Just as I folded on everything else for twenty-five years.
No more being a doormat. No more letting someone else make the decisions and staying silent to avoid making ripples or creating contention. The price of such counterfeit “peace” had been inner turmoil as she’d given up her voice and opinions on every topic, no matter the significance.
“I won’t attack you, I swear,” Eric said. He raised a hand as if in surrender. “I won’t even touch you all night if I can help it— if my foot grazes your pinkie toe while I’m unconscious, don’t hold it against me.”
“Noted,” Meredith said with a lighter tone. “Are we done talking? Because I have a big day tomorrow. I need my sleep.” She mentally patted herself on the back for saying even that much. After so many years of never standing up for herself even in small ways, speaking like this felt strange— almost rebellious.
She couldn’t count the times she’d lost precious hours of shut-eye because predictable Eric had insisted on talking— just as she’d been on the verge of sleep— and not about anything that mattered, either. Usually he’d watched TV for an hour as she tried to sleep. He nudged her shoulder and commented on the lame writing of a sitcom. Or he shook her harder, until she turned around, and then pointed to the television and ask where he recognized that actor from. A thousand times, if once, she’d reminded him that he could look it up on IMDB.
Ideally, she would have gotten the television out of their bedroom altogether, but that would have required sticking up for herself, and, well, she couldn’t do that. At least, she couldn’t before the divorce. The fancy flat-screen TV was gone now. She’d happily handed it over then spackled and painted over the holes.
Tonight, without the TV to distract him, he’d be even more likely to talk. She deliberately rolled away so he’d get the hint, but instead of trying to sleep, she stared into the darkness and imagined how their lives might have turned out if Eric had ever wanted to talk about something that mattered— a concern, a hurt, or a worry— or even if he’d asked for her opinion— her genuine opinion, not just what he wanted to hear— about something more important than who she would root for in the Super Bowl.
We did talk like that, she thought, eyes blurring with tears. A long, long time ago, when we were love-struck young things.
Neither of those people existed anymore. In the weeks since he’d moved out, she’d come to like herself again. She’d enjoyed getting ready for bed with only light music playing— pieces she’d chosen herself. She loved crawling into bed, reading a chapter or two of a good book, then turning off her lamp, and falling straight to sleep. She hadn’t missed the television or his constant trivial questions.
Why hadn’t he ever asked about things that mattered to her? Eric had been nothing if not predictable— happy to talk about a colleague, a work lunch, or golf— but never asking about her day caring for their young children.
Granted, she’d always gotten the generic question, “Doing good?” She hated questions that presumed an affirmative answer. The very same question, or a variation of it, came out regularly, rolling off his tongue with no more thought than he gave to a “thank you” tossed at the drive-thru window as he took his food.
He’d never wanted to know how she was doing. His “questions” contained no genuine interest or caring— no love that she could see. Actions speak so much louder than words, and “Doing good?” came out so that he could check off an item from the list of things a good husband was supposed to do: Walk in the door from work. Ask her “Doing good, hon?” Check.
Meredith closed her eyes tightly. Marriage should be more than a list of things you’re proud of having checked off.
On their wedding day, she’d taken her pastor’s counsel seriously and had fully believed that by being the perfect wife— which Pastor Jeffrey defined as “always putting your spouse’s needs and desires above your own”— that their marriage would be happy. It turned out that the advice didn’t work if only one person applied it.
She couldn’t fault Eric entirely; she knew that now. Hundreds of years ago, Newton had explained inertia. He applied the law to physical objects, but it applied to people, too. If a person gets and gets and gets, it’s only natural to take and take and take. If someone willing hands over everything they possess— even their very identity— without demanding anything in return, why would you demand more of yourself?
That summed up their marriage in a sad, painful nutshell. She’d given him so much that she’d lost herself piece by piece, until she was nothing but an empty, hollow version of the woman she used to be. Yet somehow, people thought that she was the bad one for wanting a divorce— the girls would, too, when they found out— while Eric was the hero. Even though he’d never worked on the marriage.
No, it was more that. She’d come to hate a lot more than his inaction. She resented Eric for not being there for her and for the kids. She’d been the one to attend unending soccer games, play practices, and piano lessons. She’d cheered from the stands and applauded— almost always alone. She’d attended every piano recital, done all of the housework. She’d done all of the yard work. She’d even taught herself how to take apart and fix the garbage disposal because Eric always claimed to be too busy or too tired to be bothered.
If he’d ever cheated or laid a hand on her, calling it quits would have been easier. The neighbor families could have understood the divorce then. They’d be in her corner. But this? This kind of divorce they didn’t understand, and it couldn’t be explained in a single tidy sentence. Twenty-five years held a multitude of subtle, yet complicated things combined into a Gordian knot of a noose. Her choices had come down to two options: suffocate or slice the knot to set herself free.
Two more weeks, and the divorce would be final; the journey was nearly over. And somehow, she lay beside Eric again. It almost felt normal. The mattress moved as he shifted positions. She closed her eyes and prayed that he was close to sleep. Tears leaked from her eyes and landed on her pillow with a soft taps. Her nose grew stuffy, so she breathed through her mouth and hoped Eric wouldn’t know she was crying. She tried to sleep, but thoughts of the last few months kept resurfacing.
He’s changed since moving out. Or has he?
He did mow the lawn the last few times of the season, and he’d started exercising more. She knew that last one less because of any overt evidence, like seeing him after a workout, covered in sweat, and more because his arms and chest were toned more than they’d been in a long time. He certainly seemed to have found an increased interest in taking care of himself.
Must be a midlife crisis, a way to pick up some young thing whose body is still perky, with everything pointing up. Just watch: he’ll buy himself a red convertible.
Meredith could see it now— Eric, with salon highlights in his hair, a tight T-shirt across his newly muscular chest, driving a shiny new Corvette with the top down. Beside him, a fake blonde, with more silicon in her body than Meredith owned in bakeware.
The tramp better be older than our girls.
She couldn’t help but tear up more at the thought. Maggie and Becca needed to find out soon— and from their parents, not from social media. In her mind’s eye, Meredith could see a Facebook post of their dad doing Jell-O shots with a bimbo the girls went to high school with. Meredith reached up and surreptitiously wiped both cheeks, then chastised herself for crying over something that hadn’t even happened.
The mattress shifted again; this time, the comforter moved too. She braced herself, breathing deliberately through her mouth so she wouldn’t sniffle. A hand rested on her shoulder. Its weight felt warm, familiar, comforting. She wanted to shrug it off, to tell him to keep his distance, but she didn’t— couldn’t.
She also couldn’t roll over and slip into Eric’s embrace. If she tried, he’d probably let her. But then something more might happen— something they’d both regret. And that would mess with her mind and heart too soon after she’d worked so hard to find peace. So she did nothing.
She let his hand stay there, the warmth seeping into her and, oddly, calming her.
After a moment, his thumb moved back and forth in a gentle arc. In spite of herself, Meredith couldn’t help but focus on it— and be glad of it.
“It’ll be okay,” Eric whispered. He gave her shoulder a squeeze then rolled over, facing away from her— surely giving her the space she’d asked for, making sure she knew that he would ask nothing of her tonight.
After a few minutes of trying to sort through her emotions, she rolled over too, facing his back. This time, she reached into the darkness, wanting to touch him, to scoot close and slip her arm over his waist or better yet, to have him roll onto his back, so she could curl into the space under his arm, where her shoulder fit perfectly beneath his, her head fitting in the slight dip between his chest and shoulder. But she didn’t touch him.
No going down that road again. No losing myself again, no turning back into a doormat. No more being the one sucked dry.
She and Eric knew no other dynamic. If she reached out and crossed the chasm now, she’d wind up in the same miserable boat again.
And yet... his hand on her shoulder had felt good. She’d wanted it to stay.
For months now, she’d been in search of the whole person she used to be instead of the half a person she’d been in half a marriage. She’d worked on herself, on finding out who Meredith Davenport, née Jones, really was.
She still didn’t know completely, but needed to. Figuring that out was important to her in ways she was only starting to grasp. She’d spent years burying wants, needs, and interests of her own, instead letting her identity be consumed by the labels of wife and mother. She had no regrets about becoming either of those things. Being a mother, especially, had brought her more joy and had shown her how deep her capacity was to love than any other role she’d ever possessed.
Yet she was the one eating the leftover mint chocolate chip ice cream, when she secretly preferred pralines and cream. She ate the burnt toast, let the family choose which movie to watch, even though she was sick to death of both superheroes and Nicholas Sparks.
When she stood by herself, without her children or her husband, who was Meredith Davenport? She didn’t know.
She could almost still feel Eric’s touch, and again fought the urge to reach out, reminding herself about why she’d filed for divorce.
Do I have to be alone to figure out who I am? Maybe. Maybe not.
The man beside her was technically still her husband. She could easily sidle close to him. He probably would roll over and hold her, kiss her brow...
No. Down that path lay danger.
She pressed one hand into her eyes to get rid of the images and the desire they brought with them, wiping a few lingering tears at the same time. Slowly, she rolled to her back and pulled the comforter up to her chin again. If she slept at all tonight, it would be a miracle.
Chapter Four
Meredith didn’t know how long she lay in the darkness, unable to sleep. She assumed that Eric slumbered away without a care in the world, until he shifted onto his back and spoke.
“Can I ask a question?” he said.
She stiffened. After a hard swallow, she hoped her voice would sound unruffled. “Of course.”
She immediately wanted to take back those two words; she didn’t want to hear whatever was pinging around his brain— something painful, no doubt. The comforter suddenly felt like a weight, trapping her in the bed. She wanted to pace the room or at least grab her stress ball from the bathroom counter, but she didn’t move a muscle. Eric didn’t ask his question for some time.
Might as well get it over with, she thought, so she finally prompted him.
“What’s the question?” she asked.
After a pause, he said, “Why?”
The single word carried the weight of a life together, of burdens larger than Meredith could vocalize. She knew what he meant, of course. But what did he really want to know? Why she’d filed for divorce? Why she’d been miserable for so long? Or how she’d reached the end of her rope? She opted to answer with another question.
“Why do you think?”
She heard a slight ruffling of his pillowcase, which indicated a shake of his head.
“I don’t know,” he said. “Is there... someone else?”
“What? No. Of course not,” she said. “How could you think that?”
Meredith wasn’t capable of such a betrayal. She’d been obsessively devoted to Eric, always waiting for the day he’d respond in kind. Wasn’t that what Dr. Phil always said? Marriage isn’t 50/50— it’s 100/100. She’d given it her all, while he’d sailed along, seeming to care nothing for the wake of pain he left behind.
“I couldn’t come up with another reason,” Eric said. “I thought we were doing okay.”
Angry now, blood pumped through her as she sat up and threw off the covers. “You thought we were doing okay?” she demanded. “We weren’t doing anything. I was, and you got all the credit, until I had nothing left.”
She clamped her mouth shut, suddenly scared. That was the most blunt she’d been with him, ever. Dozens of times over the years, she’d tried to explain her hurt, frustration, and weariness. He’d never listened. When all of your attempts to communicate don’t stick— when your partner might as well be emotional Teflon— eventually you stop trying. Same with expecting him to carry burdens with her. He had to be asked to “help” with his own house and his own kids, and even then, he rarely followed through.
On the other hand, she’d never confronted him in the middle of the night like this. Maybe if she had— fifteen years ago— things would be different now.
“Oh,” was all he said.
Meredith licked her lips and pulled the top of the comforter into her lap with both hands. For several minutes, neither of them spoke, but the tension grew as the silence stretched between them.
She looked over to the window. Through the rounded top, she watched as snow fell. By morning, the streets would look like no cars had driven on them, and the world would look fresh, clean, untouched. There had been a time when Meredith could feel the magic of fresh snow. Now, it meant having to blow and shovel it by herself, getting freezing cold. It would take several mugs of hot cocoa to warm her back up.
But hot cocoa can’t warm a heart. Her chest constantly felt like something hard had gotten lodged inside it— an eternal block of ice. She wanted the block to melt but didn’t know how to make that happen.
“Then... why?” he asked again.
She looked down at the shape of the comforter on her lap. “I tried telling you that I needed a partner, that I was miserable,” she said. “I did, over and over, but you didn’t listen. Turns out that a person can speak to a brick wall only so many times before realizing that they’re really banging their head against it. I guess you could say that I got too many emotional concussions.”
Eric sat up too. “I don’t remember you trying to explain anything.”
She lifted her face to the ceiling, wanting to yell and scream but knowing that this might be her only chance to make him see, so she had to stay calm. “I hate my car. I said the Element is ugly and boxy. We agreed to a new car, not an ugly used one. You bought it anyway.”
“No,” he said countered. “We agreed to a car that was both safe and a good deal. That’s what we got. You joked about the shape. You never said you hated it.”
“Yes, I—” She cut off, suddenly unsure. Had she actually said the word hate? Or had she only joked about the car, assuming he’d figure it out? Sixty seconds ago, she’d been so sure. Now... she couldn’t say with any certainty how the stupid Element had come to be hers.
She shook her head and tried to make her point a different way. “It’s not just about the car. What about quitting your job at the firm without finding a new one first— without telling me?”
“I was miserable there,” he said. “I told you that over and over. Maybe you didn’t hear me.”
She would
n’t let her own words used against her. “You still shouldn’t have quit without telling me first— without discussing it with me first.”
“You’re right,” Eric said. “I shouldn’t have.”
“What?” Meredith’s stared at him. She hadn’t expected that reaction.
“I should have discussed it with you,” Eric went on. “But that day, I had to make a snap decision. Pete was assigning me to the Frankfurt branch for eight months. He didn’t ask. It was either leave for Germany that Monday or quit. I knew you’d never travel that far for so long away from the girls, and I wasn’t about to go away for eight months without you. So, I quit.”
Why hadn’t he told her that at the time? Maybe because I was so mad at him for quitting that he didn’t think I’d listen.
Would I have?
“What about raising the girls? That wasn’t a one-time thing. You didn’t exactly do your share of parenting. You brushed off my requests and concerns. You never offered to help. It was all on me.” Then she gave him specifics— the games and recitals and more that she’d gone to alone.
“I traveled for work a lot,” Eric said. “I couldn’t be in two places at once.”
“You could have found a way to travel less.”
“Yeah. I guess,” he admitted.
“And you could have at least texted the girls to congratulate them or wish them luck.”
“You’re right,” he said. But she could sense a lingering argument hanging in the air.
“But?” she said, knowing that’s what he was thinking.
“But I didn’t say no to work trips because they meant bigger bonuses, more stock options, and better promotions. It’s thanks to those trips I could pay for things like a top-of-the-line car that wouldn’t break down when I was away, even though no, it technically wasn’t brand new. I went on those trips so that when I did have time off, the family could travel— I guess I thought that all the time we spent together on those trips was worth the sacrifice.”
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