Kristan Higgins - My One and Only

S TOP SMILING. E VERY time you smile, an angel dies.

Wow, I answered. Thats a good one.

The man with the negative attitude sat at the bar, looking as if he was living a bad country-and-western songno woman, broken truck, dead dog. Poor slob. Listen, I said. I know its sad, but sometimes, divorce is just the euthanization of a dying relationship. I patted his shoulder, then adjusted his white collar, which was just a bit off center. Sometimes our hearts just need time to accept what our heads already know.

The priest sighed. Listen to her with that ridiculous line, he said to Mick, the bartender.

Its not ridiculous! Its great advice.

Youre evil.

Oh, my, I said. Youre taking it harder than I thought.

Its true. After all my hard work, you swoop in and ruin everything.

Father Bruce! I said, feigning hurt. There was no swooping! How cutting!

The good father and I were at Offshore Ale, Marthas Vineyards finest bar, a dark and charming little place in Oak Bluffs and a favorite place for locals and tourists alike. Father Bruce, my longtime friend and the immensely popular pastor of the islands Catholic church, could often be found here.

Now come on, Father, I continued, sliding onto a stool next to him and tugging my skirt so as not to flash him. You and I are actually a lot alike. He responded with a groan, which I ignored. We shepherd people through lifes hard times, guiding them through an emotional minefield, the voice of reason when reason is lost.

Sad thing is, she believes it, Mick.

I rolled my eyes. Stop being a sore loser and buy me a drink.

Marriage aint what it used to be, the priest grumbled. Mick, a bourbon for the shark here.

Actually, just a Pellegrino, Mick. And Father, Im going to strike that last moniker from the record. I smiled generously. Of course I was a shark. All the best divorce attorneys were.

I take it you lost again, Father? Mick said, adding a slice of lemon to my sparkling water.

Lets not discuss it, Mick. Shes gloating as it is.

Im certainly not gloating, I objected, reaching over to move another patrons beer, which was in danger of being knocked into Father B.s lap. I have nothing against marriage, as you will soon see. But in the case of Starling v. Starling, these two were doomed from the day he got on bended knee. As is one in three couples.

Father Bruce closed his eyes.

Though on opposite sides of the divorce issue, Father B. and I were old pals. But today, Joe Starling, a lifelong parishioner in Father Bruces parish, had come into my office and asked me to begin divorce proceedings. Thered actually been a race to my door, and Joe won. He waslets seethe ninth parishioner in the past two years to do so, despite Father B.s best efforts at weaving together the fraying bonds of matrimony.