Finding Nicole

I'm divorced. The big D. Not even an indent remaining on my left ring finger anymore, although, I’m not legally divorced yet. The process has been long, emotionally draining, and stressful enough to make me want to punch sixteen lawyers, and stab my own eyes out with a rusty nail. So, technically, I am not divorced but I have been separated for over five years now and I’m well on the way to being divorced *she whispers like it’s the plague. I'm riding the divorce train and sadly, there are no stops to get off, and I could really use a gelato. I dislike that word: divorced. It's ugly. Like melanoma. I grew up a child of divorce. That sounds really dramatic, doesn't it? She's "a child of divorce". GASP. I picture all of us kids raised by one parent, or the other, or absent of both parents, wandering out of a field, eyes glazed over, arms wrapped around ourselves, not knowing which way to go...all creepy 'Children Of The ...

I always felt different. I would ask my mother if I was adopted and she’d deny it vehemently. In fact, she'd be completely offended and insulted. I grew up with just my mom and I have three older siblings, who were perfectly timed pregnancies, two years apart. All are tall, and striking, with thin lips, and thin noses, and they all look very much alike. The perfect family portrait. I always wanted to Sharpie myself into their childhood photos. I am ten years younger, Yes, ten. YEARS. I am too short to reach the top shelf at the grocery store without using the shelves below as a ladder, with big lips, a round nose, thick hair, and giant eyes. They are all incredibly talented, both musically and artistically. I can't even whistle, or trace a stick man. Growing up, I heard “You look nothing like anyone in your family” which only amplified my sense of being different. I desperately wanted siblings closer to my age. I envied anyone with...