Yesterday afternoon, I sat in my lawyer’s office with a huge stack of papers in front of me. I signed, flipped. Signed again. Flipped again. I did this until I’d reached the bottom of the stack, then handed them over, and all of a sudden it hit me:
Wait. I asked her. Was that the thing that people in movies are always refusing to sign and crying about? And usually the person crying and not wanting to sign but signing anyway is played by Diane Keaton?
That’s exactly what it was.
I’d just signed my divorce papers.
I didn’t cry. I just signed and flipped and signed and flipped. And then I left my lawyer’s office and wandered off down the street because it was a nice day and I didn’t have to pick up my kids for another hour or so. I went into a little clothing store and browsed around, not really intending to buy anything, just passing the time, and chatted a bit with the owner of the store about whether the Rothys flats I was wearing really are as great as people say (yes, they are). On my way out, I waved goodbye, and she told me to pick out a pair of fancy underwear from the display that was hanging on the wall, on her. Just because it seemed like I could use a little something to brighten my day.
I took that as a good sign. I picked out a bright blue pair, hugged her, and went on my way.
These photos are another in the series of here-is-a-thing-that-I-own-and-wanted-to-photograph-but-have-nowhere-to-wear. It’s J.Mendel, from TheRealReal, and is officially the nicest thing in my closet. My photographer and I were planning to head over to this mansion near my house and do something all ethereal and glamorous, but there’s no time, so I put it on and twirled around in a pile of boxes instead.
Did I mention I’m moving tomorrow morning?
I’m moving tomorrow morning.
In the morning, I’ll walk the kids to school for the last time (the last time for me, anyway; the kids will stay with Kendrick for another week while I get settled). I’ll hug my friends; say good-bye to the teachers that have helped shape my children’s lives these past few years. I will cry. At 8AM, movers will arrive to pack up our things, and at 11AM I will get in my car with my cats and Lucy, and drive alone down I-5 towards Los Angeles. I’ll arrive at the house I leased using my maiden name, and let myself in with a brand-new key that belongs to no one but me. And then, all of a sudden, I’ll be home. The moving truck won’t get there for another few days, so I’m hitching a little trailer to my car so I can bring along an air mattress and a few things I’ll need to get by. And my plants, of course. I couldn’t leave my plants.
I think I’ll sleep on the living room floor tomorrow night. There’s a fireplace, and a really beautiful view that I think will be nice to wake up to. And then it’ll be the next morning, and then the next day, and the next. I don’t know what’ll happen. But it’ll be something, anyway.
And about this skirt that I have nowhere to wear except standing in a pile of boxes filled with the bits and pieces of my old life?
I think, one day – maybe even one day soon – I’ll put it on again, and have somewhere to go.
Photos by Kim Ebbets.