than I was expecting. Not the way my world has tipped on end and I don’t know how to stand up straight. My fingers curl inside my husband’s to squeeze his hand tight.
“What would happen then?” I ask.
Ross kisses the back of my hand, his breath warm and moist and sending a shiver through me that’s not from arousal. “Oh,” he says with a smile, to show me he’s joking, though I know him well enough to know he’s serious, “I’d make sure you get nothing.”
Chapter Nine
If there’s ever a person who tells you in all their years of marriage they’ve never wondered what it would be like to walk out, you’re talking to a liar. I’d thought it before, when the girls were infants and Ross traveled so much and worked such long hours that I was made a single parent by default. He’d embraced fatherhood with the enthusiasm he had for his golf game. He loved his daughters with everything he had. He simply wasn’t there.
Things got better, as they do when children get older and the constant stream of diapers and feedings eases. Ross was still gone a lot, but the girls and I found our rhythm and routine. I was the taskmaster, he was the guy who came around and treated them to ice cream instead of dinner and brought exotic souvenirs for them to squeal over. It wasn’t so different from the lives of most of our friends. It worked.
My children are grown, getting ready to graduate from college, moving on to jobs and internships and adult lives. The house that had seemed perfect for the four of us now seems too big, too quiet. Too empty. My husband still travels, still works long hours, still spends his leisure time in pursuits that have nothing to do with me. And...what have I done?
I fucked another man. Without a second thought and, so far, without remorse. I’d have done it again, if Will hadn’t so ungracefully extricated himself from the future possibilities.
I’d thought about leaving my husband before. But am I thinking about it now? Sitting at my kitchen table and staring out at my perfectly manicured yard, then around the room at the nearly new appliances, the cabinets we’d just had redone, the pictures of fruit on the walls, I don’t think so.
Ross slides a mug of coffee in front of me. He takes his black, and that’s how he always serves mine even though I don’t. “Morning. What are you up to today?”
“Work.” I’ve worked for over ten years, and he still asks me—when he remembers. As if I have a long social calendar full of mani-pedi appointments and tennis lessons instead of a job.
“Here or the city?”
“Philadelphia’s a city, too, you know,” I tell him.
“You know what I mean.” Ross looks out to the backyard. “The grass needs to be mowed.”
“The service comes on Thursdays.” For the seven years we’ve used the same service, they’ve always come on Thursdays. Lawn on Thursdays, housecleaning on Mondays. Laundry on the weekends. Always the same. Always.
“Have them take care of the flowerbeds this time, too. Maybe order some mulch.”
The flower beds look fine to me, and we mulched in the fall, and why is it my job to do this when he’s the one who wants it? I don’t say I’ll do it, but I don’t say I won’t. I don’t say anything at all.
“You want some more?” At the counter, Ross lifts the coffeepot in my direction.
I haven’t done more than take a sip or two of what he brought me. “Not yet. Can you bring me some sugar?”
He turns from side to side, looking around the kitchen as if he’s never seen it before. “Where is it?”
“In the cupboard behind you. No, directly behind you. Turn around,” I say, when he opens every cupboard except the one I mean. “There’s a basket with sugar packets in it.”
“I don’t see it.”
I want to put my face in my hands and cry, or laugh until I cry, I’m not sure which. “Ross. Come on.”
He scowls. “Why can’t you just tell me where it is?”
“You might have to move something to
“What would happen then?” I ask.
Ross kisses the back of my hand, his breath warm and moist and sending a shiver through me that’s not from arousal. “Oh,” he says with a smile, to show me he’s joking, though I know him well enough to know he’s serious, “I’d make sure you get nothing.”
Chapter Nine
If there’s ever a person who tells you in all their years of marriage they’ve never wondered what it would be like to walk out, you’re talking to a liar. I’d thought it before, when the girls were infants and Ross traveled so much and worked such long hours that I was made a single parent by default. He’d embraced fatherhood with the enthusiasm he had for his golf game. He loved his daughters with everything he had. He simply wasn’t there.
Things got better, as they do when children get older and the constant stream of diapers and feedings eases. Ross was still gone a lot, but the girls and I found our rhythm and routine. I was the taskmaster, he was the guy who came around and treated them to ice cream instead of dinner and brought exotic souvenirs for them to squeal over. It wasn’t so different from the lives of most of our friends. It worked.
My children are grown, getting ready to graduate from college, moving on to jobs and internships and adult lives. The house that had seemed perfect for the four of us now seems too big, too quiet. Too empty. My husband still travels, still works long hours, still spends his leisure time in pursuits that have nothing to do with me. And...what have I done?
I fucked another man. Without a second thought and, so far, without remorse. I’d have done it again, if Will hadn’t so ungracefully extricated himself from the future possibilities.
I’d thought about leaving my husband before. But am I thinking about it now? Sitting at my kitchen table and staring out at my perfectly manicured yard, then around the room at the nearly new appliances, the cabinets we’d just had redone, the pictures of fruit on the walls, I don’t think so.
Ross slides a mug of coffee in front of me. He takes his black, and that’s how he always serves mine even though I don’t. “Morning. What are you up to today?”
“Work.” I’ve worked for over ten years, and he still asks me—when he remembers. As if I have a long social calendar full of mani-pedi appointments and tennis lessons instead of a job.
“Here or the city?”
“Philadelphia’s a city, too, you know,” I tell him.
“You know what I mean.” Ross looks out to the backyard. “The grass needs to be mowed.”
“The service comes on Thursdays.” For the seven years we’ve used the same service, they’ve always come on Thursdays. Lawn on Thursdays, housecleaning on Mondays. Laundry on the weekends. Always the same. Always.
“Have them take care of the flowerbeds this time, too. Maybe order some mulch.”
The flower beds look fine to me, and we mulched in the fall, and why is it my job to do this when he’s the one who wants it? I don’t say I’ll do it, but I don’t say I won’t. I don’t say anything at all.
“You want some more?” At the counter, Ross lifts the coffeepot in my direction.
I haven’t done more than take a sip or two of what he brought me. “Not yet. Can you bring me some sugar?”
He turns from side to side, looking around the kitchen as if he’s never seen it before. “Where is it?”
“In the cupboard behind you. No, directly behind you. Turn around,” I say, when he opens every cupboard except the one I mean. “There’s a basket with sugar packets in it.”
“I don’t see it.”
I want to put my face in my hands and cry, or laugh until I cry, I’m not sure which. “Ross. Come on.”
He scowls. “Why can’t you just tell me where it is?”
“You might have to move something to
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