My gut constricts, bile rising in my throat.
“I printed the papers out,” he says. “It felt wrong to do it the electronic way. To click and have our…And have everything wiped away. It felt better to have something physical. Tangible. It felt more real.”
The ground shifts beneath my feet, and I finally sit, not sure if I can stand upright much longer.
“I didn’t delay on purpose, Meena. Really. I’d always planned on mailing these back. I don’t want to stand in the way of your happiness. I’ve never wanted that. I just…wasn’t ready. I needed a little time to adjust.”
My mouth is dry. I take a sip of my coffee, thinking it might help, but the heat and acidity only make it worse. I’m quiet for a moment, trying to gather my thoughts. “It’s not all you, Nikhil,” I finally say. “I could have sent these earlier. I could have tried to make it official years ago. But I’ve…I’ve been holding on to us too.”
The corners of his mouth soften slightly, some of the earlier strain lifting.
I want to tell him that we weren’t wrong to hold on. That the love between us never died. That we’ve both grown and changed, but in good ways, I think. That if we wanted to, we could do things better this time. We could at least try.
But then, he clears his throat. “I don’t have a lawyer, but I made some changes.” He nods toward the papers. “So, you’ll probably want to take a look at that. And here.” He fishes his phone out of his pocket and places it on the table, sliding it to me. “You can use my phone in case you need to call your lawyer. Though I guess you don’t have to. You probably understand all of this legalese just fine.”
“What if…” I lick my dry lips. “What if I stayed?”
He goes still.
“What if I stayed for a few days so we could—” Couldwhat? I’m not even sure what I’m suggesting. So we could date? Go to therapy? See if there’s any way for us to come back together? To try to make things work? It all sounds so outlandish.
Nikhil must read all of that on my face, because his expression is gentle but resigned when he says, “What would we figure out in a few days that we haven’t figured out already?” He pauses. “You made the right call, Meena,” he says. “I was wrong earlier. It wasn’t right to ask you to stay like that.” He looks away, rubbing the back of his neck. “When I went to D.C…. I should have tried to see you. I should have talked to you, but I was just so convinced, so scared that I wasn’t good enough for you. I wanted to wait until I could prove myself, until I had something to show for myself, something to showyou. Something to show your family.”
“Nikhil, you never needed to—”
He raises a hand to stop me. “It’s fine. I…I realize now that I let that fear keep us apart. Even before you left, I was so scared of losing you, of not being enough, that I think I actually ended up pushing you away, and, well, if I could go back in time, I’d do thatdifferently. I’d do so many things differently, but that’s not really an option for us, is it?” His mouth curves in a sad smile. “I don’t know. Maybe the writing was on the wall for us from the very beginning. Maybe you were right not to bring me home to your parents from the very start.”
His words cut through me, painful and quick. “I wish I could have done things differently too,” I say. “I wish I had done a lot of it differently. I just— I’m sorry.”
He lifts a shoulder, the gesture too deliberate and careful to be casual. “It’s all right, really. Those things are in the past, and you were right before. We can’t change any of that now. We should have made all of this official a long time ago, but I’m glad we’re finally doing it.” He stands up, and the finality of that movement coupled with the certainty in his voice is like the banging of a gavel. It signals that I’m too late. That Nikhil meant what he said. He wants this to be over. He wants to move on.
I grab the document, scanning the first page. There are notes scrawled in black ink in the margins, but I can’t make sense of them. I’m just reading the words at the top over and over.
Dissolution of Marriage. Dissolution of Marriage.
“I’m going to make breakfast. Eggs okay?”
I’m not sure if I respond, but I must, because he leaves, giving me privacy so I can read through everything.
This is what I’d told myself I’d wanted. A painless, straightforward discussion of terms. A handshake at the end. And me walking out of here with his signature on the page.
I can do this. I can pretend that I want this again. I can get lost in these words and turn everything else off. I’ve had enough practice doing it. And maybe that’s for the best. I don’t need distractions right now. I don’t need inconvenient feelings that take me off track, that steer me away from my plans. I’ll pretend like this is work. Likeit has nothing to do with me. This is a negotiation like any other and I’m going to do my job.
This mindset slips over me like a plate of armor. And soon, I’m flipping through the pages. Making notes, questions, striking things out and replacing them with proposals of my own.
A plate of eggs and toast appears at my elbow, and I mechanically take a bite and continue.
Nikhil hasn’t made any big changes. He asked questions about some things and made notes that he wants to discuss about others, but there’s nothing that makes me concerned.
I take another bite of my breakfast and slowly come out of my haze, realizing Nikhil’s not in the room. I call his name and he steps out of the kitchen.
“I’m done,” I say. “Do you want a moment alone to look through it or…”
He sits down, taking the document from me. “No. I’ll just read them now.”
He’s quiet for a long time. Deep in thought. When he turns a page, a wrinkle forms between his eyebrows. He’s so intense. So focused. I shouldn’t be staring at him. I should look away. But I can’t.
“Thanks for this,” I say, unable to take the silence much longer. “For breakfast. It was really good.”
