Page 58 of Stepping Up to the Plate

I like the woman I have become. She’s more confident, independent, and unafraid to ask for what she wants. Sure, she has her weaknesses and moments of insecurity, but she is also surrounded by people who lift her up and celebrate her – something I didn’t realize I was missing.

On the drive up Sunday, I listened to a podcast from one of my favorite self-development authors. After a barrage of texts from Phil belittling my blog and mocking my small following on social media, I was feeling foolish about what I was putting out there. Like maybe my dream was stupid, and no one cared what I had to say. That podcast gave me some amazing nuggets of wisdom, including: “It’s not about the goal or the dream you have. It’s about who you become on your way to that goal.”

Who cares if I never get more followers? Who cares if no one ever reads my blog again? I didn’t create it for notoriety. I created it to give myself an outlet to work through the feelings of my divorce and help other people feel less alone. If my words speak to one other person and inspire them to take back their life, then I’d call it success.

Last night, I ate dinner with Dad. It was quiet, but oddly reminiscent of growing up. Since we talk every few weeks, he has a general idea of what is happening in my life, but we don't discuss the demise of my marriage. To his credit, he never pushed me to reconsider divorce. He knows how it is to be in a relationship with someone who doesn’t care about you.

I wish he and I were closer, but I understand the position he was put in when Mom left. With him being a single dad in a job that required a lot of travel, I spent much of my formative years pawned off on my grandmother. Now, it almost seems too late to have that deep father-daughter relationship I used to envy. Conversation is stilted and shallow.

“Are you all ready for tomorrow?” he asks over Italian takeout.

“Yep,” I reply. “My lawyer has everything under control. She’s a real shark. This should be pretty straightforward despite all the effort Phil has put into making it difficult. We each bought our cars before getting married. Our only significant asset is the house, which he can buy me out of, or we can sell and split the profit.”

“Can he afford to buy you out?”

“He can’t, but his parents can. They gave us the down payment as a wedding gift to begin with,” I explain. “Honestly, I think he’s embarrassed because no one in his family is divorced. He’s punishing me for not playing the happy neglected housewife as every other Robinson woman has before.”

“He should have known that no woman raised by your Nonna Leona would let someone keep her down for long. Look at your Aunt Teresa.”

“Once,” he begins, “when I was young, maybe nine or ten, our butcher tried to take advantage of us. Mr. Bianchi retired and his son Paulo took over. Instead of telling customers he was making changes or increasing prices, he slowly reduced the amount of meat he gave people with each order.

“Mama had a menu that she stuck to each week. She knew exactly how much meat she needed. Suddenly, she was running out on Friday nights and she couldn’t figure out why. Your grandfather tried to blame it on me and say I must be eating more as a growing boy, but she wasn’t having any of it.

“The next week, she marched in demanding he tell her why her meat was running out. She accused him of switching to a fatty product, causing there to be less lean meat. This was a big insult to him and he ended up confessing what he’d done and said he had no plans to stop.”

“Oh no,” I utter. “What did Nonna do? Find a new butcher?”

“And let him get away with taking advantage of her? Not a chance. No, she dragged me and your aunt out to the suburbs, where Mr. Bianchi had retired and knocked on his door. Complained that her son was shortchanging us on meat, and now her children were starving. Told him that he should be ashamed of himself and his son who was ‘sullying his family name’ by taking advantage of single-income families from the old country.”

“What did he do?”

“He invited us in for dinner and called his son right then and there. Read him the riot act and demanded he give us extra lamb chops for the rest of the year!”

“Wow, go Nonna,” I praise. “How did you get out to the suburbs? Nonna didn’t drive.”

“She didn’t like to, but she knew how. I can count on one hand the number of times I saw her drive in my life and that was one of them. She didn’t let fear of something stop her from demanding the treatment she deserved. I think that trait rubbed off on you.”

“Thanks, Dad. I hope it has.”

“You’re a strong woman, Lola. Don’t let that man or any other treat you as anything less than the treasure you are.”

We finished the rest of dinner in comfortable silence and I went to bed early in preparation for court today.

* * *

“Your Honor, this case has gotten so far out of control it’s laughable. The respondent is doing everything in his power to drag this out to spite my client who is more than ready to move on with her life. The division of assets should be as simple as determining what to do with the marital home. Mr. Robinson is using this court to assuage his ego,” my lawyer states.

“Thank you for that assessment counselor. Do you have a response, Mr. Acron?” the judge asks Phil’s attorney.

“Yes, your Honor. Thank you for the floor. Mrs. Robinson left the home suddenly after a disagreement and didn’t allow my client to repair their relationship. He had hopes to reconcile. She denied him that recourse, and now his focus is on ensuring that all assets from the marriage – physical and intellectual – are divided equally. He wishes to leave this relationship on good terms with his wife even though she is unwilling to take any steps towards mending that relationship.”

“I can understand that, but Missouri is a no-fault state, and it appears that reconciliation is not an option his wife has given him,” the judge notes. “What is it he wants that wasn’t able to be settled at mediation?”

“The issue at hand a campaign of slander Mrs. Robinson has started against her husband.”

This makes the judge raise his eyebrows. “A campaign of slander? That is a new claim. Please continue.”

Phil’s attorney turns on the TV in the courtroom and pulls up a screen that has my social media on one side and blog on the other. I glance at my attorney panicking, but she gives me a quick shake of her head. Her lips curl up into a small smile before she shuts it down.

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