“Good morning, Mr. McWilliams,” the mediator says as he enters the small room where Ms. Grassi and I have been secluded. He brought us together briefly to introduce himself, Mr. Jacob Dinwiddie, Attorney at Law-Mediator-Arbitrator, and to recite a rehearsed speech on the benefits, procedure, and rules that we will be following today.

After the incident on Valentine’s Day, my attorney decided against holding further settlement meetings and asked the court to proceed with the final hearing. The judge responded by requiring we try mediation first. Just another box to check off on the long road to divorce, but if gets me that much closer, I’ll do it.

Thankfully, after the initial introductions, Mr. Dinwiddie separated us. I tried my best to focus on Mr. Dinwiddie and Ms. Grassi and avoid Shelby, but her powder-blue suit, mammoth hair, and newly D-cup breasts demanded attention. I won’t be able to focus on what’s truly important with Bizarro-world Barbie breathing down my neck.

Our room is minimally furnished, with just a round table and chairs and a whiteboard easel in the corner. While we wait our turn, I resist the urge to see if I can tempt Ms. Grassi into playing a game of hangman. Somehow, I don’t think she’d go for it.

“Thank you again for coming in today. It’s my sincerest hope that we can get this resolved in a way that satisfies both parties.”

This poor guy’s family must really hate him if he tries these conflict resolution techniques out at home. I can just see him looming over a high chair, “Now Billy, what is it about the creamed beets that doesn’t satisfy you?” I have to bite my lip to keep from laughing at that mental image, and I can feel Ms. Grassi’s disapproving glare aimed my way. Damn it, what did I miss?

“I’m sorry, can you repeat that last part?”

Mr. Dinwiddie doesn’t react, and I’m not sure if that is a good thing or not. He’s obviously too practiced at this staying neutral thing.

“I asked what it is that you would like to get out of this meeting today. What would need to happen to have you leaving here satisfied with the outcome?”

I lean back into the plush chair and cross my legs. The pink socks with purple hearts that Mal gave me for good luck peek out and make my heart smile.

“That’s easy. I just want this over with. She can have the house, the cars, everything. They’re all paid off. I don’t care. As long as I don’t have to have any contact with her ever again, I’ll be a happy camper.”

Mr. Dinwiddie’s attention shifts from his notepad to me. “That hardly seems equitable.”

Damn. Ms. Grassi kept trying to convince me that mediation would be our best shot. True, it was court-ordered, so I didn’t have a choice, but she said that it can be very successful. Guess not this time.

Mr. Dinwiddie continues, oblivious to my hopes and dreams crumbling faster than Mom’s latest batch of messed-up cookies. “Your wife has a college degree in business and marketing. She’s obviously intelligent and capable.”

It takes a minute for his words to sink in. “What are you saying, exactly?”

“I’m saying most people in your situation ask for half of all assets. Or at least a fair portion.”

I shrug. Parker 2.0 envisioned a reboot in all areas. Who cares if it’s fair or not. I just want to be free. “I’ve got a good job. I’m renting an apartment. I can get a new vehicle. None of those things matter to me. Getting this over and done with does.”

Mr. Dinwiddie turns to my lawyer. “And you’ve approached the opposing counsel with these terms?”

“Yes, sir.”

“And they’ve rejected them?”

“Yes, sir.”

Collecting his notepad and pen, Mr. Dinwiddie stands and reaches across the table to shake my hand. “Thank you for speaking with me so candidly. My assistant will be in here shortly to see if you need anything. And be sure to take a look at the lunch menu and let us know what you want to order. I’ll be going back and forth between the parties, so unfortunately, for a large portion of today, you’re just going to have to sit tight. I have a feeling this is going to either be a very short, or a very long day.”

He sighs, the first tell he has let slip. Ms. Grassi might have been right after all.

Ms. Grassi and I have filled out our lunch requests, despite the fact that I doubt I’ll have the stomach for it, when there’s a slam in the hallway.

“But he cheated on me! With that thing!”

Oh, I’m so very familiar with that screeching voice, but it’s rare that she lets go and allows others to hear it. Valentine’s Day was the exception to the rule. Usually Shelby pretends like she is Miss Manner’s better-behaved little sister. Ms. Grassi and I glance at each other with wide eyes, then scoot closer to the door. Well, I scoot. She just gets up and puts her ear to it.

“Mrs. McWilliams,” a new voice that I recognize as Mr. Dinwiddie’s says. “Has your attorney explained to you what ‘no-fault’ means?”

“Yes, but …” For the next few minutes, either her lawyer or the mediator have succeeded in getting Shelby to lower her voice, and I can’t tell what’s being said. That doesn’t last long. “It’s all his fault!”

“While that very well may be, the State of Colorado does not consider these things in the dissolution of marriage. This means that Mr. McWilliams’s relationships with other people don’t have an impact on how assets are divided or final terms.” Mr. Dinwiddie continues in his calm but firm voice, and I can only imagine how red in the face Shelby is at this point. “Just as your assault of Mr. McWilliams will have no bearing on the terms of your divorce. In fact, if he were to press assault charges that led to your arrest, or if his partner were to obtain a restraining order against you for harassment, even then it would not affect the settlement here. Do you understand what I’m saying to you, Mrs. McWilliams?”

Shelby might not, but I sure as fuck do. God, hearing that politely delivered smack-down did my soul good. I only wish it could have been me that delivered it, but I’ll take what I can get.