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The chair scraped loudly on the floor as she pulled it back and sat down across from me. She didn’t seem to notice. I did. Another small, inconsequential, meaningless thing that had cost us our love. She sat there, looking at me, waiting for me to say something. I sighed. I stayed silent.
“So what are we waiting for?” she asked me. “Let’s get this done with. I have people to meet.” She checked her watch. Ah, her ‘people.’ Always on the run, my wife was. Always on the move. I admired her for that. And hated her for it, too. Job this, career that. Never enough time for me. Hell, never enough time for the goddam dog, let alone her husband. Her husband, whom she had sworn to love and cherish until death do them part. Why was it that “until I get bored” hadn’t been a part of her vows? It didn’t seem fair. I didn’t know that it had been
part of her consideration.
I was just staring at her. I realized this when she gave me her patented glare. I fumbled with my briefcase underneath the table, finally finding what I needed. I pulled out the papers and lay them on the table. “Divorce papers,” I said, and she nodded impatiently. Perhaps she missed the note of finality that had entered my voice. Divorce. All those years of love and support. The aching hole in my
broken heart wasn’t there yet, but I knew that the moment she signed those papers, it would emerge and consume me. But what could I do? Her happiness was the most important thing, I told myself. I sighed again.
“Coffee? Cappuccino?” the waitress asked blithely. I looked up. Where had she come from? Wasn’t she aware of what was going on here? Monumental occurrences, that was what. The earth was heaving right under out very feet. Mountains were melting, the ocean of my life was evaporating right before my eyes, like a puddle on the sidewalk after a sun-shower. And she was asking me if I wanted coffee.
“No, we’ll be leaving soon,” my wife told her, matching her tone inflection for inflection. “This’ll only take a minute.”
I sighed.
The papers were signed quickly, without a word passing between us. We stood up. I shook my ex-wife’s hand. It seemed the appropriate thing to do. She asked me if I wanted a ride back home. An unusual kindness from her, to offer me a ride. Maybe she saw something in my eyes, I don’t know. I declined.
It rained on the way home. Appropriate. I hadn’t thought to bring a jacket, so by the time I got to the bridge I was soaked. I paused to look at the rushing water beneath me. The rain made the river more wild, more stormy. But somehow, the ferociousness of it all seemed almost a dance, happy, invigorating. Inviting.
And I was already soaked.
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