Page 9 of Recipes for Life
Chapter 7
Odette
I stood in front of my closet after Wynn applied my makeup, applied some products in my hair, and made me look like a somewhat decent version of myself. Sure, no amount of makeup could hide the bags under my eyes from weeks of not sleeping, my hair had lost some of its shine, which I'm sure is from not properly eating, and nothing—and I mean nothing—in my closet was going to hide the amount of weight I had lost. After Wynn’s come to Jesus' moment, I was making an effort, aseriousone. I had always been a terrible cook, but Wynn loved it. She showed me peace in the silence, my mind focused on recipes so much that I ended up getting lost in them, but it was saving me. All I had to do was add certain ingredients together, cook it at a specific temperature and for a predetermined amount of time. I didn't have to make any decisions, and it was so damn comforting that I had forgotten why I hated to cook in the first place.
My frown was firmly in place as I continued to look at my clothing options. My brown hair and green eyes went best with shades of blue, green, purple, sometimes the right shade of red, but none of those seemed appropriate. Wynn said I should walk in with my head held high and show him no response. I asked her why? Why should I lie? I want him to see the damage he's done. I'm trying my best to glue myself back together, but I won't hide my pain from him. Why does everyone think that painmakes you weak? I'm surviving; I'm enduring the heartbreak my husband inflicted on me with no sense of remorse. He'd probably still be fucking her if I hadn't walked in on them.
Bethany had come over yesterday, the day before mediation, to go over some things. She walked into my cozy cottage that I was spending much of my free time decorating, anything to keep my mind and hands busy. I needed a safe place for myself, especially since I'd been feeling so emotionally raw and cracked open that I feltunsafe.I didn't know how else to word it, but I did. Her usual stern but carefree face was pulled into an unwelcome grimace.
"Okay, you might as well just tell me," I told her.
"I'm good at my job, so the second I took on this case, I had my firm's PI start looking into your husband. I mean, if they are lying about having a girlfriend, what else are they lying about, you know?" She shrugged it off, but I felt like my world had stopped. "We needed to make sure he wasn't doing anything illegal, have any offshore accounts, things like that."
"And?"
"Luckily for him, he came back clean in that aspect...however, we did find evidence of the affair he's been having. Some emails, a few texts. They work together; she seems to be a receptionist for a colleague. It didn't appear that he spent much time with her, and when he told you he was working, most of the time he was."
"Okay." I didn't know what else to say. Should I be happy that my husband wasn't screwing me over financially? He was clearly too busy screwing someone else.
She took a good look at me. "Are you ready for tomorrow?"
I sighed. "No."
She looked at me with sympathy and went on to talk strategy while I did my best to listen. I couldn't help but start todisassociate, and while my body stayed sitting at the kitchen nook with Bethany, nodding at her talking points, my mind was floating in a sea of before.
Clothes,I mentally scolded myself, back to the matter at hand. My eyes caught on a black dress that I had once bought for the funeral of an old teacher. It hit above my knee, with a small dip in the neckline, and it was sleeveless. It looked like someone had died, and even though no one had, it was the death of something—the death of my marriage.
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The drive to the mediator's office had me picking at the hem of my dress. Bethany had offered to drive me since I had never been to this part of the city before. She let me know that a lot of times her clients were too emotionally taxed to do much driving after, and since she had a place near mine, it was no extra trouble for her at all.
"Just remember, you don't need to do much talking. This can be between me and his lawyer."
"You clearly haven't met Murphy."
"I've had the pleasure of speaking with him." The same grimace she had on her face yesterday was back.
"Oh?" I half-heartedly inquired. I didn't really want to know, I just wanted this to be over.
She gave a slight nod, but did not expand on that any further.
The drive after that was quiet, I was too lost in my thoughts and nerves to hold any semblance of a good conversation. A gentle tap to my shoulder from Bethany signaled that we were here. The drive to the city, which normally felt like it took too long, didn't take nearly enough time today.
"Let's do this."
I nodded at her and took a few seconds to steady myself. I wouldn't hide my pain from him; he deserved to see it all. Making my way out of the car, she grabbed my hand and gave it a quick squeeze as we made our way through the parking lot and into the obnoxiously large skyscraper. She waved at the receptionist, who barely bothered to scan her badge, and before I knew it, she was punching the button twenty-eight. I felt like my stomach was left on the ground floor as the elevator climbed the floors, and all too soon, the familiar ding signaled our arrival.
We walked into a conference-like room and met with the mediator first, who introduced himself as Anton. And even though my radar for people is clearly broken, I think I'd be willing to bet my broken marriage on him being gay. At that thought, I almost let out a hysterical giggle—see, I could be funny? But if I didn't laugh about it, I'd be crying.
He seemed nice, fair, and level-headed. He explained that Murphy and his lawyer were already here, that there would be someone recording in the room, and that everything that was said today would be handed over to a judge for a final ruling. He explained this was about the state of our marriage, and custody wasn't part of this. Since it seemed we had a good agreement right now, they felt there was no reason that it should change. He gave me a look and a nod, signaling it was time to enter the room that was conjoined by the door right behind him. He opened it and gestured for us to go through, and as if sensing my hesitation, Bethany went first, and I followed. Finally coming face to face with my husband after almost a month.
I had spent hours trying to prepare myself for this moment, but nothing could.
He sat there, looking the same—perfect skin tone, no red-rimmed eyes. He looked like he'd at least been able to eat. Why was I here, then? If he was completely fine, then why thefuckwas I here? I felt my face flush in anger, but not before I saw his half-smirk. He thought I was flushing because of him.
Bethany held out a chair for me, and I sat across from Murphy but kept my eyes firmly on his lawyer. He was an older gentleman, short, a little stocky, originally dark hair that was now littered with speckles of gray. Much to my shock, he seemed to have a friendly, plump face. It was disarming, and I bet that was part of his appeal.
"I've spoken with both parties about the rules. This is to go over the terms of the divorce since a party is contesting," Anton said, his gaze flowing to Murphy and his representation. "We want to see if we can amicably come up with a solution that both parties are happy with. Very rarely do we come up with a solution in the first session; you are allowed two mediation sessions before we take everything before a judge for a final decision. It is in my expert opinion that you resolve and agree on terms before that happens, as no one ever gets what they want if a judge must make the decision for you. Now, since Mr. Lake is the one contesting the divorce, let's start with them. What terms are you unhappy with?"
