“Vanessa—”
“And let’s be honest,” she said. She leaned back in her chair. She looked at me. At my face. My hair. My old T-shirt. “You’ve been married for seventeen years. Men get bored after that many years. They all do. They don’t say it. But they do. They look at their wives in the morning and they think, Is this it? Is this all there is?“
I couldn’t speak.
“You should start preparing for divorce,” Vanessa said. She took a bite of her cookie. “That’s my advice. Woman to woman. Start thinking about where you’ll live. Talk to a lawyer. It’s easier if you see it coming.”
I stared at her.
Men get bored after that many years.
I thought about my eleven gray hairs. The hot flashes at three in the morning. The bathroom mirror. You look tired.
I thought about Irvin standing in her kitchen for forty-five minutes fixing a five-minute hinge.
“Get out of my house,” I said. My voice was shaking.
She stood up. She smoothed her skirt.
“Keep the cookies,” she said. “They’re his favorite. Chocolate chip. Did you know that? He told me.”
I did know that. I’d known it for seventeen years. I’d made them for him on our first date.
She walked out the back door. She didn’t close it behind her.
I sat at my kitchen table for a long time. The cookies were still warm. The smell filled the whole kitchen.
I picked up the plate. I carried it to the trash can. I scraped every single cookie into the garbage.
Then I sat down on the kitchen floor with my back against the cabinets and cried.
I didn’t tell Irvin that night.
I don’t know why. I think I was ashamed. Ashamed that I’d let her into my house. Ashamed that her words had hit so hard. Ashamed that some part of me was afraid she might be right.
Men get bored after that many years.
I lay awake that night next to my husband. He was snoring softly. He always sleeps on his back with one arm flung over his eyes, like he’s shielding himself from the sun. I watched him in the dark.
