At some point, Zoe began calling those same routines boring. It started as teasing. She'd point at the calendar on our refrigerator and say it looked like the itinerary for an elderly couple. I'd laugh and offer to do something different on the weekend. Often she'd already made other plans or was too tired, so we'd stay home. Neither of us stopped long enough to ask why the joke kept coming back.
Her social feeds changed, too. More luxury trips, rooftop bars, people posing in places where every surface seemed polished and every drink cost what we spent on groceries for two days. She began following creators whose advice consisted mostly of telling women not to settle, not to waste their youth, and not to accept an ordinary life. I agreed with the part about having ambitions. I got uncomfortable when she started talking as if ordinary and unhappy meant the same thing.
One rainy Sunday she lay on the couch scrolling while I repaired a loose kitchen drawer. "Do you ever wonder whether we're missing out?" she asked.
"On what?"
"I don't know. Being spontaneous. Doing something without planning it three weeks in advance. Other couples are out living."
I put the screwdriver down. "Then let's pick somewhere and go. We could drive to the lake next weekend. Or take a few days in the fall."
"That's exactly what I mean, Alex. You immediately turn it into an itinerary."
I remember feeling confused rather than insulted. We'd both complained about not having enough time or money, and now that we had a little breathing room she was irritated by the habits that had given us that room. I thought she was restless with work, maybe uncertain about getting closer to thirty. I didn't consider that she might already be looking at our relationship as the obstacle rather than the place we could solve things together.
I suggested a real vacation, not a long weekend, somewhere she'd always wanted to visit. I looked at flights, hotels, and what I could take off from work. She liked the idea in theory but kept postponing decisions. There was a campaign launch in the spring, a brand collaboration in the summer, a friend's wedding in the fall. Each explanation was reasonable on its own. Together they formed a pattern I chose not to examine.
Around that time, her closest friend Sarah began coming over more often. Sarah was loud, witty, and fiercely protective of Zoe in ways that sometimes felt generous and sometimes felt like she was competing with our relationship for Zoe's loyalty. She'd tell stories about women who had left comfortable relationships and found themselves on beaches or in glamorous cities with new partners who understood their "energy." I usually stayed out of those conversations. Once I made a joke about social media leaving out the part where someone paid the bills, and Sarah looked at me as if I'd insulted an entire philosophy.