’t until today that I open up Ask Me About My Divorce: Women Open Up About Moving On, and there it is, a story called Happy Divorce-iversary.  Kate McDade recounts her reluctant wedding and the one-hour-long divorce.  And the eleven pairs of red pumps she buys in every available style.

Divorce affects us all differently, and editor Candace Walsh serves up the stories by 29-women divorcees.  A disclaimer here:  No men were skewered in the making of this book.  I don’t think.

There’s the wife in the perfect couple who doesn’t feel like it’s enough and chucks it all — except for the multi-colored tulips she yanks from her yard — and heads to New York City.  There’s the woman whose husband showers her with amazing clothes, and finally leaves her, taking most of the clothes — he’s gay.  There’s the good Mormon wife who blossoms after divorcing her abusive husband — losing her church in the bargain.

My ex — from Texas — and I — a New York City girl, or “damn yankee” as his dad used to say with a loving smile — got thrown together on this divorce-iversary.  We were in court earlier that day, subpoenaed to testify against our older son who wanted out of the hospital where his bipolar mind had landed him.  We found out in a phone call, as I treated my ex to lunch at our friend Karen’s Taco Del Mar restaurant, that the judge had ruled our son would spend up to six months hospitalized.

Hours later, I still couldn’t digest that information alone, so I called the only person who could possibly share that emotional burden.  He said he’d treat me to dinner.  We talked about stuff we’d never shared before.  Me, because now, after years of therapy to straighten out my tortured psyche from my childhood, I could.  Him, because he sensed an opening.

He claimed responsibility for the end of our marriage — simply stated, addictions and untruths.  And then he plowed into my sex life since we parted.  I answered his questions — I was feeling charitable, after six years apart.

He didn’t have a lot to complain about, given that we had sex nearly every day for the 22-years we were married.  But, he bristled when he learned I’d been part of a few three-ways.  “If I’d known that…” his imagination fired away.

The waitress cleared our dinner plates, bringing me the customary box for my unfinished food — tonight’s dinner, actually.  Then, she presented two decadent pieces of chocolate cake, draped in syrup and surrounded by vanilla ice cream.  “Congratulations.  My gift to you.”

He said “It’s our DIVORCE-iversary.”

“Oh,” she said, blinking.  “Well, enjoy!”

Turning back to me, he asked, “What about BJ’s?”

I answered, “I like them.  A lot.”

His eyes got stoney,”You swallow?”

I answered, “Yes,”smiling.

He  swore, “I only got like two in all those years.  I didn’t force you — because you always got so upset because your stepfather made you do it to him.”

“I know, thank you,” I said, “You helped me a lot.  Remember when I’d freak out when we took showers together at the beginning? And you helped me merge my soul back with my body.”

“I’m pissed,” he said, “after all I did, now I don’t get the benefit.”

“I’m celibate now,” I say, “until I meet the right guy.”

We quietly picked up our things, and left the restaurant.    A little closer, a bit more distant, a clearer understanding of why we are no longer together.

I text him later, “Thx for ur patience back then — u helped me heal.”

I receive back one symbol