We sat on opposite sides of the conference table. Her attorney, his tortoise-shell reading glasses precariously perched on the tip of his nose, was reading off a list of our belongings. “Assets” he called them. We were divvying them up like little kids sorting through Halloween candy.
She was keen on getting all the choice chocolate and caramel nuggets in her pile, leaving me with the black jelly beans and lint covered Bit-o-Honeys.
I didn’t care. I just wanted to be done with this.
“Two ceramic ewers,” he intoned, checking the items off his list, preparing to transfer them to her candy pile.
“He can have those,” dismissing the jugs with a flip of her hand. “I wouldn’t have those hideous, cheap Pottery Barn knock-offs in my house.”
Keeping my expression neutral, I tried to hide my excitement. Of all the antiques we accumulated during our short and treacherous marriage, those ‘knock-offs” were the most valuable.
The primitive School of Mines pottery would easily appraise at more than $20,000 each. She wouldn’t know that because they weren’t her idea of extravagant.
My attorney laid his hand flat on the table, his sign for me to stay quiet.
“If he accepts those, he would expect another big-ticket item,” he tapped the tip of his pen on his legal pad. “He gets the Lexus, along with the pottery, and he’ll give up the wing-back chairs.”
My soon-to-be-ex and her attorney huddled together for a minute with him doing most of the talking. When they parted, he counter offered.
“The chairs and the matching settee,” he said. She sat beside him a little too close, her artificially plump lips pursed in a victorious pout.
I hated that living room furniture. I wasn’t giving up anything I wanted.
“Deal.”
The two attorneys scribbled the transaction into their respective give-and-take columns, and the haggling continued.
Trifecta, a weekly one-word prompt, challenges writers to use that word in its third definition form, using no less than 33 words or no more than 333. The week’s prompt is: Cheap [adj.\ˈchēp\] 3: of inferior quality or worth: tawdry, sleazy
Thin spiral notebook 
mwah ha ha haa! Victory 🙂
This is why I am well aware of the value of everything in my house (more or less LOL)
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I like how you wrote it from a different’ point of view!! Excellent.
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I sat in a similar office many years ago, as a stranger who took most of my money and ‘shared’ the things that my ex and I accumulated in our quick but oft painful relationship. There was nothing ‘cheap’ about that or any divorce. Nice piece, I enjoyed reading it!
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Fabulous story! I agree with aletao, I too wanted more!! 🙂
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My brother went through this not that long ago. The “candy pile” and the tapping of the pen on the lawyer’s legal pad were spot on. I cheered a little when he got the “cheap” pottery and the car. Great piece. You really captured the tension.
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I liked this one. A good glimpse into the inner-workings of the characters, particularly given the word limitations. Great post!
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yeah, mine wasn’t this civil. This is like divorce Disneyland vacation to me.
seriously, I love how you laid out the tension. The metaphor of Halloween candy is spot on.
Great piece, especially the last part.
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Awesome. I felt the tension here, and I absolutely loved the picture at the top! Overgrown signs fascinate me, and that one looked like it was built into a tree in the first place!!
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I love how you described the personalities of the people with so few words. Fantastic! You made me want to read more about their lives and their futures!
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It never ceases to amaze me that when Love dies, it is often replaced by a vicious and vociferous hatred. Why is that, do you suppose?
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In my experience with divorce (my parents), it wasn’t so much hatred, but bitter disappointment and devastating hurt. For years, my mother could barely be civil when discussing my dad. Over the years that did mellow, and she’s forgiven him and moved on.
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