Page 39 of Bed and Breakup (Dial Delights #15)
Molly
“You must be Molly,” the lawyer says, welcoming us into her office. “I’ve heard so much about you from Key. Nice to finally meet you. I’m Danica.”
“Thanks for meeting with us, Danica,” I say, shaking her hand.
Danica is intimidatingly tall, fashionable, and put together.
Or I would be intimidated by her, if I hadn’t heard all of Key’s messy and dramatic stories about their college friend group.
Now she’s got a successful legal practice in Fayetteville with a waitlist for new clients, but Key helped us jump the line. “This is my…um, wife for now, Robin.”
“You look familiar,” Danica says while shaking Robin’s hand. “Have we met before? Are you from Conway?”
“Close. Little Rock,” Robin says.
“You might know her from TV,” I say, jumping to the inevitable. “ Let’s Do Brunch Season One, or You Can Take It with You on Foodie TV.”
“Right!” Danica says, eyes lighting up. “The chef! You made those frozen quiche cups too, right? My kids love those.”
Robin’s smile is a practiced mix of confidence and modesty. “It’s an honor. Kids are usually my toughest audience.”
We settle into the chairs at Danica’s broad marble-topped desk. “So what can I help you with today?” she asks, pulling out a leather-bound journal and uncapping a pen.
Robin and I dive right in, explaining how we bought the bed-and-breakfast, got married, split, and are preparing to say goodbye to the Hummingbird and our marriage.
We’ve been working on our renovation checklist for three months; the walls are painted, the floors refinished, the fixtures replaced, and the old furniture restored.
Keyana’s completed half of the guest-room murals.
Everything’s coming together right on schedule, but it feels like a whirlwind.
One minute we’re making a to-do list, the next it’s October, Clint’s realtor is preparing the closing documents, and we’ve got to get a move on the divorce paperwork.
Between reno projects and catching up on the sex Robin and I didn’t have during our seven years apart, our time together slipped away faster than either of us expected.
“Selling the property shouldn’t complicate things much,” Danica says once we reach the end of our explanation. “You already have a buyer, your initial investments were fifty-fifty, and you’ve put roughly equal work into it, so I don’t foresee any problems handling that.”
“That’s good,” I say, looking to Robin, who smiles back.
“The divorce, however,” Danica continues, “might be a little more complicated.”
“It’s a no-fault situation,” Robin says quickly. “Friendly. Neither of us wants alimony or anything, and the inn is our only shared asset. Open and shut.”
“Not quite.” Danica purses her lips as she passes us a thick printed booklet. “The state of Arkansas has…uniquely stringent requirements to obtain a divorce.”
Robin and I make eye contact, and I’m guessing my face looks just as confused as hers.
“No-fault divorces are allowed,” Danica continues. “But only if the couple has lived separately for at least eighteen continuous months.”
“A year and a half?” I exclaim.
“That’s right.”
“We did live apart,” Robin says. “For seven years. Does that count?”
“Living together for the past four months complicates things,” Danica says. “Could either of you prove residency elsewhere in recent years?”
“Well, yeah, but no permanent address,” Robin says. “I’ve still been using the inn when I have to list my residence for taxes and renewing my driver’s license and whatever.”
Danica looks from Robin to me and I meekly admit, “Same.” It’s strange to realize that, on paper, Robin and I have theoretically been living together at the inn all this time.
Danica scribbles something in her journal, then turns her attention back to us. “So your first option is to move apart for eighteen months. In Arkansas, that is. Or to another state where you can legally file for divorce once you’ve established a period of residency.”
“We’ve waited long enough,” I say firmly. “What’s plan B?”
“Your other alternative is fault-based divorce,” Danica says. “It’s not as combative as it sounds, but you will have to qualify for one of Arkansas’s official grounds for divorce with evidence and third-party testimony.”
Robin removes her arm from the back of my chair to fiddle with the collar of her navy button-down shirt as she asks, “And those grounds are?”
“A separation of three years due to incurable insanity,” Danica lists.
“Violence that puts the other’s life at risk.
Willful failure of one spouse to provide basic necessities for the other, which would be hard to prove considering you’ve both earned enough to support yourselves for the past few years. ”
“Any other options?” I ask, beginning to realize the hurdle we’re facing.
“General indignities making life together intolerable is the most popular,” Danica says, shifting to cross her legs.
When Robin and I make eye contact this time, I can tell we’re both thinking of our peaceful breakfast together this morning, our afternoons drinking tea on the front porch, our off-key sing-alongs while polishing furniture.
Everyone in Eureka Springs who didn’t immediately assume we were back together has seen us walking around arm in arm over the past couple months.
Life together has been thoroughly tolerable lately.
“?‘Intolerable’ is a strong word,” I say carefully. “But we could play it up for the judge.”
“Legally, I can’t suggest lying. It could get you in a stickier situation.
Besides, you’ll need evidence. Do you have some kind of physical proof of how one of you has made the other’s life hell?
” We blink at Danica, and, sensing our answer, she moves on.
“Adultery is another frequent option. But evidence is required. Does either of you have a significant other who could testify?”
I look to Robin, the thought of Georgina a relief for once, but she mumbles no in the direction of the floor. I shake my head, cutting off that option.
“The remaining grounds for fault-based divorce, then,” Danica says, “are impotence, conviction of a felony, or habitual drunkenness for one year.”
“You’re joking,” Robin says. “I can only get divorced if I have some kind of provable sexual dysfunction, commit a felony, or stay drunk for a year? What the hell?”
“Technically you can’t just commit a felony.
You’d also have to get caught. And I could look into an argument for how impotence applies to same-sex relationships, but I’m not optimistic.
” Danica shrugs apologetically. “Arkansas has some of the most antiquated divorce laws. It’s a ‘conservative family values’ issue. ”
“But we’re lesbians!” I say, nearly shouting. “Shouldn’t we get a free pass? They didn’t believe we should get married in the first place!”
“It is a ridiculous situation,” Danica admits. “So let’s talk about what you can do.”
“We can pick one of the grounds and make it true, right?” I suggest. “I mean, getting drunk every day for a year probably isn’t great. And obviously we shouldn’t beat each other up or commit a crime.”
“So what, then?” Robin says, turning to me. “Are you going to test out the incurable insanity option?”
“Adultery!” I say like I’ve just won bingo. “One of us sleeps with someone willing to declare it in court.”
“Is there a Tinder setting for that?” Robin asks.
Danica looks physically pained by her own words when she says, “Unfortunately, Arkansas law prohibits agreeing to an act specifically to procure a divorce.”
Robin leans forward, her elbows on the desk in front of her. “Danica, tell us the truth. Are you pranking us? Did Keyana convince you to make all this stuff up?”
Danica laughs grimly. “I wish. I have to go through this with couples way more than I’d like. But most of them have court-recognized reasons to hate each other, at least more so than the two of you.”
Even through my frustration, that feels a bit like a teacher telling me I’m a pleasure to have in class. “So what do you suggest?” I ask, sitting up straight.
“Waiting might be your best option,” Danica says. “Eighteen months living apart in Arkansas, or move to another state with more lenient divorce laws and establish residency.”
“And if we want all this finished by the time we sell the inn in a couple months?” I say, praying for some divorce-granting genie to pop out of Danica’s metal water bottle. That kind of delay was not in our plans, even if where each of us goes next is still up in the air.
“If one of you finds a new romantic partner—a physically intimate partner, according to the code—that’s the fastest option I see.
” She taps the divorce booklet in front of us with a shiny, pointed purple nail.
“But read through this in case there are any other conditions you might meet without lying or falsifying evidence.”
Robin and I thank Danica for her time, then spend the drive home in stunned silence. Planning a wedding was tough. But who knew planning a divorce would be so much more complicated?