Like last summer, my daughter is constantly on the go. Tennis, piano, and art, along with dance at a different studio, one run by an instructor who inspires hugs from the kids. I drive her to and from her activities, and work while she’s busy; in the afternoons, we can often be found at the neighborhood pool or at the park, depending on her mood. It amazes me to see how much she’s changed since our first summer together. She’s taller and more confident, and when I’m driving her here and there, I can often hear her sounding out the words she sees on billboards.
My house isn’t as large as my former home, but it’s comfortable and both of Emily’s paintings – the one I’d bought at the show, and the one she’d painted of London and me – grace the walls of the living room. Even though I’ve been living there since late May, there are still boxes I haven’t yet unpacked, and I had to rent a storage unit for the furniture from my previous home that I no longer needed. I’ll probably sell most of it eventually, but with all the recent changes in my life, I just haven’t had the time. I’m still getting used to living in Atlanta, after all.
Vivian and I met the day after the funeral, and in less than an hour, we had worked everything out. Though I offered, she declined my offer of alimony, and as for the property settlement, she asked for only half of the equity in the house, savings, and investment accounts. She let me keep the funds in our joint retirement account, but then again, money for her was no longer the concern it once was. At that same meeting, she revealed that she was secretly engaged to Spannerman – others would learn of it after our divorce was finalized – and while I could have been hurt by that, I found to my surprise that it didn’t bother me at all. I was in love with Emily, and like Vivian, I’d reached the point where I was ready for a new chapter in my life.
However, money had never been the real bone of contention between us – custody was. So I was both relieved and a bit skeptical when she leaned over and said in an earnest voice, “I want to apologize for the letter my attorney sent.” She placed a hand over her heart. “I was venting in her office, and didn’t realize how my words would get twisted. I know you would never do anything inappropriate with London, and when I finally saw the letter my attorney had sent, I felt sick to my stomach.” She sighed. “I can’t imagine what you must have been thinking about me.”
She closed her eyes, and in the moment, I chose to believe her. Part of me longed for that; I didn’t want to think she had ever been capable of such things – but the truth is, I’ll never know how things actually transpired.
“When Marge asked to see me that night, she told me flat-out that London needed both of us, that I would be hurting London by pursuing sole custody. Needless to say, I was angry. At the time, I felt it was none of her business. But her words affected me more than I wanted to admit… and over time I began to realize that she might be right.” On her wrist, she twisted a thin gold bracelet around and around.
“Whenever London came to Atlanta, all she did was talk about you. How much fun she had with you, the games you played together, the places you went.” Her voice trembled. “I never wanted to take London from you. I just wanted her with me. So when Marge said you would move to Atlanta… I was floored. I never imagined that you’d leave Charlotte, or your parents. I always felt that you started your own business because you weren’t serious about finding work in another city.” At my protest, she held up a hand. “That’s why I wanted sole custody in the first place. Because I love London, too, and only seeing her every other weekend was killing me. I guess I never believed that you would go to such lengths to remain in her life.”
She looked directly at me. “You’re a great father, Russ. I know that now. If you’re willing to move to Atlanta like Marge said, and you want to split time with London, I think we can probably figure something out.”
Which is exactly what we did. For starters, London was allowed to stay with me in Charlotte to finish out the school year; two days later, the moving van filled with our stuff rolled toward Atlanta. When Vivian travels – which still keeps her out of town three or four nights a week – London stays with me. I also have my daughter every other weekend, and London and I have a standing date night on those Fridays she’s with me. To avoid a repeat of the past year, Vivian and I have decided to alternate holidays in the future. So I can still read bedtime stories to my daughter when she stays with her mom, I bought a mini iPad, and London props it against a pillow to see me via FaceTime. Even better, once school starts, I’ll still be able to pick her up at school every day, and she’ll stay with me until Vivian finishes at work. I’m assuming that means that London and I will have dinner sometimes; other times, London will have dinner with her mom; but I’m confident that Vivian and I will figure it out.
I find myself being thankful to Vivian for all those things, cognizant that in all the years I’ve known her, my ex-wife has never once failed to surprise me.
Even, sometimes, in good ways.
I dreaded telling Emily that I was moving.
Most people would applaud my decision to choose my daughter over a new romantic relationship, but I also knew that a woman like Emily comes along once in a lifetime. Charlotte and Atlanta were close enough for a short-term relationship, but could it really work in the long run? Like me, Emily had been born and raised in Charlotte and her parents and sister lived nearby. We hadn’t been seeing each other for very long; to that point in our relationship, we hadn’t so much as even kissed.