The Third Wheel

I am not a fan of spending excessive amounts of time with my ex-husband. And when I use the word “excessive,” what I really mean is "any." Which is not to say I’m not civil with him -- indeed, I am. I just don’t want to hang out with him as if we're friends. I figure I wasted so much time with him when we were unhappily married, why should I squander even a moment with him now, unless it’s absolutely, unavoidably necessary. Last Saturday turned out to be absolutely, unavoidably necessary, since it was our daughter’s birthday party.

Birthday Girl invited a handful of friends to the Santa Monica Pier for the afternoon, because nothing says “Happy Birthday” like repeatedly waiting in long lines in the hot sun for a short-lived thrill aboard half-assed carnival rides that wouldn’t scare a baby. But it was the party she wanted, so I obliged against my more practical adult judgment. My ex kindly volunteered to help drive and supervise the girls at the always crowded Pier. And since his long-distance girlfriend was in town visiting, she came along too, which meant the three of us got to spend a lot of time together. Fan-f*cking-tastic.

I couldn’t help comparing this somewhat awkward afternoon with the somewhat awkward afternoon a few months ago when I went whale watching with my boyfriend Frenchy, our kids, and his estranged wife, who was visiting from France. This time around, *I* was ostensibly the third wheel – the discarded ex-wife forced by unfortunate circumstance to spend the afternoon with her ex and his shiny new girlfriend. But I didn’t really feel like a third wheel. Surprisingly, that role fell to my ex.

I happen to like my ex’s girlfriend. She’s warm and funny, and has been nothing less than kind to my daughter and me. I ended up chatting with her throughout the afternoon, while my ex buried himself in his phone, no doubt keeping himself company with the many political blogs he obsessively reads every day.

What’s interesting is my similar reaction to both Frenchy’s estranged wife and my ex’s girlfriend. I feel sorry for them, albeit in distinctly different ways. The sympathy I feel for Frenchy’s wife is rooted in the loss not of Frenchy himself, but in the grievous loss of giving up on being a family with the father of her children. Unless you’ve gone through it, you might not realize how deeply painful it is to let go of that dream. I feel sorry for my ex’s girlfriend because she’s stuck with him, and I know how lonely that feels. If not now, I expect she will come to feel like an unwelcome third wheel in her relationship with my ex, just as I did.

Of course, both of them may feel sorry for me too in those very same ways. But no matter--I don’t. I feel pretty good about my life, even though it’s still very much a work in progress. I may not have more than a vague sense of what my future holds, but at least I’m no longer the third wheel in my own life. And that truly feels fan-f*cking-tastic.