“Oh yeah?” Kathy said. “And I want a husband who lifts a finger to help his wife and two kids.”
“What does that mean?” Bill said.
“It means we can’t always get what we want.”
Bill crumpled up his napkin and set it on the table. They stood and walked to the car in silence. Kathy led the way.
“I don’t think you understand,” Bill said once they were safely out on the parkway. “I’ve filled out the paperwork. My lawyer has a copy. He’s filing on Monday.”
Kathy said nothing. She hated fighting in the car. The way their words echoed in the small space, assaulting her. It made her crazy.
At home, Bill took his pillow and locked himself in the guest room before Kathy could resume the conversation.
And now Kathy lay awake, her body exhausted but her mind raging. At 8 a.m. she heard Bill stirring in the kitchen. She wondered how long he’d been waiting for her to come down and make him breakfast. Even though he wanted a divorce, she’d bet he still wanted her apple Dutch babies and bacon.
But he never called to her. Kathy knew he’d left when she heard the car in the driveway. He must have really believed this was over. He had been working himself up to what he thought was the end. Gathering the conviction to meet with a lawyer, making sure the kids were at his mom’s, breaking the news in a public place. It took a lot of advance planning and emotional energy—courage, really—simply to get to the point where he could deliver the line: I want a divorce.
Thirty minutes later, Kathy heard the garage door slowly open below. She rushed downstairs to the office and settled herself in the chair. She could smell the strong coffee and cheap eggs of the local chain where Bill must have had breakfast. With one meal, he surmised that he could make it without her.
“Bill, you know that I don’t believe in divorce,” Kathy started as soon as he walked through the door.
“Luckily divorce is fully recognized by the law. It’s not something that requires your belief in it.”
“I don’t think you’ve thought this through, Bill.”
“I’ve been thinking about it for years. I’ve been working it out with a lawyer for almost a month. Kathy, you are miserable. I am miserable.”
“We aren’t miserable; we’re middle-aged.”
“It doesn’t have to be like this,” Bill said.
Kathy was so serious about never getting divorced that when Bill had proposed, she’d reminded him that this really was forever. He’d said he would do right by God and their family. But everyone is optimistic when they’re young and in love. Still, she’d believed him. As he’d slipped the ring over her finger, he’d promised: Till death do us part.
Kathy hadn’t been ready for either his declaration or his resolve to see it through. How can you prepare for the things you didn’t see coming?
“It’s time to get the kids,” she said. Kathy needed to buy herself some time, and the drive to the city would help gather her thoughts. Her persuasive arguments.
Bill grabbed the keys from the hook and stormed out the door. Kathy picked up the pace to eliminate his lead. She slammed the passenger door before he even made it around the car to his side.
Kathy had expected a sense of victory as they drove to the city. At least a measure of peace from the frantic vibe of the house. Bill wouldn’t get to have control of this narrative, with his mother or the kids. He might even have to listen to her as they drove for forty-five minutes.
But inside the car, the air felt suffocating. She opened her window, but the shrieking wind pierced her ears. That made her more agitated. Why couldn’t she breathe?
Kathy looked out the window at the winding road of their town, the lush green trees. She forced an exhale.
“I’m fighting for us, for our family. I’m fighting for you, Bill,” she said.
Bill merged onto the Saw Mill River Parkway without a word.
“I want to be happy, Kathy.”
A white car with tinted windows honked from behind. Bill tapped the blinker and swerved to the right lane.
“I want that too. For both of us,” she said.
Bill turned away from the road to look at her. He shook his head and slowed down as a minivan passed too close on the left. When the minivan pulled ahead, Bill shifted into the left lane. He didn’t use his signal.
Kathy angled her body toward him in her seat. She was no longer using just her hands—she was speaking with her whole body now.
“This life could be the better life you’re imagining. I admit I haven’t been at my best lately. Neither have you. But the kids are getting older. Maybe we could go away for a few nights.”
Kathy was spitballing now, making it up as she went along, but she knew she was close to hitting on something that would work. Something that would snap Bill out of this foolish divorce idea. She would fix this.
“A vacation isn’t going to cure us,” Bill said.
“No, but it’s a start. A chance for us to reconnect.”
Bill shook his head. Kathy was merely getting started.
“And after a vacation, we could try therapy. Schedule sex once a week. You can’t give up on us like this. You can’t do this. We’ll go to Antigua. Remember that trip?”
Bill’s eyes glassed over with tears. He opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out. He tried again.
“I don’t love you anymore. I don’t hate you either. There’s nothing left between us. Nothing at all.”
Kathy turned to the passenger-side window to stop herself from rolling her eyes. Love. Hate. Bill wouldn’t know the extremes of love and hate if they smashed him in the face. He was just saying words. Words other people had said. Words used to justify wars.
But Kathy, she could feel. She felt the love when Bill tried to make her laugh with a silly dance. She felt the hate when he drank every night, knowing they both grew up with alcoholic fathers. Kathy felt all of it, while Bill never stopped wanting something else.
