Chương 8
“Are you talking?”
“Sort of.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means he sends me practical texts.”
“About what?”
“The storage unit.”
“That sounds romantic.”
“He asked whether I still want the camping chairs.”
“Maybe that’s his love language.”
She gave me a look.
Then, unexpectedly, smiled.
“He hates those chairs.”
“So this is serious.”
The smile disappeared.
She opened the message.
I watched her read.
“What?”
“He wants to come by tomorrow and get the rest of his things.”
My chest tightened.
“Did you know he still had things there?”
“Some.”
“Are you going to be okay?”
She reached for the tea and discovered the cup was empty.
“I don’t know.”
There was no performance in the answer.
I waited.
She stared at the bottom of the cup.
“I thought he’d come back.”
“Did he say he would?”
“No.”
“Did you ask him to?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
Her eyes lifted.
“Because I wanted him to want to.”
I knew that feeling so well it embarrassed me.
Wanting someone to choose correctly without being told.
Wanting love to prove itself through mind reading.
Our family might as well have put it on a crest.
“What happened between you two?” I asked.
Jenna looked down again.
“We got tired.”
“That’s vague.”
“It’s true.”
She turned the empty cup between both hands.
“He thought I cared too much about appearances.”
“You do.”
“Thank you.”
“I’m not saying that’s all you care about.”
She gave me a tired look.
“He hated the parties.”
“What parties?”
“Everything.”
“Mom’s birthdays?”
“Work dinners.”
She shrugged.
“Neighborhood things.”
“You didn’t have a neighborhood until three weeks ago.”
“Before that, the apartment building.”
I almost laughed.
“He hated meeting people because he thought everybody was judging him.”
“Were they?”
“Probably some of them.”
“And were you?”
She didn’t answer.
That was answer enough.
I leaned back.
“Jenna.”
“I know.”
“You keep saying that.”
“Because apparently today is the day everybody explains my personality to me.”
“That sounds exhausting.”
“It is.”
I smiled.
She didn’t.
“He got laid off last spring,” she said.
I straightened.
“What?”
“He found another job.”
“When?”
“Six weeks later.”
“You never told us.”
“He didn’t want anyone knowing.”
I stared at her.
The family habit was starting to look less like privacy and more like a competitive sport.
“Why?”
“Because Mom would have panicked.”
“That’s probably true.”
“And because I was embarrassed.”
Her eyes shifted away.
“About him being laid off?”
“Yes.”
The answer came with visible shame.
She pressed her lips together.
“That sounds awful.”
“It does.”
“I don’t mean it like that.”
“How do you mean it?”
She looked irritated now, but not at me.
“I had spent years telling everybody how well we were doing.”
“So?”
“So I didn’t know how to say we weren’t.”
I thought about her housewarming.
The wine refrigerator.
The staged flowers.
The way she had introduced the upstairs office as Evan’s even though he had already moved out.
“Was the house part of that?”
“Yes.”
“How much of it?”
She laughed without humor.
“Most of it.”
The truth shifted something unpleasant inside me.
Her cruelty at the party did not become less cruel.
But it looked different now.
Not taller.
Just more frightened.
“Why didn’t Evan stop you?” I asked.
“He tried.”
“And?”
“I told him if he didn’t want to live there, he didn’t have to.”
I stared at her.
She nodded.
“Yeah.”
“That’s what happened?”
“That was the last big fight.”
She picked up her phone and put it down again.
“He said I was buying a life for people who weren’t living it.”
That sentence stayed between us.
I didn’t know whether Evan was completely right.
People rarely were.
But it sounded true enough to hurt.
“Do you still love him?” I asked.
Jenna’s eyes filled immediately.
She looked furious about it.
“Don’t.”
“Okay.”
“I mean it.”
“I said okay.”
She pressed the napkin against one eye.
Then the other.
“Yes.”
Her voice cracked.
“I do.”
I waited.
“He drives me insane.”
“That’s usually compatible.”
“He’s cheap.”
“You mentioned.”
“He owns three identical blue shirts.”
“That seems efficient.”
“He thinks going out for brunch is stupid.”
“That is unforgivable.”
She laughed through her tears.
“And he snores.”
“Sell the house.”
She looked at me.
I shrugged.
“Keep the husband.”
Her face softened for a second.
Then she shook her head.
“It’s not that simple.”
“No.”
“I said things.”
“So did he.”
“You don’t know what he said.”
“No.”
“He said he didn’t recognize me anymore.”
I watched her fold the napkin again.
“What did you say?”
“That at least I recognized myself.”
I winced.
“Yeah.”
“I didn’t mean it.”
“Probably not.”
“But I also did.”
That surprised me.
Jenna looked toward the window.
“I liked being married to him.”
She swallowed.
“I didn’t always like being me with him.”
“Why?”
“He was happy with less.”
She gave a small shrug.
“And every time he was happy with less, it made me feel ridiculous for wanting more.”
“That doesn’t mean your wanting more was wrong.”
“No.”
“It might mean the way you measured more was.”
She looked at me.
“You rehearsed that?”
“No.”
“Sounds rehearsed.”
“I’m annoyingly articulate.”
“You are annoying.”
“That’s the first nice thing you’ve said all afternoon.”
For the first time, her smile stayed.
Then she checked the time and pushed back from the table.
“I have to go.”
“Work?”
“Contractor.”
“Right.”
She stood, put on her coat, and slid her sunglasses into her purse.
I stood too.
At the door she stopped.
“Can I ask you something?”
“Sure.”
“How much did you sell the company for?”
I stared at her.
She lifted both hands.
“Sorry.”
I laughed.
“There she is.”
“I was curious.”
“I know.”
She smiled faintly.
Then her expression turned serious.
“Are you happy?”
The question caught me off guard.
“With the sale?”
“With any of it.”
I looked through the glass door toward the wet sidewalk.
May you like
People hurried beneath umbrellas.
A delivery cyclist waited at the light with rain dripping from his helmet.
