I finalized my divorce over lunch hour. Signed the papers, drove back to the shop by one. The judge asked if we had anything to say. I said no.
I used a grocery receipt as a bookmark for years. It was from Piggly Wiggly — milk, bread, a box of crayons. I don't know why I kept it. Maybe it was the crayons.
Foster parenting, I learned, is like welding. You have to heat things up to join them. Sometimes you burn your fingers.
An old rival named Frank showed up at the shop last week. He used to weld across the bay. He said he heard I was a foster parent now. He said, 'I never figured you for the type.'
I said, 'Neither did I.' We stood there in the quiet.
I thought about that divorce, how quick it was. How I walked out of the courthouse and bought milk and crayons.
Maybe that's what family ties are. Not the ones you're born into, but the ones you show up for, even when you're not sure you're the type.