Chapter 48
Allison
The restaurant is alive at six o’clock, voices overlapping, the scrape of chairs against the polished floor, servers weaving between tables with trays of salads and cuts and glasses of wine.
Through the tall front windows, Michigan Avenue hums with traffic, the blur of cars and shoppers and suits reminding me how close I am to my office.
“Thanks for agreeing to this.” Finley, dressed in a sport coat and dress shirt, open collar, stands as I find him in the restaurant. “I know you’re busy. I picked a place close to your office.”
Twelve days into our separation, Fin looks good, better than he’s sounded by text or over the phone in boozy late-night calls to me.
The formality shakes me a bit; we’ve been together forever, and now he’s grateful I’ll meet with him.
But such is one of the many challenges, I am discovering, of breaking apart a marriage.
The air smells of roasted garlic and seared fish, the kind of careful, curated menu that Finley has always favored.
The booths are leather, the tables crowded closer together than I’d like, forcing us into proximity not just with each other but with the strangers sitting three feet away.
The neighboring tables are animated. Lawyers talking too quickly, sales reps pitching ideas, friends sipping white wine as if time is not an issue.
Then there’s us. Awkward, uncomfortable. And he’s right, I’m busy. Swamped. But I’m the one who couldn’t wait until the end of the Childress trial to split up.
“Remember when this place was Jeremiah’s?” he says. “You burned the roof of your mouth?” His expression changes when he sees mine, though I’m not sure what my face reveals.
Yes, I remember. Of course I remember. It was cheese fondue. A romantic dinner that turned comical. Finley was so kind, so sweet, so attentive.
He orders red wine. I’m good with water. When the waiter leaves, Finley clears his throat. “I’ll get right to it, I guess.” He puts his hands together. “I’ve been doing some thinking. I realize you’ve made up your mind. I won’t fight you. I won’t fight the divorce.”
It wouldn’t matter if he did. He can’t stop me from divorcing him. That’s no concession.
“I was thinking that, if we’re gonna break up, we should make it a clean break. Instead of us being entangled financially forever, maybe it’s best we handle this with just a one-off.”
A one-off? A onetime, lump-sum payment?
“Makes more sense just to, y’know, have separate money,” he says.
“Okay,” I say. “I already told you, I’m willing to split everything down the middle. Including my salary, year-end bonus, whatever. We can split up our assets, each of us takes one of the homes. I assume you want the condo downtown, but I’m open to whatever.”
“Okay, but I like the idea of separate,” he says. “Separate seems better.”
“My salary, half my salary would automatically divert to your account,” I say. “It’s not like I’d walk over a check every month. It’s all electronic. Routine.”
He allows for that, chews on his lip.
It’s in my best interest right now to keep Finley happy. I’ve got that wire transfer to Marlow Luckett I just made, which I’m hoping he’ll never notice. The quicker we reach a settlement, the less he sticks his nose in our finances, the better.
“Well, okay, Fin,” I say. “A one-off. A lump sum. What number were you thinking?”
His eyes fall down to his hands. “I think, taking everything into account, future earnings and whatnot…two million.” He peeks in my direction. “And I take the condo. You keep the house, which is much more valuable.”
First of all, I’m not sure our house is worth more than that condo in one of the toniest parts of the city, right on the lake. But he can have the condo for his swingin’-single lifestyle.
“You want a lump-sum payment right now of two million dollars? Do you know how much money we have currently?”
“Well, I’ve looked at some numbers and done some back-of-the-envelope calculations.”
I would love to see the back of that envelope. Does he even know what we have invested and where? I’ve handled all of that. Has he ever seen a tax return in his life?
“You’ve been a partner at the law firm for five years now,” he says. “You’ve made close to a million dollars a year. Plus they gave you that huge signing bonus.”
“Yes, Fin. We’ve done well. We’ve been incredibly fortunate.
I never dreamed of making money like this.
But,” I say, “we used the signing bonus, after taxes, as a down payment on that condo as an investment. And speaking of taxes, we’ve paid them on all that income.
I’ve tried to be frugal and save and invest wisely.
And remember that massive life insurance policy in case anything happened to me, so you and Grayson would be fine?
” I let out a sigh. “We have a lot of money saved up, but it’s nowhere near two million dollars.
And Grayson’s college education is just starting.
That’s a hundred grand a year right now. It will only go up.”
“How…” He plays with his hands. “How much do we have?”
“I…don’t know. Most of our assets aren’t that liquid. There will be tax consequences if we liquidate, penalties and capital gains taxes. I mean, if we sold off everything, which is a really bad idea…”
“What about the life insurance policy? You can cash that out, right?”
I sit back in the chair. I can’t believe that’s even up for discussion. “Grayson’s only eighteen. I’ll reduce the life insurance someday, when he’s done with school, when he’s on his feet, but not one minute before. That’s off the table.”
He deflates.
“Fin, do you really want this? I mean, if you take half my salary annually, that could be anywhere from two-fifty to five hundred a year for you. God willing, I’ll be working another twenty years.
You’re willing to give all that up for a lump sum of two million right now?
Even if I had that much, that’s not smart for you. ”
“I just…don’t want to feel like I’m accepting charity from you.”
You seemed okay with it the last five years, I want to say, but that’s cruel and not entirely fair. Not entirely. “It’s not charity,” I say instead. “It’s alimony. They call it ‘maintenance’ now. It’s how this stuff works. You’re shooting yourself in the foot if you take two million now.”
Finley’s wine arrives. He takes a long swallow. “You’re assuming I don’t have plans for the money,” he says. “That I won’t invest it. That I won’t grow it. That I don’t have some interesting ideas.”
Oh, for God’s sake. He’s gonna blow any lump-sum amount I give him on some stupid start-up venture. I know he will. And then he’ll be back with his hand out again.
“If this is something you really want, I’ll think about it. I can divide the assets in half and see what we could cash out of your half. After taxes and penalties, it’s not going to be anywhere close to two million, though. And investments are there for a reason. They’re our future.”
“You mean ‘your’ future and ‘my’ future. There’s no ‘our’ anymore, is there?” His mouth twists up, his eyes going cold.
“No, there isn’t, Fin. Because you couldn’t keep your dick in your pants.”
Shit. I’m supposed to be placating him, making him happy, trying to wrap this up, not dialing up the acrimony. Not blurting out insults.
I drop my hands on the table. “Believe it or not, I’m trying to think of what’s best for you,” I say.
“I think you’d be crazy to take a lump sum on the front end.
But if that’s really what you want, I’ll think about how I can make that happen.
I’ll see how much I can scrape together. But it won’t be two million.”
He nods, his eyes on the table. “I guess I’m at your mercy,” he says. “Just the way you like it.”