Chapter 4
“Claire, stay home today. I’ll come back for lunch.”
Ethan’s Snapchat message arrived at seven in the morning.
I was sorting through the closet.
The bags he’d given me, the ties I’d bought him, the invitations from our wedding. I put them all into separate piles.
Not because I couldn’t let go.
Leaving someone meant settling the accounts too.
I replied, “Don’t bother.”
He called.
“Still angry?”
“No.”
“Whenever you say no, you mean yes.”
He chuckled.
“I ordered those crab noodles you like. They’ll be there at eleven thirty.”
I folded a men’s scarf into a paper bag.
I’d knitted it myself last winter.
I’d made two mistakes. He said he couldn’t tell.
Later, I’d seen the same scarf in a post on Sophie’s Snapchat story. The caption read: Someone says even the mistakes look beautiful.
At the time, I’d laughed about her husband’s unusual taste.
On the phone, Ethan asked, “Why aren’t you saying anything?”
“Ethan, I want to go to the county courthouse.”
He went quiet for a few seconds.
“What for?”
“To start the divorce.”
I heard a folder snap shut.
“Claire, don’t threaten me with that.”
“It’s not a threat.”
“You didn’t sleep well last night. You’re upset. We’ll talk when I get home.”
“We’ve already talked.”
“That wasn’t talking.”
His voice softened.
“You saw part of the picture and sentenced me without hearing the rest. That’s not fair.”
I laughed.
“Not fair to you?”
“What’s going on between Sophie and me is more complicated than you think.”
“So complicated you became her husband?”
“That title was just for convenience.”
“Convenience for what?”
He didn’t answer.
I hung up.
At eleven forty, the crab noodles arrived.
There was also a container of pork rib and root vegetable soup.
The note read: No pepper, light salt. For a pregnant customer.
The delivery driver stood in the doorway. “Ma’am, did the restaurant mix this up? There were two addresses on the combined delivery. Someone called and told me to bring yours first.”
I looked at the receipt.
My name was on it.
So was Sophie’s.
Ethan had ordered both our lunches from the same restaurant.
The noodles meant for me were already swollen and soggy.
Her soup had its own insulated bag, carefully sealed.
The driver was still waiting.
“Would you like to call and check?”
“No.”
I took the soup too.
“Thank you.”
It was still piping hot.
I opened the lid. A faint aroma rose from it.
Ethan remembered that Sophie couldn’t have pepper.
The porridge he’d brought me when my stomach hurt had contained peanuts.
My phone rang again.
This time it was Sophie.
“Claire, did my soup get delivered to you?”
“Yes.”
“Ethan said you weren’t feeling well, so he asked them to deliver yours first. I didn’t know they’d mix up the addresses.”
“What did you call him?”
Silence.
“You just called him Ethan.”
“Sorry,” she said quietly. “It slipped out.”
“How many times does it have to slip out?”
“Claire, I never meant to take anything from you.”
She started crying, softly.
“I was just so scared. He said you were strong. He said even if you found out, you’d be able to talk things through. He said he wouldn’t leave you.”
I gripped the soup container.
“Is he going to stay with you?”
Sophie choked on a sob.
After a moment, she said, “He promised to stay with me until the baby’s born.”
“And then?”
“He said he’d figure it out later.”
I poured the soup down the sink.
Sophie heard and panicked.
“Don’t do that. He stood in line to buy it.”
“It wasn’t for me.”
“Claire, don’t pressure him. He’s exhausted. Work is so busy, and my pregnancy symptoms are awful. Going back and forth between us is already hard on him.”
I listened, struck by how completely absurd it was.
My husband was running between two women, and she was asking me to appreciate how hard he worked.
“Sophie, do you know we’re still married?”
Her crying stopped.
“He said there hadn’t been any love in your marriage for a long time.”
“Do you believe everything he says?”
“I’m pregnant. Claire, I can’t lose him.”
The lock clicked.
Ethan came in carrying a pharmacy bag.
Seeing the phone in my hand, he looked first at the soup in the sink, then at my face.
“What did you say to her?”
I turned on the speaker.
Sophie sobbed his name.
“Ethan, have I caused you trouble again?”
Ethan walked over and took my phone.
“No. Don’t cry. Eat your lunch. I’ll come over in a little while.”
I watched him.
Only after reassuring her did he hand the phone back.
“Claire, she can’t handle stress.”
“And I can?”
Ethan set the pharmacy bag on the table.
Inside were my stomach pills and a box of prenatal folic acid.
He took out the folic acid and slipped it into his pocket.
“Let’s get divorced,” I said.
He looked up.
“Stop saying things out of anger.”
“I mean it.”
“Claire.”
He stepped closer and reached for my face.
I stepped back.
His hand hung in the air.
“I admit I have a responsibility to her. But you’re the one I love.”
“You love me, so I have to wait until she has your baby?”
“It’s the safest way to handle this.”
“For whom?”
“For everyone.”
“Including me?”
After a pause, he said,
“You’ll have to put up with it for a little while.”
I walked to the table, picked up the cold crab noodles, and dropped them in the trash.
Ethan frowned.
“Don’t punish your body because you’re angry.”
“Nine tomorrow morning. Meet me at the courthouse.”
He stared at me for a long time.
Then he took out his phone and called someone.
“Martha, come stay with my wife tomorrow.”
I looked up.
After hanging up, Ethan looked at me.
“You haven’t been yourself lately. I’m holding on to your documents for now. Once you’ve calmed down, I’ll give them back.”
I rushed into the bedroom and opened the drawer.
Our marriage certificate, my vital records, the copies of my ID. All gone.
Ethan stood in the doorway.
“Claire, I’m not divorcing you.”
He paused.
“Sophie has a prenatal appointment tomorrow. Go with her. She trusts you. She’ll feel safer with you there.”