I stare at her. “I sort mail.”
“So? People notice reliability. You can’t think small.”
I think of Ethan standing in the glass corridor, the building acting like his perfect accessory. I remember how small I felt just looking at him and how everyonearound him was transfixed. What is it about him that has me intrigued?
“It will take time,” I say.
Sarah laughs softly, but there’s no humor in it. “Time is what we don’t have.”
“What do you mean? I didn’t realize we were on a schedule?”
“Aren’t we? I want us to be financially secure and living in a decent home before starting a family. Have proper friends, be someone important. You take your time and need to be pushed.”
“Don’t patronize me, Sarah. You know who I am. Not everything can happen the exact second you demand it,” I snap, getting more pissed at her comments.
“Whatever,” she mumbles before standing to throw her plate in the sink and slumping back into the couch.
Moving over to the sink, I wash the plates while she scrolls on her phone, where she is already drifting somewhere else mentally. When I dry my hands, I go to grab my jacket and bag, and she looks up.
“Where are you going?”
“The workshop,” I say.
Her mouth twists in disgust. She knows I go every two weeks. “You’re still doing that?”
“It’s once every two weeks.”
“And it costs money.”
“It’s not much.”
“It’s unnecessary.”
“And is it necessary, you having your nails done everyweek? Or going out with the girls from the coffee shop every month?”
“It’s important that I look good, Leo. And I need to socialize. It matters that I make the effort, not like that dumb pipe dream of yours, becoming a sculptor,” she mocks and my blood boils.
“It matters to me,” I hiss at her with one hand on the door before I open it to leave.
She stands. “No, Leo. Youwantit to matter. That’s different.”
I don’t answer.
She walks over to me. “You’re married. You don’t get to chase hobbies like a teenager.”
I turn to her. “It’s not a hobby. It’s the only thing that makes me feel like I exist.”
Her face hardens. “You exist when you contribute.” The nasty words hollow me out.
“Don’t talk to me like I’m a fucking child, Sarah. I don’t see you going out there trying to find a better career.”
We stand there, inches apart, strangers wearing familiar faces. Then it hits me, like a bolt of lightning, that it’s been months since we touched each other with any intention. We’ve had no fights about it. Not even a conversation. Just a quiet acceptance, like something we left behind in a room no one enters anymore. Neither of us care. That should be a red flag, right?
Deciding to ignore her, I open the door and she doesn’t stop me. The hallway smells like dust and old carpet. As I get to the stairs, I pause, hoping that she’llcall my name. That she’ll say she’s scared too. That she’ll say she doesn’t want to lose me. It’s stupid to even think that and of course she doesn’t.
So I walk down the stairs alone. By the time I reach the street, my heart feels heavy in a way that has nothing to do with work or money or ambition. It feels like grief.
For the life I thought I was building.
