“April’s medication. She’s fifteen, right? So she’ll be legally an adult in three years. But you’ll both be citizens before then, so I’m guessing it will be more like two.”
“But we’re married.”
“Yeah, but that’s when we would get divorced. Because what’s in it for you after that?”
“I…”Divorced. I’ve read the word before. I know what it means, or should mean, but I’ve never seen it in practice. The Grand Astrologue sure as hell didn’t allow divorce to wreck his perfect community. “I don’t know.”
“Right, exactly.”
He keeps talking as if we’re agreeing on everything. I’m not sure Sid has looked me in the eye once during this conversation. If he did, he would notice how stunned I am.
“But what about you?” I say. “Are you going to want to get divorced in two years?”
He shrugs. “Hopefully, by then I’ll be on Council. The election is scheduled for March.”
“Oh.”
Finally, it twigs. His eyes fly wide. “Holy shit! Did you think this was forever? Shit! I am so sorry, Kayla.”
“No, no. It’s okay.” It’s great news, right? The husband I don’t want also wants to divorce me. We’re just waiting for a convenient time. “I didn’t know divorce was legal here.”
“Yeah, totally legal. And you don’t need my consent. You can leave whenever we’re done with this.Shit!No wonder you were so freaked out this morning!”
I don’t know what to say. I should be relieved, but something about this smacks of rejection. How stupid is that? Of course he doesn’t want to stay married to me. Why should he give up the possibility of a life with someone he loves?
“All I’m saying is that this is temporary, right?” he says.
“Right.”
“So…” He looks over his shoulder, as if to make sure none of the people who could get us in trouble for cheating the law are listening. But the city is filled with strangers who are all distracted with their own lives. Still, he leans closer so that he can whisper, the intimacy of his voice at odds with his words. “We shouldn’t have to perform for each other. When it’s just us, you don’t have to kiss me or pretend you like me or anything like that. Okay?”
Pretend I like him?This time, I know why the words cut. He is the closest thing I’ve had to a friend in years, but apparently, he thinks I’m even faking that. Now I do want to yell at him. Except, we’re out in public and I would rather the masses stay uninterested in us.
I reach for a safer objection, where I know logic isindisputably on my side. “It was ourwedding. Did you want that judge to report us to Tom?”
“You’re right. I know you’re right. Forget about it, okay? I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”
“It’s gonna be weird for a while,” I say, hoping this will make him stop freaking out. “We’ve just… gotta get used to each other.”
“Sure. I need to return the pallet and the jack to the exchange. If the bus comes by, hold them for me, okay? Then I’ll help load everything.”
“Okay.”
When he leaves, I perch on the edge of the mattress, like a bird ready to take flight. There isn’t any sign of the bus so I reach into my pocket in search of something to fiddle with. My hands close around the library receipt.
Due date.
I guess other things expire here, too.
I’M STARTING TOsuspect that it’s notpeoplewho are silent on the bus, but me and Sid. Now that we’ve set up our imminent divorce, it’s like he’s satisfied with the terms of our agreement and has nothing to discuss. He stares out the back of the wagon, eyes unfocused. I’m not brave enough to ask what he’s thinking about.
My nose is buried in a copy ofThe Murder of Roger Ackroyd.So far, they’re talking about marrows, which is a British word for some vegetable. I haven’t a clue which kind, but it doesn’t matter. I’m not absorbing the story anyway.
Even with divorce on the table, we still have to live together for two years. Two years is a long time. People die in two years. Babies are born. Birth control being what it is, if Sid and I were actually married, within two years we would probably…
I pull the book tight to my face—too close to focus on the words, but I need to hide the heat in my cheeks. There’s nothing to worry about. He’s counting down the days to our divorce just as much as I am. But what are April and I going to do when the two years is up? Take the bathmatand leave? Find a home somewhere else? I guess I’ll have a job by then.
Shit, I need to get a job. I need to findsomethingto do with myself, so we don’t land on our asses when this is over. But the only things I know how to do are foraging and hunting. Neither skill is relevant in a place with full-scale agriculture. And I already know the government has no interest in letting me handle a weapon.
