What Happened to Eden

You’ll argue over possessions and custody and assets. You’ll bring up each other’s worst moments and point fingers and place blame. You’ll wonder if you ever knew this person you married or if they’ve secretly been a monster the entire time. And then, one day, it will be over.

One day, a judge will take your verbal statement that you feel the settlement is fair, both to you and your children, even though it absolutely isn’t, just so it will be over. The judge will sign your paperwork, your lawyer will fill her pockets and forget your name, and you’ll have to move forward.

Once the Ts are crossed and the Is are dotted, there’s no more need to argue.

Unless you speak to your ex. Which, if you have children, you’ll have to do. Or if you still need to sell your house, you’ll need to discuss realtors and open houses and whether or not they’re keeping up with maintenance so that it can be sold in good condition. Everything they say is suspect, because of the way they lied, cheated, and stole during the messy process of getting divorced. And for years before that, in my case. Why would I believe he’s going to pay me back for the utilities on the house when he lied to my face about having an affair for eighteen months? If he’d lie about his second life, he’d lie about setting up his child support account.

My mom and I popped champagne in the middle of the day and toasted to the future while my kids were in school. At least I was finished paying the lawyer. I’d had nightmares my husband would have someone record me drinking a margarita while taking the kids for tacos and then tell the judge I got bombed and drove the kids around. Or I’d make a mistake on my taxes and he’d turn me in for tax fraud. He could potentially do those things until I died, but having agreed to a settlement made it seem less likely.

It’s never really over. I knew I’d carry the trauma of my last relationship right into my next one no matter how hard I tried not to. I had intense trust issues, which The Cop foresaw, since he knew why I was getting divorced. He went above and beyond to be transparent, but I had absolutely no chill whatsoever. I was constantly concerned I’d be cheated on, which is always possible, but I was really just waiting for it to happen. He broke his texting pattern, he must be fucking someone else.

I’d get it. I was surely more than he bargained for, with three kids and a fresh and festering divorce wound. I did my best to only be a casual, fun person, but I was not having a casual, fun life. My kids were emotionally battered from the midyear move and not seeing their dad every day. Making friends halfway through the school year was tough, and they were nervous every day before they got on the bus.

I wasn’t my best self most days, and being a good mom was a challenge. I’d stagger around like a zombie, short on patience and unsure how to answer their questions about what had happened. Where was Dad? What was he doing right now? Could we all Facetime? Was he not answering because he was with his girlfriend?

Spending time with The Cop was a welcome distraction. My parents generously watched my kids so we could sneak in a date here and there. But with my parents’ departure looming, it wasn’t clear to me how we would maintain any sort of relationship. The Cop had kids as well, and he had time with them when I was free, and I had my kids when he was free. A cruel twist of fate by the gods of child custody.

One night we were sitting in the car after a coffee date and I let my fears spill out. “How is this going to work?” What was implied was that I’d put all my eggs in this one first responder-shaped basket and we already knew we’d be free at the same time only a handful of days the whole year. I had no interest in him meeting my children, and surely he had no interest in meeting three kids that weren’t his, so logistically how would this work? Had I chosen the wrong guy based on practicality alone?

I liked him and wanted to try and make it work, but the intense fear of loneliness and having too much time by myself to sink into a spiral was a major concern. If the point was to be occupied, should I have picked someone whom I’d rarely got to see? We talked every day – it wasn’t as though it was radio silence between dates – but I would have to power through my nights alone until we sorted things out.

I disengaged from the other men in my texting rotation without burning any bridges. Shady behavior is not in my nature, but there was a voice in my head reminding me all relationships are precarious, even in the best of circumstances, so when I got to be too much for this guy and panicked about being lonely, I’d need to move down to the next guy in line. I’d unconsciously been slowing my chatter with the other candidates from the app before I’d agreed to pause my subscription and be exclusive with The Cop, so it wasn’t a major loss. The Voice still called to check in and we’d talk about dating and life and kids and cooking in a platonic way. After all, he knew me reasonably well, even if there were no fireworks in person.

A man willing to text daily meant I wasn’t repugnant. Even if I couldn’t maintain anything long term in my broken state, I could get a date and hold a conversation. My husband straying didn’t mean I was disgusting. I wasn’t intolerable. I wasn’t ready to fully trust anyone, no matter that The Cop hadn’t given me a reason not to, because I was a woman that men lied to.

When a partner leaves, especially when they leave for someone else, you’re reentering the dating pool with rock bottom self confidence. It’s not we couldn’t make it work or we drifted apart, it’s there is something so wrong with me that he broke our marriage vows and had a long term relationship with someone else because he would rather blow up his family and live apart from his wife and kids than try and make it work. I knew being bored and lonely would be bad for me, and I also knew men cheated on me and lied to my face, so I should keep a roster of backups for when that eventually happened to me again.

Maybe, as I went through men, I’d learn to keep whatever parts of me were intolerable secret for longer so they’d stay. It was difficult to know which quirks to hide. Being a traditional wife who had dinner on the table when her husband got home, who didn’t jump in with requests or chatter when he walked through the door, who didn’t ask for help with housework or childcare, hadn’t gotten me very far. Supposedly, those were the ways to catch and keep a man. I started to follow the pendulum in the other direction and would let The Cop know when I didn’t like something, or when he’d said something I didn’t appreciate. It didn’t happen often, but when I got the nerve to speak up, I’d give myself a silent pep talk. Married Eden would never have spoken up. And her husband wouldn’t have taken her words into consideration anyway, he’d just bring up some error I’d made that was unrelated to change the subject.

To his credit, The Cop seemed to see the big picture and understand that I was trying to become more assertive and not just go with the flow. He would try out a nickname I didn’t like and I’d ask him to switch it up, and then end up over explaining and apologizing. It’s okay, he’d say. You can always tell me if you don’t like something I say or do. My husband hadn’t been an abusive tyrant, but there was so much conflict without resolution I just got used to letting things go. There were too many hills I didn’t have the energy to die on.

Every day I was more confident The Cop was the best choice for me of the men I’d talked to since downloading the app. But, every day, I assumed he’d have enough of me and disappear.