This was a monumentally bad idea.
I should’ve said no when Henry suggested it, but of course not. Isn’t that one of the reasons I left him? His personality was so big, so overwhelming, soinfiltratingthat I lost my voice. It’s hard to stand up and breathe when waves are keeping you down, and that’s what Henry became. Wave after wave, big ideas and thoughts and criticisms, rolling over me incessantly. I was choking on my desire to be myself. It was either stay and die, or run. I chose.
Out of habit, or maybe guilt, I agreed to meet him after I signed the papers. My hand dips into my purse, closing around the small box. I’ve done that at least a hundred times since I placed it there this morning. For four years I wore the contents of the box on my left hand and I didn’t touch it this much.
Henry is late. He’s probably mentally preparing for this moment. He’ll come in swinging, expecting recrimination of all the ways our divorce is his fault. He’s a natural-born arguer. I used to joke that he missed his calling as a litigator. In every joke there is an element of truth, and what I was really saying hid behind the jest.Please stop arguing with everything I say. Please stop listing the reasons why acupuncture is a sham when I just told you how good it makes me feel. Please stop trying to make me feel small.
My eyes are on the door when Henry walks in. We’ve been separated for five months, and still my heart jumps up, settling into my throat. He looks good. Softness settled into his middle a couple years ago, but it’s gone now. My departure kick-started a new fitness regimen. Out of boredom? Or is there already someone new? The thought makes me uncomfortable.
Henry scans the small coffeehouse, spots me, and though his eyes light up in recognition, he doesn’t smile. He comes my way, sayingexcuse meover and over as he squeezes his large, tall frame through tables of seated people.
When he reaches me, I open my mouth to say hello, but his words are faster. “Did you choose a table at the back just to watch me bump into people?”
His voice is smooth, his volume normal, but his words cut.
I choose to ignore him. There’s no use pointing out that I chose the high-top table so he would be more comfortable. “Hi. How are you?”
He settles onto the stool opposite me and props his elbows on the table. His shirtsleeves are rolled up to reveal muscular forearms. In college, he threw footballs and pretended to bench press me. I was happy and convinced we were meant for one another. Funny how things change.
Henry settles his chin into his cupped hands and gazes at me. “I’m good, Nat. Did you sign?” His expression is neutral, and stupidly I wish there was some emotion there. Where is the anger? Where is the sadness?
“Yep,” I say curtly, reaching into my bag. Suddenly I can’t wait for this to be over, for him to be gone. “Here.” I slide the box across the small space. He takes it, careful not to brush his fingers against mine. Tears swim in my eyes, and I pray they don’t spill over. Why am I crying? It’s over. It’s what I wanted. I initiated it.
My gaze sweeps the room, seeing but not really seeing the long line of people waiting to order. The feel of his stare on my face makes me want to melt into a puddle and seep into the ground.
“Natalie, I—” he pauses, his voice softened by a tinge of regret. “I’m not sure what to say. I don’t know how to do this.”
“Me neither,” I whisper, swiping at my eyes.
“Thanks for giving the ring back to me.”
My right hand reaches for my ring finger, rubbing the bare flesh. “It was your grandmother’s.”
Henry stands, pushing the stool back under the table. “Well, I, uh… I’ll see you around. Call me if you need anything.” He turns, stops, then shakes his head and laughs disbelievingly. “Never mind. You won’t need anything. Aidan is here. Like always.”
I lean left and peer around Henry.
Aidan is early. Aidan is always early, but on a day like today, he probably hustled in from Brooklyn after school was finished.
“Shay,” Aidan nods at Henry. Calling him Shay is a relic from college.
“Costa.” Henry’s voice has dropped an octave. He looks back at me, his glare full of meaning, silently hurling his accusations at me, as if they haven’t been flung a million times before.
Henry stomps out, bumping into people as he goes.
I look at Aidan. His eyes are on me, his gaze soft. He comes to me, folds my head into his chest, and blocks me from view while I fall apart.
2
Aidan
Natalie’s textcame through on my lunch hour. I bit into my sandwich and pulled my phone from my desk.
Natalie: I’m doing it today.
I wrote her back right away.You’re certain?
Natalie: What’s the point of waiting?
