Page 6 of Fake Fae-Ancée

"It’s a long story," Kalinin said.

"No!" Red dots sparked at the edge of my vision.

"Listen…"

"No! Impossible!" I couldn’t control my volume any longer. I struggled to keep it down on a regular basis, but right now I lost.

"You and I are not married! We are fucking DIVORCED!"

Five years ago, Kalinin had reappeared. After years of radio silence. And five years ago, I had divorced this sad excuse of a man. This was it, the big secret I hid from the world. I had never told a single soul. Not even Gabe, who always knew everything about anyone (including you). And I had been very happily and very effectively repressing any thought about it ever since…

"No, McKenn, we are not divorced." Kalinin grinned back at me.

"Yes we are!!"

I held onto the kitchen counter, sick with rage. Kalinin shook his head.

"I just told you I didn’t sign the papers."

"No! You signed them!" I yelled. "We are divorced! We’ve been divorced for ages! My lawyer has sent you the papers!"

His cheerfulness turned into a sneer.

"Five years ago, your lawyer sent the papers to my lawyer," he said, very slowly as if he was explaining this to a toddler. "And I refused to sign."

I gasped.

"My lawyer contacted your lawyer with my answer," he continued. "You never said anything back. So…"

Kalinin shrugged and I was just about ready to strangle him.

This couldn't be! I had taken care of the matter!

After I had finally resigned myself to having been ripped off — back when Kalinin had disappeared — I had gone to see a divorce lawyer. A weasel-faced guy in a cluttered office. More I couldn’t afford back then, but he had done the necessary paperwork.

At least that’s what I had thought until now.

I had sat in that shady office, skimming the papers, barely understanding the legal blah-blah, and handed them back. The lawyer had put them in a brown envelope, sealed it and sent it to the court, or wherever the hell they had to go to make the divorce final. I had considered the whole thing done. All the mail that had come afterwards on this subject I had merely skimmed.

And then forgotten about it.

Blocked it.

Repressed it.

Because every time I even dared thinking about him and me, I felt like I was going to puke or bang my head against a wall until I had completely erased the past from my mind.

Years had passed. Other stuff had happened. I’d had more important things to worry about.

I had moved on.

Apparently, bureaucracy had not.

"Why didn’t you tell me anything?"

He shrugged. "You never asked."

"Oh, how very CONVENIENT FOR YOU!" I yelled, clawing the counter.

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