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This is the Last Day of our Acquaintance.

July 21, 2013

We still had the car titles in each other’s names. He was getting my speeding tickets from the speed cameras on Johnston Street. He said he wanted to meet with a notary and get it taken care of.

I agreed that it needed to be done. “My schedule is flexible,” he wrote. I wasn’t about to miss work or my walk for him so I replied, “I’m available at 5:15 or after 8, daily.”

It was just going to be quick meeting to sign paperwork. No big deal. I had just gotten the new job. Had just had the experience of those interviews, where I felt respected and valued like I never had before. I felt like I was on the verge of being my best self.

I didn’t want to see him.

I got his e-mail with the place and time while I was walking in the park. I replied, confirming. Then I started to panic. I didn’t want to see him. Why didn’t I want to see him? I was angry with myself for having this reaction. I thought about cancelling. Why did we need to be there together? Why couldn’t the notary come to us separately? But I didn’t want him to know that I didn’t want to see him. I didn’t want him to know that he still had an affect on me.

I imagined how it might play out. Would he try to explain what happen with the company? Would he ask me how I was doing? Would he make small talk or try to be friendly? The panic increased and I started to cry. I didn’t want to see him.

I was afraid. I was afraid I would take one look at him and be transported back to the person I used to be. The person he convinced me I was. The person I agreed I was. A failure. A mediocre talent who would never amount to anything. An inferior. With him, I was not the kind of person who became the Marketing Designer at XxX. I was afraid he would look at me and the curtain would be pulled back and the real Marie be revealed.

On the way to the restaurant, I listened to up beat music. I tried to put myself at ease. I didn’t want to appear nervous. I wanted to walk in relaxed. I thought about Z. He had a fantasy, he had told me recently. He wanted to walk into Pamplona’s one night, find me talking to some guy and walk right up to me, saying nothing, pull me into his arms and kiss me passionately in front of everyone then walk out with me. He’s such a hopeless romantic. I find that adorable. That’s the image I held in my head as I walked into the bar of the restaurant, a smirk on my face. I was wearing my walking clothes so I could go to the park after. The place that we met in is notorious for being a pick-up site. Even on a Tuesday at 5:30, you could feel the energy. The desire for a hook up was written on everyone’s faces. Two men at a booth looked me up and down as I walked in. I looked back with a “don’t even think about it” expression on my face.

He was sitting at a high-top table with a little girl about 8 or 9 years old next to him. The notary was on the opposite side. I walked up and sat next to the notary. Quick hellos were exchanged. I looked at the little girl across from me and asked, “Are you his lawyer?” She looked up briefly from her phone and smiled, then went back to silently playing her game.

“This is June,” my ex said.
“Hello June. It’s nice to meet you. I’m Nicole.” I said, shaking her hand.
“June is [Orange Tranny]’s daughter,” he explained. “She’s very bored,” he said nervously.
Like I give a flying fuck.

We got down to signing paperwork. I listened to the notary’s instructions and signed away.

He was wearing a salmon dress shirt and his iphone had a pink case on it. OK. I looked at his hair, coiffed like a 20-something’s. I thought about how ridiculous that was while remembering that the 20-something I can’t wait to sleep with again fixes his hair the same way. I laughed to myself.

I looked at him and felt very little. I said nothing.

He asked me if I had seen our son lately. “Yes,” I replied. “I see him every day.” He gave me a bank statement to give him.

As the notary did his thing, I looked around the room. A bad version of a Sex in the City scene was happening at the next table. Five or six women. Late 40s, early 50s. Very made up. Teased, permed, fake blonde hair and black lace. Pink drinks and loud laughing. It was Tuesday night. Gross.

The notary gingerly instructed me that I would have to sign my married name on one of the papers. He seem to be nervous about saying so.

The paperwork signed, I looked at the notary and asked, “We done?”
“Yep,” he replied.
I got up to leave.
“Thank you,” my ex said.
“Sure, no problem.” I replied.
I got my umbrella, walked past the meat market, into the drizzle and to my car. I headed to the park.

That might be the last time I see him. We live in the same town. I used to see him all over downtown but not anymore.

At one time I thought we might have been friends. We said so to each other that day over a year ago at the coffee shop. He said he missed talking to me. He didn’t want me completely out of his life. I was still in love with him, then. I didn’t know at the time that he was already seeing Orange Tranny. But nothing came of it. His communications after that were the same. Terse, all business, often dripping with disdain or blame.

I changed. I woke up from the spell and became someone else.

Now, not only am I just not interested in a relationship of any kind with him, I don’t want to be reminded of what I once was. I don’t want to go back.

There he was sitting across from me, a young girl at his side, his replacement family…….the man I fell in love with when I was 19 years old. The man that was my life, my soul mate, my best friend for over 20 years. A few signatures here and there and that was it.

The last day of our acquaintance.

Next.

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