But Boyfriend and I will never get back on track. Too many things have been said, too many promises broken, too many accusations made, too many expectations never met, on both sides. Of course, as with everything, there is my side, his side, and then the truth. Still, certainly, I couldn’t always have been wrong in the seven years we were together. My feelings can’t have been wrong all the time. Sometimes, all a partner needs in the relationship is a genuine “I’m sorry.” But it took him entirely disregarding me and my daughter to finally get one out of him.
I realize that maybe we are just too different for each other, with two different sets of values and philosophies on what makes or breaks a relationship, on work ethic, on parenting, on ambition, on money. Simply, we have different expectations and outlooks on life. No longer are we are talking to make “us” better. We are fighting to make the other person feel bad. We are, most definitely, not the poster children for “opposites attract.” That’s for damn sure.
· TWENTY ·
It’s over.
There are no truer words than, “You don’t really know a person until you divorce them.” After two years of fighting a losing battle, Boyfriend and I are now part of that cringeworthy statistic. We are part of the 66 percent of blended families who have broken up. We have followed in the footsteps of the friends who set us up.
We have a final fight in which I tell him to start looking for another place. This time he does. I’m beyond devastated at the demise of our relationship, but at the same time, I’m looking forward to having my house back, my smile back, and, most of all, peace. I’m looking forward to not always having that damn pit in my stomach. I don’t want to say that the last two years have been torture — that’s being too dramatic — but I feel like I have suffered … a lot.
Like most people who decide to split up, and especially if you’re in a second-chance marriage, I’m still not entirely sure if breaking up is 100 percent the answer. I talk to Boyfriend about taking a break from one another, that he should find another place but we should continue to try and work on our relationship and maybe we will realize that we miss each other. Maybe we just need some distance from each other.
I don’t know why I think this, because, while I may at least have the good memories of Boyfriend and the early years of blending — how we went to yoga classes together and couldn’t keep our hands off each other, how we brought a baby into this world, the proposal, that night I got drunk with his daughters in Mexico, the night I took one of Bonus Children to a movie, just the two of us, the numerous times I took Bonus Daughters for manicures, our family vacations — I’m romanticizing the past and I know it.
Within a couple of weeks, he has found a new place, magically, it seems, coming up with enough money to pay for rent, including first and last months. I know he pays more than $3,000 in rent. And I’m resentful of that. There is no way he spent more than $3,000 a month in groceries. I suggest we see a couples therapist, but he’s not game. Admittedly, I think I want to see a therapist so I can at least say, “I tried everything.” I’m still hoping and waiting to see if he’ll put in the effort that would match my expectations. Maybe he realizes it’s fruitless. And it is. But after all of the bullshit, don’t I deserve for him to try?
Even though I’m the one who has told him to get the fuck out, I will soon learn that he is telling our mutual friends he left me. I will let him have that. Go for it. I’m not concerned about what others think about who broke up with whom. I’m too old for that kind of bullshit.
One night, when I’m really doubting my decision, idealizing our past as I look at photographs on my phone, I ask my daughter, now a teenager, if she thinks that Boyfriend and me breaking up was the right move.
“Mommy, I think a lot of the stress I’ve been feeling for the last two years is because you guys were always fighting. And it’s not good for Holt, either, to hear that,” she responds immediately. Rowan is my little therapist, smarter than us adults and also concerned. She’s a mini-parent to Holt.
Her words make me feel like I’ve been stabbed with a sword. How could I have not seen how all this fighting has affected our kids? After what my daughter has just told me, I know with 100 percent certainty that breaking up was the right move.
Boyfriend will go on to tell people that we broke up because of my “mental problems,” and that I am “irrational.” I also will let him have that. Go forth! I do not care if people think I’m the crazy one in the relationship. I’m far from the first woman who has been called crazy or irrational by an ex. In fact, if he didn’t use the excuse that I am crazy and irrational, I’d be shocked. If it makes him feel better to think that I’m the irrational one, that’s fine by me. I think it’s “crazy” and “irrational” to leave a sick child in the hospital to get drunk at a party, but what the fuck do I know?
So, the good news is that he’s moving out. The bad news is that he can’t move into his place for another few weeks, so we tiptoe around each other in the house. If he’s in the kitchen, I’ll head to the bedroom. He leaves without saying goodbye. I come home and barely say hi. He starts sleeping in the basement, where his children once slept. He has moved all his clothes down there, too. Although he tries to make plans at night not to be home, as I do too, we still manage to argue when we do find ourselves in the same room. But, now, it’s like arguing with a stranger. And so we begin un-blending. I will learn immediately that the process of un-blending, like the process of blending, also brings on one shit ton of bullshit.
Our first argument after we break up, but are still in the same house, is over the fucking mattress. He wants it. I remind him that he’s the one who made me get rid of a perfectly good mattress and tell him that unless he can get me that mattress back, this mattress should be mine. Also, his mother bought us a couch, about a year earlier, but in order for the couch to fit, I had to get rid of my old couch. I tell Ex-Boyfriend to get my couch back, which he has given to a friend.
I’m not in a very generous mood anymore. Just weeks before we break up for good, I got a new car, and because his lease on his old car was over, I gave him my oldish but still very functional BMW. I could have sold it for at least a few thousand dollars, but, again, I let any sort of payment slide. It now makes me sick to see him drive it, because he took it without offering to pay for it and, in my opinion, without much gratitude. I may have not taken his money if he’d offered, but an offer to pay for it would have been nice, although I’m no longer surprised that he just doesn’t give a shit and that I feel like he takes and takes and takes.
When, shortly after he moves out, it’s our son’s birthday party and I have to tip three DJs because it’s a dance party for about fifteen kids, Ex-Boyfriend tells me he “forgot his wallet.” Looking back, he forgot his wallet numerous times throughout our relationship.
I wonder how he can drive my old car without thinking that over the years he, literally and figuratively, has had a pretty good ride. It makes me sick to think of all the things I have bought him over the years — the motorcycle, the $500 bottle of cologne he wanted, the expensive sunglasses, the leather jacket, the fucking condo in Mexico. What sort of person lives for seven years, rent-free, even if he does pay half of some of the bills? What kind of person doesn’t chip in for a vacation property bought for the family? Ex-Boyfriend, of course, will have a different opinion and honestly believes that, over the years, we’ve spent the same amount of money. I’m going to call it “creative accounting” on his part. I think, too, that it’s his lack of gratitude that I feel and his sense of entitlement that will forever annoy me. And my high expectations and disappointments will always annoy him.
In any case, since we blended households, there are a lot of things we need to split up. Who owns the kettle? Who owns the paper towel holder? Who owns the microwave that one of us bought a few years ago after the old one broke? Like getting a vacuum cleaner from your husband on your birthday, our email exchanges are now the complete opposite of our once-romantic ones. Not
surprisingly, he sends me an email with the subject line “Household items.” It’s a detailed list of all the things he thinks belong to him. I look at it and think, If only he had put as much effort into our blended family.
This is what I open:
Shed
Everything in the shed other than Rowan’s camp stuff. Tools, sports equipment, etc.
Depending on the size of my place, was wondering if it would be okay to leave some stuff in the shed until I figure out what to do with some of the larger items.
Kitchen
The stuff on the black shelf that is mine — printer, internet extender, etc.
Mini Dyson vacuum
My pictures — ketchup bottle pic, family pic in grocery store, etc.
Clock in kitchen
Knife block
Coffee machine, coffee grinder, a handful of glasses and mugs, half of the plates, half the knives (only want the ones I brought or bought), half the utensils (there is almost two of everything so it won’t be an issue)
Couple of the large serving plates (the ones I brought)
Sandwich maker, grill, slow cooker, and blender
Paper towel holder and half of the mixing bowls, plastic bowls, popcorn bowls, two of the frying pans I bought recently – you can keep the majority of all the pots and pans (I only need a few)
I will get a new toaster, kettle, cutlery, etc. There is a Keurig coffee machine in the dining room. You can have that, and I have a half dozen boxes of pucks for it — you can have all of them.
Dining room
Black two drawer unit and wicker basket dresser and any of the stuff in the drawers that is mine.
Holt’s toys
We can figure that out and just split it up — he has tons so it won’t be an issue
Holt’s clothes
We can split his clothes so he has clothes at both houses
Living room
Silver and white round table, TV, bracket for TV unit, unit under the TV, couch, round wood drum table, NY and watercolour pictures, stereo, speakers, Xbox, filing cabinet, heater, and green desk chair
If you want the couch and/or the TV (with mount), I am willing to leave them for you if you agree to give me the replacement cost
Basement
Basically everything in the girls’ room and the downstairs closet
I might need the tall white standup unit in hallway but if I cannot fit it in you can have it
I would like the downstairs fridge but I may not be able to take it right away. If I don’t have room for it, I wanted to know if you would be okay if I grabbed it later.
My suitcases, sport bags, and sporting equipment
Family room
The only thing I want is the “Live, Love” picture on the wall
Master bedroom
Black bedside table on my side
You can keep my TV. You’ll have to get an Apple TV — I can help you with this and set it up if you want. They are around $100.
Holt’s room
Since I will have to furnish an entire room for Holt, I think it is fair to either split up the furniture or go fifty-fifty on stuff that he will need for my house. If we split up his stuff we will both have to buy stuff, otherwise I can just go get him the stuff and his room will remain the same. Not sure what is best for him; he might be more comfortable if he brings some of his stuff to my house but not sure. I am open to either.
I would like the recliner chair in his room; would be nice for him to have something familiar and it just holds his stuffed animals now. If anything it will make his room seem bigger.
Bathrooms
My toiletries and two of the metal garbage cans with the pop-up lids — prevents Toby from eating the garbage
The shower caddie in our master bathroom
Half the towels — we have tons so this won’t be an issue
Bathroom rug — white fluffy one I bought for the spare bathroom
When I first open the list, I am both amazed and appalled by some of what he’s asking for. The shower caddie in the master bedroom that probably cost $25? Is he fucking kidding me? Is he really asking for garbage cans that cost about $7 at Walmart? And the paper towel holder? This really is fucking bullshit. And where does he find the gall, I wonder, to ask me for “replacement costs” for things I may want to keep? And is he really asking for the “Live, Love” painting that I bought for “us” on one of our anniversaries, which cost me a small fortune? Is he really going to take the internet extender? Does he not remember that, when he moved in, I already had a fully furnished house? Enjoy the fucking ketchup bottle picture and the cheap plastic popcorn bowls. It’s all fucking yours.
In the end, I let him take whatever he wants, except the “Live, Love” painting. My lawyer tells me that to get him out faster, just let him take what he wants. It’s just stuff. A television can be replaced.
Now that we’ve broken up, I’m also getting emails with the subject line “Spreadsheets.” Our relationship has gone from being romantic to strictly professional. It’s not an even remotely comfortable kind of relationship, however; it’s like having to work with someone you don’t really like, but have to put up with.
He continues to send me so many emails with spreadsheets listing which items he thinks are his and which he thinks are mine and what he’s willing to leave me “for a price.” They are so confusing that I stop opening them and end up yelling at him, “The purpose of spreadsheets is to make it easy to figure out for the other person. Your spreadsheets are so fucking complicated!”
I burst into tears when I see that he’s “offering” to sell me the large couch his mother bought us, because he doesn’t think it will fit into his new place, adding on HST as if my house were a store. As if he’s going to remit that tax to the government. His audacity, I’m seeing, knows no end, and it’s laughable at this point. But I feel ashamed and embarrassed, and I wonder if I ever really, truly knew the real him. The guy asking for the bathmat.
I know I fell out of love with him on the eve of Halloween, but now I’m seeing his mask come off. I’m starting to understand why his ex told me in one of our heated exchanges, “Good luck. You’re going to need it.”
I have the urge to call her and say, “You were right. I’m sorry.”
Of course Ex-Boyfriend’s mother helps him pack, just like she helped him unpack when he moved in almost seven years ago. I wonder if she’s sick of packing up and unpacking her adult child’s life, but mostly I think she enjoys keeping busy and helping her children, the people she lives and breathes for.
Just as I couldn’t stand to be around when he drove up with the moving truck years ago, I can’t stand to be around when he packs up to move out. Again, I need the Clonazepam. I feel the same angst and dread I felt when I saw the moving truck pull up, but a deep sadness too. So I book a last-minute solo trip to Mexico, asking my daughter’s father if he can come in to watch her. He does. My friends, who know Ex-Boyfriend is moving out, think I’m batshit crazy to leave him at the house alone, with his mother, to pack. They offer to stay at my house to make sure he doesn’t take everything.
“What if he takes something that’s yours? Have you hidden your jewellery? Have you hidden all your important documents?” all of them ask me, concerned.
“Definitely lock up or bring over here anything that you don’t want him to see or have,” one friend offers. I love my friends and how they are looking out for me.
But I’m practically paralyzed — What happened to us? — and while I think that, yes, for sure he’s going to take things we didn’t agree upon, it’s just stuff. Stuff, like my lawyer says, can be replaced. The goal is to get him out, sooner rather than later. The sooner he’s out of the house, the sooner the arguments will end.
When I get home from my five day trip — I can’t exactly call it a vacation — I walk into my house, which now looks like a rental storage space. There are dozens and dozens of packed boxes, taped up so tightly that it would take me days to open th
em all to make sure he didn’t take anything that we didn’t agree upon. I’m sure this was done on purpose. And there’s still more to pack.
I’m back before he’s actually moved, and I get to watch in awe as his mom nitpicks over things to put in the boxes. I almost lose my shit when I see her packing a pair of scissors. I grab them from her, like a kid who grabs a toy out of another child’s hands. I am no longer a loving daughter-in-law. And, I know, I no longer have a mother-in-law who likes me very much. But she even has the gall to take half a box of ice cream bars that are in the freezer. I hope they melt all over the other shit she’s taking. Will she remember trying to take a pair of scissors and the ice cream bars? You’d have to ask her. This is not something that I would make up.
When I tell my friends that Ex-Boyfriend has asked for the fucking bathmat, they aren’t surprised at all. I’m surprised they aren’t surprised. “He’s always been a taker,” one of my best girlfriends says. I’m surprised, too, that almost every single one of my friends, when I tell them that Ex-Boyfriend is moving out and we are separating, doesn’t seem overly shocked, or shocked at all, just like I wasn’t that shocked when my girlfriend — the one who set me and now-Ex-Boyfriend up — was breaking up with her boyfriend.
“You haven’t been happy for years,” every single one of my friends tells me. Years? Most of my girlfriends admit, only after we break up, that they have never been exactly fans of Ex-Boyfriend. It’s not only that they are loyal to me and have heard my complaints over the years. All of them think he had a good ride with me, as if I was some sort of sugar mommy. Do you know how crushing it is to hear this? I hope you don’t and never will. Also, I feel incredibly stupid to have not seen what seemingly all my friends had seen in him. And, so, yes I’m ashamed of myself.
Blissfully Blended Bullshit Page 23