Chapter 9 - I ASKED MY EX-WIFE ON A FIRST DATE
Three years after the county road, Elise and I had become excellent divorced parents.
Then we complicated it.
It started with tacos.
The twins were at Margaret’s house overnight.
I stopped by to return Evan’s forgotten stuffed dinosaur.
Elise was leaving.
“Where are you going?”
“Dinner.”
“With?”
She raised an eyebrow.
Right.
None of my business.
“Have fun.”
She smiled.
“Thank you.”
I drove three blocks before realizing I was jealous.
Then did something revolutionary.
Nothing.
The next week she asked:
“You were weird.”
“I was jealous.”
She laughed.
“At least you’re efficient now.”
“I’m trying.”
Then I said:
“Can I ask you something?”
“Depends.”
“Would you have dinner with me?”
She stared.
“We have dinner with the twins every week.”
“No.”
I swallowed.
“A date.”
Silence.
My heart pounded.
I had negotiated acquisitions worth hundreds of millions with less fear.
Elise said:
“No.”
I nodded.
“Okay.”
Her eyebrows rose.
“That’s it?”
“What else is there?”
“You’re not going to ask why?”
“Do you want to tell me?”
She stared.
Then laughed.
“Therapy really did something to you.”
Apparently.
Three months passed.
I dated nobody.
Not strategy.
I simply did not want to.
Then Elise called.
“Are you free Friday?”
“Yes.”
“Dinner.”
“With the twins?”
“No.”
My heart stopped.
“Date?”
“Don’t make me cancel.”
“Yes.”
Our first date after divorce was at a burger restaurant.
No private dining room.
No champagne.
We spent the first twenty minutes discussing preschool.
Then:
Us.
Elise said:
“I don’t know if I can trust you the way I did.”
“I don’t think you should.”
She looked surprised.
“I think if we ever try again, it has to be a new kind of trust.”
“What does that mean?”
“You don’t believe me automatically because I’m your wife.”
“Good.”
“You also don’t destroy me automatically because someone shows you a photograph.”
She smiled.
“Better.”
We dated slowly.
For over a year.
Separate homes.
Co-parenting schedule unchanged.
Therapy separately.
Then together.
No one told the twins:
Mommy and Daddy are getting back together.
Because we did not know.
Eventually they noticed.
Lily was four when she said:
“Daddy kisses Mommy now.”
Elise nearly choked.
I said:
“Sometimes.”
Lily shrugged.
“Okay.”
Children dislike our dramatic timing.
Then came the hardest conversation.
Remarriage.
I did not propose.
I asked:
“Do you ever want to be married again?”
Elise thought.
“Maybe.”
“To me?”
She glared.
“One question at a time.”
Fair.
Six months later, she brought it up.
“If we marry again, I’m keeping Harper professionally.”
“Obviously.”
“Separate business interests.”
“Yes.”
“Prenup.”
“Yes.”
“Independent counsel.”
“Yes.”
“No company security inside our personal life unless there’s an actual safety issue.”
“Yes.”
“And if something looks wrong?”
I knew the answer.
“We ask.”
She looked at me.
“Before deciding?”
“Especially before deciding.”
Then:
“I’m not promising forever will be easy.”
“I don’t want easy.”
“That sounded suspiciously romantic.”
“It was.”
She smiled.
Three weeks later I proposed.
Privately.
No photographer.
No restaurant.
At her kitchen table after the twins went to bed.
I placed the ring in its box.
Did not open it.
“Elise.”
She looked at me.
“I would like to marry you again.”
Not:
Come home.
Not:
Complete our family.
Not:
Give the twins what they deserve.
Those are terrible reasons to pressure someone.
“I’m asking because I love who you are now.”
Pause.
“And because I want you to know who I am now.”
She cried.
Then:
“That was annoyingly good.”
“So?”
She opened the box herself.
“Yes.”
I cried harder.
May you like
Fair.
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