“What am I supposed to wear for the next six weeks?”
“I’m sure you’ll figure something out.”
I waited for him to hear himself. He picked up his sandwich.
“These weren’t things sitting around unused,” I said. “Some are work clothes. Some are for after delivery.”
“Anna, you’re exhausted. Everything feels like a bigger deal when you’re tired.”
That was the part I could not get past. He had made a decision about my things without asking, and now he was making my objection sound like a symptom of being tired.
“Call Tara,” I said. “Tell her there was a mistake and ask her to bring everything back.”
“I’m not going to embarrass my sister over a few outfits.”
“But you’re comfortable doing this to your wife?”
“Stop making everything so dramatic.”
I put the strawberries I had bought after work in the refrigerator and went upstairs. I took photographs of the open closet, the empty drawers, and the two worn T-shirts on the bed. I was not trying to turn the clothes into a legal dispute. I wanted a record of what was missing because Nick was already talking as though I had handed it all over.
