One afternoon, Eliza told me she’d finally deleted her ex’s number.
Sometimes he joined us.
Sometimes he gave us space.
He was good at that—being kind without making Eliza feel pitied. He never asked for details unless she offered them, and if she started crying, he usually found some excuse to refill the kettle or clear the table.
One afternoon, Eliza told me she’d finally deleted her ex’s number.
“I deleted Daniel.”
Andrew walked in, loosened his tie, and paused.
“Am I interrupting?”
“No,” I said. “We’re celebrating.”
Eliza lifted her mug.
“I deleted Daniel.”
“What are you doing?”
Andrew looked concerned.
“From existence?”
“From my phone.”
“Ah. Less paperwork.”
He opened the fridge.
A little while later, he set grilled cheese and soup in front of us.
“What are you doing?” I asked.
“Lunch.”
“For yourself?”
“For all of us, if nobody objects.”
A little while later, he set grilled cheese and soup in front of us.
“God, Andrew is such a perfect husband.”
Eliza smiled.
“God, Andrew is such a perfect husband.”
I laughed.
“Don’t tell him that. He’ll become unbearable.”
Andrew bowed.
Of course seeing someone else’s marriage functioning normally would hit a nerve.
“Too late.”
