I sat down. My feet felt strangely heavy. “Are you asking me for a separation?”
“Not exactly.”
“What does ‘not exactly’ mean?”
“It means I don't want to destroy our marriage. I want to find out if I still choose it when I'm not obligated to.”
“By sleeping with other men?”
She flinched at the word sleeping, then rolled her eyes. “You make everything sound ugly when you're hurt. I said exploring. Dating. Talking to people. Feeling like a person again.”
“I see you as a person.”
“That's not what I mean.”
“Then help me understand.”
She gripped the edge of the island. “Maybe if we both had a little freedom, we'd appreciate each other more. People do this. Marriages change. It's not 1950.”
“I don't care what people do. We promised each other something, and I still mean it.”
“You make it sound like a prison sentence.”
“No. I'm saying I want to be married to someone who wants to be married to me.”
She gave a small, impatient sigh. “Daniel, I am not asking permission. I'm trying to be honest with you.”
I remember staring at the gold ring on her left hand. We'd chosen it at a jewelry store we couldn't really afford at the time. She'd insisted on the plain band instead of the more expensive one because she said she preferred things that were made to last. I wondered whether she had removed it on the dates she'd already planned. I wondered whether she'd been discussing me with strangers who knew my name only as an obstacle.
“Is there someone specific?” I asked.