But it’s a relief when I can finally shed the mask and let myself settle back into my own skin and bones. Sometimes I wonder how much longer I’ll keep doing this. Probably as long as Ezra.
Once I’m out of the shower and dressed, I go searching for my phone. There’s an influx of messages waiting for me. The usual rabble, but also an email from my lawyer and a single text from my now ex-wife that catches my eye.“It’s done,”is all it says.
Two words to signal the end of an era.
How…utterly anticlimactic.
The email is confirmation of what my ex sent. Our divorce has officially gone through. It was a long, long time coming.
I sit down on the small couch inside my trailer and call my daughter. It only takes a couple rings before she answers.
“Dad.”
The evenness of her tone tells me her mom has already called with the news. I’m not surprised.
“Hey, Peaches. I take it you heard?”
“Yeah,” she says quietly. “Are you okay?”
My heart clenches at her concern. “I’m fine,” I tell her, meaning it. Camilla and I have been separated for quite some time. Years, now. The divorce was simply the final door being shut on a house long since gone dark. “How are you?”
“It’s not really about me, is it?”
I’m not sure when my little girl went and grew up, but here we are. Me, in my mid-forties. Madison, twenty now and in her second year of college.Christ, I can remember her in diapers.
“It affects you, though,” I say gently. “And your feelings matter.”
She lets out a quiet huff. “It sucks, but it’s fine. We’re all adults.”
My lips twitch. “Ah, yes. How could I have forgotten. And…how many more months before you’re allowed to legally drink alcohol?”
“As if you’d ever forget my birthday,” she counters. “Please,pleasedon’t do anything embarrassing this year.”
“When have I ever?”
“Everyyear. You and Ezra get these elaborate ideas into your head, and I’m the one who suffers. Just…take it easy for once?”
“I’ll try.”
Her responding sigh is proof she doesn’t believe me. “Moving on. Do me a favor?”
“Of course.”
“Do something for yourself this weekend,” she says, shocking me. “I don’t know what. Have a nice glass of scotch or…buy a first edition of your favorite book or whatever. Just…you deserve to be happy, Dad. You don’t have to pretend you’re sad about the divorce.”
“Peaches…”
“You don’t,” she repeats. “You don’t owe me or anyone else a certain emotional response. I know you and Mom weren’t happy together. Not for a long time. So just…be happy. Okay?”
“I’ll do my best,” I tell her, wishing I could give my daughter a hug. “I’ll be back in town in a couple weeks. Dinner?”
“You bet. Love you.”
“Love you, too.”
When I hang up, I let my phone rest on my leg. The background is a picture of my daughter, her auburn hair lighter than my own, giving her the peaches-and-cream complexion that’s responsible for her nickname. Next to her is Ezra, dark-haired and wide-grinned, looking proud of his honorary niece for moving into her first college dorm.
With a soft sigh of my own, I shut off the device and get up to find my friend.
