slugged him in the stomach with a kettle bell. His vision goes fuzzy and a strange static invades his head, like a radio on high volume between stations.
All my things,
Nick thinks.
All my beautiful things.
Gray, meanwhile, has adopted his usual sit-back-and-wait-for-the-client-to-absorb-the-bad-news position. He’s leaning back in his chair, tie descending in waves over his barrel chest, scrolling through the never-ending flood of messages streaming into his phone. After a minute or so, he looks up at Nick with his unshockable basset-hound eyes. “Figures aren’t exact, of course—just a ballpark estimate based on the Divorce Act and my many years of experience.”
Nick finds he has to rub his tongue against the roof of hismouth to generate a film of lubricant before he can get any words out. “So this is … normal?”
“Generally speaking, yes.”
“But don’t people get divorced
all the time
?”
Gray nods with a certain degree of satisfaction. “Sure. People go broke all the time too. If you’re looking for numbers, the current national rate’s just over a third of marriages—that’s down from 50 percent in the mid-1980s, right after no-fault divorce was legalized, though I find that people still cling to that statistic. People who are getting divorced, that is. It’s comforting to feel normal.”
“But how do they afford it?”
Gray shrugs. “They don’t! This is what I’ve been trying to explain to you, my friend. If you have money, divorce is
expensive.
Why do you think I’ve got an offer in on a condo in Palm Beach? It’s going to cost you dearly. Which is why, if you’re interested in keeping the trappings of your precious lifestyle, I suggest you find a way to work out your problems. Try counselling, take a holiday. Join a swingers’ club, for fuck’s sake. I don’t care. Just stay married and save yourself the cash and your kids the therapy.” Gray begins buttoning up his overcoat and hoisting himself out of the chair.
Nick motions for his friend to stay put. He is not so easily deterred. Gray must know this, because he sinks back down in his chair, letting his coat flap open. Nick picks up a pen and makes some scratches beside the list of figures. The bridge of his nose burns the way it does when he’s thinking too hard.
“Surely there must be a way to bring these numbers down a bit? Take the support payments—why on earth are they so high?And … and this”—he picks up the paper, stretches it tight and flicks it with his index finger so it makes a sound like a snare drum—”this allocation of the value of the house seems completely disproportionate. She hasn’t even contributed to the household expenses since the twins were born, so why should she get more of the equity than I do? It makes no sense.”
“That, my friend, is precisely where you’re wrong.” Gray shakes his head at Nick’s mental midgetry. “It’s precisely
because
she hasn’t been bringing home the majority of the bacon—or even the bacon bits—that the court will furnish her so handsomely. I’m assuming you’re not planning to seek joint custody of the kids? Given their young age and with Maya being at home, it’s highly unlikely you’d get it.”
Nick is dumbstruck. With a pang of shame, he realizes he’s barely thought about the kids since the idea of separation occurred to him. “I guess ideally I’d aim for a flexible arrangement that works for both of us. Not one of these every-other-weekend deals—I want my kids to know that their father isn’t just some guy who buys them a Happy Meal twice a month.”
“Well, you should consider the fact that your wife—once she becomes your ex-wife—may not feel inclined to be ‘flexible,’ as you so diplomatically put it. Once you’ve left a woman high and dry with two little kids, you can’t expect her to be sympathetic to your needs. The same goes for the court, I’m afraid.”
All at once Nick sees how high the stakes are—how
All my things,
Nick thinks.
All my beautiful things.
Gray, meanwhile, has adopted his usual sit-back-and-wait-for-the-client-to-absorb-the-bad-news position. He’s leaning back in his chair, tie descending in waves over his barrel chest, scrolling through the never-ending flood of messages streaming into his phone. After a minute or so, he looks up at Nick with his unshockable basset-hound eyes. “Figures aren’t exact, of course—just a ballpark estimate based on the Divorce Act and my many years of experience.”
Nick finds he has to rub his tongue against the roof of hismouth to generate a film of lubricant before he can get any words out. “So this is … normal?”
“Generally speaking, yes.”
“But don’t people get divorced
all the time
?”
Gray nods with a certain degree of satisfaction. “Sure. People go broke all the time too. If you’re looking for numbers, the current national rate’s just over a third of marriages—that’s down from 50 percent in the mid-1980s, right after no-fault divorce was legalized, though I find that people still cling to that statistic. People who are getting divorced, that is. It’s comforting to feel normal.”
“But how do they afford it?”
Gray shrugs. “They don’t! This is what I’ve been trying to explain to you, my friend. If you have money, divorce is
expensive.
Why do you think I’ve got an offer in on a condo in Palm Beach? It’s going to cost you dearly. Which is why, if you’re interested in keeping the trappings of your precious lifestyle, I suggest you find a way to work out your problems. Try counselling, take a holiday. Join a swingers’ club, for fuck’s sake. I don’t care. Just stay married and save yourself the cash and your kids the therapy.” Gray begins buttoning up his overcoat and hoisting himself out of the chair.
Nick motions for his friend to stay put. He is not so easily deterred. Gray must know this, because he sinks back down in his chair, letting his coat flap open. Nick picks up a pen and makes some scratches beside the list of figures. The bridge of his nose burns the way it does when he’s thinking too hard.
“Surely there must be a way to bring these numbers down a bit? Take the support payments—why on earth are they so high?And … and this”—he picks up the paper, stretches it tight and flicks it with his index finger so it makes a sound like a snare drum—”this allocation of the value of the house seems completely disproportionate. She hasn’t even contributed to the household expenses since the twins were born, so why should she get more of the equity than I do? It makes no sense.”
“That, my friend, is precisely where you’re wrong.” Gray shakes his head at Nick’s mental midgetry. “It’s precisely
because
she hasn’t been bringing home the majority of the bacon—or even the bacon bits—that the court will furnish her so handsomely. I’m assuming you’re not planning to seek joint custody of the kids? Given their young age and with Maya being at home, it’s highly unlikely you’d get it.”
Nick is dumbstruck. With a pang of shame, he realizes he’s barely thought about the kids since the idea of separation occurred to him. “I guess ideally I’d aim for a flexible arrangement that works for both of us. Not one of these every-other-weekend deals—I want my kids to know that their father isn’t just some guy who buys them a Happy Meal twice a month.”
“Well, you should consider the fact that your wife—once she becomes your ex-wife—may not feel inclined to be ‘flexible,’ as you so diplomatically put it. Once you’ve left a woman high and dry with two little kids, you can’t expect her to be sympathetic to your needs. The same goes for the court, I’m afraid.”
All at once Nick sees how high the stakes are—how
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