Page 88 of Love Complicated

So this parent coaching is supposed to show us how to negotiate, how to stay focused on the issues, and how to listen to one another while co-parenting our children.

None of that has happened yet.

And it’s not about to now when Austin shows up twenty minutes late and Carol starts with, “I want you to give me two words to describe your current situation in the divorce. Two words that describe how you feel things are going from the time you initiated the divorce.”

Austin glares at me, smoothing his hands down the front of his suit. He’s quiet at first and I think he’s going to remain quiet. But, as usual lately, he surprises me and pops off with, “Assumptions and control.”

Eat a dick. A big fat veiny hairy one you best friend fucker!

Carol’s hardened stare moves to mine. She clears her throat, probably nervous to hear what my response will be. “And you, Alyson?”

“Doucheness and Assholeishness.”

Her face screws up, like she’s an English teacher and I’ve broken every grammatical rule known to man. “Those arenotwords.”

Ya think?

“Fine.” I sneer at Austin, who, I might add is still glaring. I hope his face stays like that. “Communication and well-being.”

I stare at him like he’s grown another head. He has. One uglier than his personality these days. “What could you possibly be worried about regarding communication and well-being?”

He snorts, and my heart beats so fast. “Like the fact that you didn’t ask me before leaving our children with Ridge tonight.”

My initial reaction to these words would be to retreat, clam up, not say anything at all, but I can’t because his gaze is assessing. His smile so bitter, jaw clenched like he’s caught me off guard.

He has caught me off guard, again and I’m burning like that night, like a speck of ash that spirals and drifts with the lies he’s fed me over the years. I pause, indecisive, unable to form what I need to say. How could I have ever loved someone so bitter, so hurtful, so mean?

He can’t feel anything yet me, I can’t feel anything small.

My stomach burns when I finally do speak. “And you didn’t ask me before you cheated on me with my best friend. And you certainly didn’t ask me when you moved in with her and had our children sleeping at her house. And ya better fucking believe you never asked me how I felt about her posting photographs of them on the Internet.”

Look at Carol’s face. She wants to run away from this train wreck. Can’t say I blame her.

Austin’s face hardens, a flood of anger washing over him. “I’m not doing this with you right now.”

“Did I strike a nerve?” I yell, my voice louder than I want. I turn to face him, my knuckles white as I grip the tissue in my hand. “I say we are doing this, right now.”

“Oh, really?” He raises his eyes to mine. His usual soft features turning to stone, his nostrils flaring. “Well, then, I could easily say the same to you, couldn’t I? Sleeping with my brother before our divorce is final classifies as cheating by marital standards, doesn’t it?”

I roll my eyes. “You’re an asshole.”

“Right.” He laughs. “I’m always the asshole, and you haven’t done one fucking thing wrong, have you?”

I angrily shake my head, refusing that as an answer. “You’ve actually done a lot wrong.”

Remember. . . divorce is ugly. It gets even uglier before you come to an agreement.

I guess, if I had to speculate when our divorce turned nasty, I would say it’s now, in the confines of this really white room, screaming at one another at the top of our lungs.

Blaming.

Accusing.

Avoiding.

Austin pauses, his mouth twisting in a scowl delivered my way. His eyes are hard, lips parting as he speaks lowly. “I’m curious, Alyson. What’s the real reason you’re blaming me for this not working?”

How many times have we been over this?

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