“Yeah, well, if his train wreck of a fiancée could learn when to keep her damn mouth shut, we could’ve avoided a whole hell of a lot of unnecessary bullshit.”
He’s definitely not wrong about that. “He certainly knows how to pick ’em, doesn’t he?”
“Don’t do that, Queenie. You were eighteen years old, and you made a mistake that you tried to rectify, on your own, without support. It was one bad decision, and it doesn’t define who you are as a person.”
It’s not the one bad decision I made six years ago that’s the issue now; it’s that I’ve kept making decisions that haven’t gotten me any further away from the dependent part of my personality that I can’t seem to shake. But I’m trying to change that. Baby steps.
And doing this on my own is one more step in the right direction. I lean over and kiss him on the cheek. “I know. I appreciate you driving me here and being so supportive.”
I can tell he wants to say more, but I also know he wants to give me the chance to deal with this in my own way. “I’ll be here when you’re done.”
“You honestly don’t have to wait. I can Uber home.”
“Not a fucking chance, Queenie. If Corey pulls any bullshit, I’ll be right here.”
“I’ll be fine.” I shoulder my purse, checking again for the file folder. I’ve been doing that compulsively since I got in the car, as if it’s going to magically disappear and I’ll be married to Corey for the rest of my life.
Last night I had a dream that we were chained together and that our skin had started to fuse and I could never separate myself from him. I woke up screaming at four a.m. and did not go back to sleep. Hence I’m jittery, since I’ve had about seven cups of coffee.
Corey ends up being twenty minutes late, which is not a surprise. He also brings his fiancée along.
“Is the entourage necessary?” I ask as he drops down into one of the chairs at the table, not bothering to pull out a chair for Sissy.
“I want to read everything over to make sure you’re not trying to take my baby’s money,” she snaps.
I roll my eyes. “All I wanted six years ago was to separate myself from him completely, and if Corey hadn’t messed it up by not paying the damn filing fee, we wouldn’t be sitting here at all—”
“Ha!” Sissy barks out a fake laugh. “Of course you’re trying to make it Corey’s fault! We all know that it was you who took off without making sure the papers were properly filed. And he told me it was you who didn’t pay the fee, not him!”
Of course he’s spun it so it’s on me and not him.
“Is that what he told you?” I wave my own question away. “You know what? It doesn’t matter. You’ll find out soon enough what you’re getting yourself into.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
Corey clears his throat, looking somewhere between annoyed and uneasy. “She’s trying to get under your skin, Sissy. Maybe you wanna go get yourself a coffee or something?” He pulls his wallet out of his back pocket and peels off a hundred-dollar bill.
Sissy snatches his entire wallet and pulls out a handful of bills, then tosses it on the table. “Coffee makes me have to pee. I’m going to Saks. Pick me up when you’re done.” She waddle-flounces out of the room.
“Hope you got a prenup.” I turn back to the lawyer, whose time we’re wasting. “Okay, let’s make sure this is done correctly this time so I don’t end up smeared all over the news for keeping you ‘tied down’ for another six years.” I make air quotes at Corey.
“You’re the one who ran away.” He takes the papers his attorney’s given him and flips through. “Whoa, hold on a second here. What’s this about a hundred K? I’m not giving you shit.”
“You might want to reconsider that, Corey, since you’re the reason we’re still married, and your fiancée launched an unfounded public smear campaign, which means I can no longer work for the team.”
“That doesn’t mean you deserve money!”
I snort, because that’s an epic joke. “The crap I’m dealing with as a result is the opposite of wonderful. The ironic thing is, if your fiancée didn’t air our dirty laundry to anyone who would listen, I would’ve signed these papers and asked for nothing. But now, after all this, asking for a hundred thousand dollars is small in comparison. I’m sure you can spare it from your endless bank account to help right your wrongs.” He opens his mouth to speak, and I hold up a finger. “Choose your words carefully, Corey, particularly in front of our lawyers. Do not think for a second that you can push me around or belittle me. I am not an eighteen-year-old girl anymore, and your BS isn’t something I intend to deal with ever again, after today. Remember, we’ve been ‘married’”—I use air quotes again for emphasis—“for six years, and we did not have a prenup. My lawyer told me I could technically go after half of your income from all those years if I wanted to. So do not push me.”