The divorce became final in late April.
There was no courtroom showdown.
No judge lectured Vanessa about fidelity or praised me for remaining calm. Our attorneys submitted the settlement documents, and after the required procedures were completed, the court entered the judgment.
Rachel called me from her office.
“It’s done.”
I was sitting in my car outside a construction site in Secaucus.
I looked through the windshield at a line of concrete trucks waiting to enter the gate.
“That’s it?”
“That’s it.”
“I thought I’d feel something.”
“You probably do.”
“I mean something obvious.”
“Give it time.”
I thanked her and ended the call.
Then I sat there for ten minutes before going back to work.
That evening I bought takeout from the Portuguese restaurant where Vanessa and I had our first date.
I did not plan to.
I had driven past it hundreds of times, but for some reason I turned into the lot. The place had changed owners. The menu was different. The table where we sat eleven years earlier was gone, replaced by a booth.
I ordered grilled chicken, rice, and a beer.
Halfway through dinner, I realized I had been afraid that returning would feel like visiting a grave.
It did not.
It felt like a restaurant.
That was a gift.
Memories do not own locations forever.
A week after the divorce became final, Vanessa asked whether we could meet for coffee.
I almost declined.
Then I agreed because there were no longer lawyers between us and nothing left to negotiate.
We met on a Saturday morning at a café in Montclair. She arrived before me, sitting near the window with both hands around a mug.
She looked different.
Not transformed. Not punished. Just simpler.
Her hair was shorter. No expensive handbag. No red lipstick. She wore jeans and a navy sweater I remembered from years earlier.
When I sat down, she smiled nervously.
“Hi.”
“Hi.”
For a few seconds we were strangers who knew too much about each other.
“How’s the house?” she asked.
“Still standing.”
“Did you paint the kitchen?”
I looked at her.
“Laura told Melissa, Melissa told me.”
“Apparently I have no privacy.”
“That was always true with Laura.”
We both laughed.
The familiarity was dangerous for exactly three seconds.
Then it passed.
Vanessa looked out the window.
“I wanted to see you because I don’t want the last real conversation we ever have to be through attorneys.”
“Okay.”
“I’m not asking for anything.”
“I know.”
She stirred her coffee though she had added nothing to it.
“Adrian left Voss & Calder.”
I had not known that.
“Why?”