Then I hated myself for thinking that.
I did not want anger to turn eight years into a joke.
There had been real love.
At least on my side.
Maybe on hers too, once.
That was something I would need to understand later.
For now, I had five days.
The next morning, customer support went offline.
Rachel came into the kitchen already dressed for work, phone in one hand, coffee in the other.
"Can you pick up my car from the service center today?"
Normally the answer would have arrived before the request finished.
Instead:
"No."
Rachel stopped.
Actually stopped walking.
"What?"
"No."
"I heard you."
She stared.
"I mean why?"
"Because I'm not picking it up."
"But you always do."
I took a sip of coffee.
"Then today will be exciting."
"What?"
"You get to try something new."
Her expression tightened.
"What exactly is that supposed to mean?"
"It means you can pick up your own car."
"I have meetings until five."
"The service center closes at six."
"Then I recommend leaving promptly."
She stared at me as if I had spoken another language.
"Ethan, are you serious?"
"Very."
"Why are you being like this?"
"Like what?"
"Difficult."
That word almost made me laugh.
The opposite of convenient was difficult.
Interesting.
"I have things to do today."
"What things?"
"My things."
Another pause.
Rachel was not accustomed to my schedule being private territory.
In our marriage, my time had become flexible infrastructure.
Need a package picked up?
Call Ethan.
Need a reservation changed?
Ethan.
Insurance?
Ethan.
Plumber?
Ethan.
Problem with Amazon?
Ethan.
If our life had a support number, it rang my phone.
Rachel grabbed her bag.
"Fine."
"Okay."
She looked at me as though waiting for the usual reversal.
I'll do it.
Don't worry.
Sorry.
None came.
She left.
I stood in the kitchen after the door closed.
I did not feel victorious.
I felt sad.
Saying no should not have felt revolutionary.
Around noon, she texted.
Can you stop at Nordstrom and pick up my order after work?
I looked at the message.
Typed:
No.
Three dots appeared instantly.
Why not?
Busy.
With what?
That question annoyed me disproportionately.
As though my refusal needed documented cause.
I typed:
Things.
Deleted it.
Then typed:
My things.
She responded:
What things?
I smiled despite myself.
Mine.
No reply.
Five minutes later:
You're being weird.
I answered:
System update.
Her response arrived immediately.
What does that even mean?
I put the phone facedown.
Let her wonder.