How could I explain to her, or anyone, that I didn’t miss being married, but I missed our little family? I missed my mother-in-law’s irascible, gravelly voice. I missed how she interacted with my son. I missed the crazy way she started sneezing when she drank too much. I even missed all that smoking.
I had divorced my husband. I hadn’t divorced the father of my child — or his mother.
Yet here we were, on the eve of his marriage to someone else, and things had changed. Phone calls between Chris and me had become strictly practical: When, where and how much?
Sure, we had been divorced for six years, but I never expected it would all just end.
“I have to write something about what Angela can expect once she’s married to Dad,” my son said.
“I could tell you a thing or two,” I replied.
“I have to write it myself,” he said.
Fair enough.
“What is something about Dad that you know for certain?” I asked.
“He hates it when my socks don’t match.”
I laughed. He started to type.
I read the speech before I tucked it into the pocket of his suit.
“I love my Dad very much and am happy he found such a great lady,” he wrote. “Angela, from the very first time we met, when we all went bowling, I liked you right away. You’re really nice and fun and even Buster likes you (for anyone that doesn’t know Buster, he’s the evil cat). You’re a perfect addition to the family, and not just because you can help me with my math homework, but for your great sense of humor and the fact that you’re always happy.”
