Monday Morning

“Twenty three years of marriage. Twenty three years! Twenty three years and you are in love with one of your clients?”

She wasn’t sure what he had been doing all weekend.

She had just returned from a weekend mountain biking with her friends. She leans into the change of the season. She embraces the coming cold. She felt recharged and ready for the coming week.

When she walked into the house she sensed something was more off than usual. The usual state of their marriage was off. It had been for years. He was drunk. He drank too much most nights while they sat next to each other on the sofa and he scrolled Reddit and she watched the Gilmore Girls. Routinely she went to bed, leaving him to sit alone staring at his phone. She had always assumed he was looking at Reddit. For the past few weeks he had been more attentive. They had actually had sex – twice. It was this that had made her suspect and this evening he had greeted her with too much enthusiasm.

They had been fighting for hours. All night. She massages her temples, trying to trace the path to the final revelation. How did they get here?

His dark eyes plead. His bottom lip quivers. His shoulders slump forward. His much taller frame shrinking as she turns to face him. Her dark eyes flash and strands of her auburn hair have fallen out of her pony tail into her face: “Get out!”

Her hands on her hips, glaring, she suddenly realizes that they are in the walk-in closet - their walk-in closet. She dryly laughs at the ridiculousness of this. It is a dry, painful laugh. Law school. Two kids they successfully raised to adulthood. Successful might be an overstatement. They kept them alive. Decades together and the façade of their life is falling apart in a walk-in closet. She hurls a shoe at him: “Get out!”

He shrugs almost helplessly. Silently he turns and pulls the door closed behind him.

“GET OUT!” She screams after him for good measure. She picks up the next shoe and the next. The force of each throw propelled forward with fury. The thump as each shoe lands against the door, the wall, deeply satisfying. The tall stiletto she hasn’t worn in years pierces the drywall. Red. A reminder of a law firm Christmas party. His law firm’s Christmas Party. She won’t be taking those with her.

“Fifteen years younger. Blond! Married?”

She knew exactly who this woman is he claims to be in love with. He had had the audacity to invite her into their home. She, her husband and children came over for dinner. He had cooked with unusual excitement. He had pulled out a bottle of scotch. They had laughed, joked, and played scrabble on the kitchen table while the kids watched movies in the living room. She had had the distinct feeling that if she looked under the table she would have seen his foot touching hers. She didn’t look. She tried to focus her thoughts on the possibilities of letter combinations. Her turn, just before his, but a vast distance between them.

As the car backed down the drive way and the headlights disappeared behind the trees she had asked. He had denied everything.

Every single shoe is on the floor.

She might as well get dressed.

She is leaving.

She is sitting at the table closest to the window in her favorite coffee shop. The kitchen against the back wall is already is a bustle of activity. The ovens warm the space and everything is wrapped in the aroma of baking cookies.

The sun slants across the table. The air has an edge to it. The early morning light and lack of sleep add a crispness to all she sees. Her eyes trace the green of ash trees lining the street. The leaves are transitioning into a spectrum between deep burgundy and a warm, glad yellow. The streets are mostly empty. A few early commuters drive past in their cars. Dog owners stroll down the sidewalk. A biker zips past. People have pulled out their gloves and scarves. They cuddle into their collars.

As she waited to order she considered the possible judgement of the barista. She observed his bleached tipped hair, tattoos, pieced nose, and dangling earring as he helped the customers ahead of her. She still felt ridiculous. “I would like hot tea. Black. For here.” She paused briefly and pointed to the cake in the top left corner of the case, “and a slice of the chocolate cake”. She watched him carefully. His response consistent with that he had given to ever previous order as he handed her a plate and mug with kind and smiling eyes. For a moment it allowed her to pretend that this morning was ordinary.

Her fork pierces the layer of chocolate ganache, the smooth custard filling, and the base of almost black crushed chocolate gram crackers. The textures melt together as she savors the moment.

Her husband cheated on her.

No.

He admitted to cheating on her.

That is distinctly different.

They, and the only two other married law school couples with young children they knew, had rented a cabin to spend the weekend skiing. She had still been nursing their first born, their son. Used to being up at all hours of the night with a small child she had woken in a bed alone. She had quietly made her way to the shared bathroom, only to see the shadow of her husband and one of the women against the large picture windows in the living room. No overtly transgressive activity was observed, except that their very presence together bordered breaking the societal norms of the marriages they had all agreed to. Something was not right. She returned to bed. Exhausted. She never mentioned it. They had been married four years.

She cups the mug in her hands as she inhales the warmth of the tea.

One more child and nineteen more years. Nineteen more years! She remembers the late work days, the overnight business trips, the jokes that seemed too true to be funny at office parties. She doesn’t remember that last time she actually allowed herself to believed his denials, trusted her husband, or felt relaxed in the life they shared. But, worst of all, with each suspicion and subsequent denial she had doubted herself and increasingly loathed the person she had become.

Slowly she savors each bite of cake. She sips her tea.

Her intuition had been right. He had been cheating on her all those years. He broke down because this time is different. “This time”, he said, “I am in love”. She chooses not to linger on the “in love” part. What is the point? He admitted to cheating on her. That alone is affirming. Validating. Liberating. She wraps her scarf tightly and steps into the brisk morning air. Winter is her season.

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