At the End of the Dotted Line

The ceiling fan hummed as it spun lazily in the divorce lawyer’s office. The rhythmic tink, tink, tink of the beaded cord as it swung against the lightbulb matched the tempo of Vera’s manicured fingernails tapping against the mahogany desk. David was running late, as usual. He was always late, had always been late, including and especially when it mattered. 

On their wedding day, he showed up slightly hungover, stumbling through the chapel doors. His groomsmen had to form a protective wall around him just to keep the bridesmaids from swarming and leaping at him, sharing the same burning anger as the bride. Vera had been furious; the hours of panic and despair had turned to fury, and she was nearly ready to call the whole thing off moments before he and his entourage finally arrived. The only thing that managed to calm her rage enough to get her to walk down the aisle at all was a hastily thrown-back glass of champagne, followed by a long swig from her mother’s flask. The ceremony went on with minimal incident, and they smiled for pictures, with guests none the wiser that it came dangerously close to not happening at all. 

How fitting, Vera thought, that their marriage was ending just the way it started - late?

She glanced over at the ashtray on the lawyer’s desk and sighed, settling further down into the worn leather swivel chair. As if on cue, David rushed through the door, briefcase in hand. He plopped himself down onto the chair next to her. The springs squeaked out in protest at the sudden weight, and the leather creaked as he adjusted himself. He placed the briefcase on his lap, crossing his leg over his knee to support its back as he opened it. She watched out of the corner of her eye as he took the manilla folder carrying the divorce papers out of it, rifling through them to make sure all the documents were there. He didn't look up from his lap once, fiddling with the papers in silence. She cleared her throat.

“You’re late.” She said, straightening up in her seat. 

“I know, I know. I lost track of time, and then there was traffic-”

“I got you a watch last Christmas. If you bothered to wear it, maybe you would’ve actually made it on time instead of making me wait on you.”

“I figured it would be…disrespectful. If I wore it here.”

“Disrespecting my time is disrespectful, David.”

They sat quietly, side by side, staring ahead at the empty chair in front of them. 

“Did you see Mr. McLaren as you came in, by any chance? He left the room to take a call fifteen minutes ago, and he hasn’t been back since.” Vera turned around to look at the wall clock behind her. 3:45, it read, just fifteen minutes past her arrival.

“He was still on the phone in the lobby as I was coming in. He said he’d be with us shortly, so it shouldn’t be long. Then, we can get this over with.”

Vera huffed, folding her arms across her chest.

“Fine.”

Silence fell over them once again in the little office. No sound passed between them besides that of the ticking clock and the ceiling fan as it steadily whirred overhead. Minutes that felt like hours went by before David spoke up.

“So we’re just gonna sit here and say nothing?”

Vera looked him up and down. 

“And what would you have me say? We’re here to sign the papers, that’s all. This isn’t Dr. Phil.”

“I don’t know, you tell me! I figured you’d at least have something to say after ten years before throwing it away like this.”

She kept her gaze fixed on the window behind the lawyer’s desk. Save for the tick in her jaw, she kept her expression placid, her eyes hidden behind a large pair of tortoiseshell sunglasses. 

“Do you always have to do this? Pick at shit just to create a problem where there is none? This is why - you know what? Whatever. I really, really don’t feel like getting into it with you one more time.” 

“No, no, what were you going to say?”

“It’s nothing, really. Just drop it.”

He spun his chair to face her. 

“You might as well say it, V. There’s no going back now, so let’s just…lay it all on the table, while we still can. If not now, when, you know?”

She turned to look at him. Even after all these years, he still looked boyish, with his pleading, baby-blue eyes that still managed to pop through the sepia of her lenses. She took her sunglasses off, delicately folding them and setting them on the desk before turning her gaze back on him. Her eyes were lightly rimmed with red. 

“You really want me to lay it all out?”

“You have the floor.”

She sighed and thought for a moment.

“I think you’re a lazy, deeply unobservant man, David.”

“The fuck does that mean?” he asked, indignation creeping into his voice.

“That is what I mean!” Vera snapped. “That is exactly what I mean! I mean, honestly, how did you not notice that we were both miserable until I asked for the divorce? And you still dragged your feet about it because God forbid you ever take initiative, or hell, do anything in a timely manner! Ten goddamn years, and you’re still incapable of doing anything without having somebody to bail you out, or remind you to get something done!”

“You wanna talk about miserable?” David spat. “Trying to get you to have a good time was like pulling teeth. Everything I did, there was a problem. Trying to make you happy was a chore.”

“Well, honey, you didn’t do much in the way of chores, either, so I guess that explains a lot, now, doesn’t it?”

“Look, I got you a housekeeper, didn’t I?”

Vere laughed, a harsh, barking sound that years, even months ago, would’ve charmed him. Now he just found it grating.

“Yeah, to get your mother to stop coming over and criticizing how the house looked! The house that was, might I remind you, primarily paid for and being maintained by me!”

“You know what? My mother was right about you.”

“Oh? Do tell what Dolores and her bad wigs were right about.”

“You’re stuck up, you’re cold, high strung. She always said, ‘God help you if you ever have a daughter because then you’ll just have two of her!’”

Vera’s eyes narrowed, nostrils flaring.

“Well,” she said coolly. “Luckily for her, that never happened, did it? She should’ve given you a cookie and pinched your cheek for making sure that her special little boy never graced her with any grandchildren! Only one of us has subpar swimmers, and it certainly isn’t me. Did you ever tell her that, or did you just let her think it was my fault like you did for every other problem between us?” 

The words hung in the air for a moment, stinging like a slap.

“God, you’re a bitch.”

“Please. You knew I was a bitch before you married me.”

David’s leg bounced in his seat, the chair squeaking out a staccato rhythm. He chewed the inside of his lip, glowering. Vera’s eyes landed on the ashtray again. Suddenly, she stood up from her chair and walked around the desk, rifling through the drawers. 

“What on earth are you doing?” David hissed, voice dropping to a low whisper. “He could get back here at any minute and see you looking through his stuff! Do you want us escorted out of here?”

She ignored him as she continued her search. He watched on, still simmering but mildly curious. Finally, in the third drawer on the left, she pulled out her prize - a pack of Camels; certainly not her favorite, but they’d have to do. She tapped the pack on her hand once, twice, before pulling one from the pack, holding it between her red lips. 

“I thought you stopped smoking.” David said, frowning.

She shrugged.

He huffed and rolled his eyes as he grabbed her purse from around the back of her chair, digging through it to retrieve her lighter. She leaned forward as he flicked it and held the flame out to her, lighting the butt of the cigarette. The act felt familiar, instinctive. Domestic. She took a deep pull, exhaling with a sigh. He watched the way the column of her throat bobbed as she did, the way the smoke curled around and into her auburn hair lightly tinged with gray, forming a wispy halo around her in the afternoon sun. She was still just as beautiful as she was when they’d met fourteen years ago, despite everything. 

She walked around to the other side of the desk again, leaning against it. 

“So,” she said, pausing. “Anything else to get off your chest?”

David hummed, thinking.

“I never liked your friends. Or their husbands. And I’ve always hated that you smoked.”

Vera took another drag. 

“To be fair, I didn’t like your friends, either. Especially James. He was obnoxious, but I tolerated him for your sake.” She stubbed the cigarette in the ashtray. “And I knew that already. It’s why I tried to quit in the first place.”

The corner of his lips tilted up slightly, the crooked, sheepish smile she’d always been fond of. She couldn't help but soften a little at the sight of it. They marinated in the quiet for a beat. David spoke up once again.

“Was the sex good at least?”

She thought for a moment.

“Yes. Yes, it was.”

“Oh, thank god.”

They caught each others eyes, staring for a moment, before dissolving into laughter, smiling in each other’s company for the first time in weeks. As the laughter died down, the silence between them felt warmer, lighter. She looked down at him and placed her hand on his cheek. 

“I’m sorry we couldn’t make it work.” She said. 

He placed his hand over hers. 

“I’m sorry, too. I…dragged my feet on signing because I wasn’t ready yet. It wasn't because I was careless or lazy, I just…wasn't ready. I wanted you to know that. We had a hell of a run, though.”

“That we did.”

The knob of the office door turned, and Mr. McLaren walked through, his briefcase jingling as he shoved his phone into his pocket. 

“I’m so sorry for the wait, Mr. and Mrs. Arnold. Are we ready to proceed?”

Vera and David smiled at each other, her hand finding his. He gave it a tight squeeze.

“I think we are.”

The office door clicked shut.