Chapter 8
Telling Ava about the divorce was the hardest conversation we had together.
We chose a Saturday morning when neither of us had to rush. Nia came to my apartment, and Ava sat between us on the couch with the yellow blanket over her knees.
“Mom and I have decided we’re going to divorce,” I said.
Ava looked from me to Nia. “Are you still going to be my parents together?”
“Yes,” Nia said. “We’ll still plan your school days and birthdays together. We’ll live in different homes, like we do now.”
Ava pulled the blanket closer. “Did something happen at my party?”
“No,” I told her. “We had a good time at your party. This is a decision we made after a lot of talking.”
“Could you decide differently later?”
Nia swallowed. “I don’t think we will.”
Ava’s eyes filled. She went into her room and shut the door. We stayed on the couch. A few minutes later, I asked through the door if she wanted one of us to come in.
“Both,” she answered.
We sat on the floor beside her bed. She asked whether she could keep the camera at both houses. She asked if Denise would still be her grandma. She asked whether she could call either of us whenever she wanted.
We answered each question.
“I don’t like this,” she said at last.
“I know,” I replied.
We stayed with her until she asked for lunch.
Over the next few weeks, Ava was quiet sometimes and angry other times. She told me she hated carrying her library books between homes. I bought a second copy of the one she kept rereading, then realized she wanted us to hear that she hated the carrying itself.
We changed our routine. Nia and I made sure the things Ava needed traveled with her without making her pack each time. We also asked the school counselor to check in with her. Ava agreed to go.
Priya and Daniel turned our parenting plan into the documents we needed for the divorce. We divided the house and savings. Nia chose to keep the house, and I kept my apartment. We both contributed to Ava’s expenses.
There were hard discussions. I worried about the joint savings Nia had used for Westbridge. She brought the statements showing the full amount returned, and we included them in the accounting. We argued over a summer trip until Ava told us she wanted a week with each of us, with time at home between them.
We listened.
Vanessa’s case reached its conclusion during that summer. The investigator informed us that her submission of the false statement had been formally documented and that she had complied with the required correction and penalty. Mr. Price confirmed the false document was removed from the apartment file. Ava’s school had never received it.
I read the notice once, then put it with the other legal papers. I wanted a record of what had happened. I did not want it taking up space in every conversation with Nia.
Nia had no contact with Vanessa. I knew that because Nia told me when Vanessa tried to reach her through a mutual friend. Nia had asked the friend not to carry messages.
“You don’t have to report every call to me,” I said.
“I want to be clear when it concerns what happened to Ava.”
I appreciated that. Nia was building habits she should have had earlier. I no longer needed those habits to save our marriage, but Ava benefited from them.
At the end of August, Ava brought home a form asking for contact information for the new school year. There were spaces for both parents. She placed it between Nia and me at our usual Sunday planning call.
“Can I write your addresses myself?” she asked.
“Sure,” Nia said.
Ava carefully filled in both. She knew the numbers by heart.
The first day of school, we met outside the building. Ava wore a green backpack and had her camera tucked safely inside it for an after-school project. Nia straightened her collar. I handed her the lunch she had forgotten in my car.
“Do you have everything?” I asked.
Ava counted on her fingers. “Lunch. Camera. Homework. Two parents being embarrassing.”
Nia laughed. I did too.
Ava walked toward her friends, then came back to hug us both before running inside.
Nia watched until the doors closed.
“She’s doing better,” she said.
“She is.”
“So are we, I think.”
May you like
I looked at her. We were still grieving our marriage. We were also telling each other the truth.
“Yes,” I said. “I think we are.”
