by Jade Kerrion
Her eyes damp, she slid the card back into the envelope. Well, the joke was obviously on her. Gabriel had not even seen the card. If he had, surely he would have come in to her last night and demanded an explanation. She would have welcomed a chance to deal with an angry, irate husband instead of a man who simply wasn’t around.
She reached for her smartphone and pressed the third number on speed dial. The first two numbers would have connected her with Gabriel’s cell phone and Gabriel’s office, although she could not recall the last time she had actually called him.
They had nothing to talk about anymore. She ran the household on autopilot with the salary he deposited into their joint bank account each month, likewise on autopilot.
Her best friend, Cherish Petersen, picked up the phone. Like Valeria, Cherish had been an undergraduate business major at New York University, and they had taken several classes together, eventually moving beyond acquaintance into friendship. “What’s up, chica?” Cherish asked.
“I did it. Last night.”
“What did you do? Pick up a hunky sailor at the local bar?”
“There are sailors in the Upper East Side of Manhattan?” Valeria let herself get sidetracked by Cherish’s banter, because it was easier than getting consumed by the dread of having thrown a live hand grenade into her marriage.
“In the old days, sure. Now it’s mostly investment bankers, management consultants, and lawyers.” Cherish laughed. “So, what did you do?”
“I told Gabriel I wanted a divorce.”
Cherish’s laughter trailed into silence. After a long moment, she asked, “What did he say?”
“I don’t know.”
“You didn’t talk about it? He’s a lawyer. Talking…hell, arguing is an occupational hazard for him.”
“I wrote it down on a card and left it on the kitchen island. I don’t think he saw it.”
“Oh, Val.”
Valeria could hear Cherish’s exasperation in the sigh that breathed into her ear. She pressed her free arm across her stomach to contain the flutter of nerves. Her head ached, as if filled with too many half-thoughts.
Cherish asked, “Do you want your life to change, or not?”
“Yes. I just…”
“Just what?”
“Just don’t know if I have to blow it up to make it different.”
“Do you love Gabriel?”
Yes. That particular question she could answer without any trouble, although Valeria knew that Cherish, who was halfway out of her third marriage and already planning her fourth, would not have approved of Valeria’s response. One-sided love, as they both well knew, skewed the balance of power in a relationship. Valeria tried not to walk into the minefield of questions better left unanswered. “Isn’t the better question, does he love me?”
“Does he?” Cherish demanded.
Valeria drew in a deep breath, but it did not stem the ache in her chest. Her answer quavered on her lips, the truth unpalatable. “I…don’t think he does.”
“And there’s your answer,” Cherish said. “Your life’s not going to get better on its own. He’s too comfortable with the status quo. If you want change, you’re going to have to change it yourself. And that means telling him, as opposed to leaving a note on a card he’s not going to read.”
“I know,” Valeria said, chastised. She hung up on Cherish and stared at the card in her hand.
Happy anniversary. I want a divorce.
Had she meant it?
Yes. And no.
The “no” came out a little stronger.
Valeria’s shoulders sagged on a sigh as she held the card in the tips of her fingers. She would tear it, trash it, and not say a word to Gabriel. Perhaps she had had a lucky escape after all; she was not ready to blow up her marriage, especially if it was working for everyone else in it.
But what about me?
I want more…
She looked around her kitchen. Stainless steel appliances marked with designer brand names nestled next to polished butcher-block countertops that cost more than imported granite. The contents of the pantry would have looked perfectly at home at Whole Foods, and the wine closet was stocked with whites and reds that would have made the sommelier of any four-star Michelin-rated restaurant proud. Everything in the kitchen exuded tasteful luxury. She had come so far from her childhood home with its dirt-stained linoleum tiles, water-damaged laminate countertops, and empty pantry shelves.
The tears springing up in her eyes stoppered her throat. It was all Gabriel’s doing. He had done everything he had promised; how could she expect more?
Her smartphone rang, its tone customized. Gabriel. She swiped the tears away and inhaled deeply before accepting the call. “Hello?” Her voice, thank God, did not quaver.
“Val.” His deep baritone still sent a thrill of delight through her, probably because she often went days without hearing it, she thought cynically. “I managed to clear my schedule for lunch. Are you free to meet?”
Her heart thudded. He must have seen the card. Otherwise, he would never have cleared his schedule for her. “Yes, I am.”
“Great. There’s a little café in the basement of my office building.”
“I know the place.”
“Noon?”
“Sure.”
“Right. See you then.” He hung up without saying anything else.
Bemused, Valeria stared at her phone. The conversation was quintessential Gabriel—strictly business, always to the point, no room or time for random chitchat. He didn’t do social banter. He didn’t flirt. His laser-like focus on academic and professional success had made him unique in high school when the rest of their peers had drifted aimlessly through each class.
Surely it wasn’t fair to expect any differently from him after twenty years.
Twenty years. Had it really been that long?
Their future together had begun the night of their senior prom, a cheap and gaudy affair in a school, which bordered dangerous Bronx neighborhoods and seemed to attract the worst possible residents of both. It was not unusual to find shotgun shells littering the yard, next to discarded condoms and broken beer bottles. The neighborhoods had cleaned up since, but twenty years earlier, it definitely qualified as the “wrong side of the tracks.”
Gabriel, however, had been determined to make it to the right side of the tracks. They had left the prom together in his rust-stained Fiat, which rattled and knocked in a most alarming way any time he went above forty miles an hour. He drove to a little pizza joint in a better part of town. They snacked on cheese pizza in the car, and there, he had given her a promise ring, a burnished copper band that had left green stains on her finger.
He had apologized for the cheap ring, which had been all he could afford then, and swore that if she stuck with him, he would make it worth her while. She, however, had treasured the gesture, which accorded the ring a value far above its physical worth. If she had known back then that their fundamentally disparate views on life would cause problems twenty years down the road, she would have given that ring back to him.
“I’ll get us out of here,” he had promised her. “We’ll both go to college, then law school. When I become partner in a law firm, we’ll give our children everything we couldn’t have growing up. A beautiful house. A school where they can learn and play, and not worry about stray gunfire. We’ll have money. We’ll never have to choose between paying for electricity or rent, never have to eat peanut butter and jelly sandwiches ever again.”
Valeria sighed. Her present-day kitchen was at least half the size of the entire two-bedroom apartment house in which she had grown up. She had not worried about paying for electricity or the mortgage for years now. With the exception of the peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, which Marlena swore was one of the primary food groups and insisted on eating every day, Gabriel had kept his word. He had brought Valeria along with him every step of the way and anchored his promise to her with a sapphire engagement ring in their junior
year in college.
Working four jobs between the both of them, they had graduated from college, and for a few years after that, Valeria worked to support Gabriel through law school. They lived cheaply, the monotony of sandwich lunches and pasta dinners broken by inexpensive dates at fast food chain restaurants, but their gamble paid off. Gabriel graduated at the top of his class and joined a prestigious law firm, Brickstein and Felder. Her wedding ring, paid for with his signing bonus, was diamond studded. The ring he had given her on their tenth wedding anniversary two years earlier was even more lavish, custom-designed to complement her wedding ring.
She received endless compliments on her rings—the physical symbol of Gabriel’s love.
Valeria held her left hand out in front of her. The spotlights in the kitchen glittered against the sparkle of diamonds on her finger. Her sapphire engagement ring and the copper ring were tucked away in her jewelry case—cheap trinkets compared to the rings she wore.
Her breath shuddered as the irony of the situation suffocated her. The prices of the rings Gabriel had given here were inversely proportional to how much he loved her. At the rate she was going, her next ring would bear the Hope diamond, and Gabriel’s love would be ground down to nothing.
~*~
Valeria arrived at the café before the lunch crowd descended and found a booth in a quiet corner. She smoothed the skirt of her jersey knit dress and pressed the damp palms of her hands against the seat cushions. Her heart thudded although she focused on sitting up straight, her shoulders pressed back, and neck elongated. Poise, she knew, was the key to dealing with Gabriel. He hated emotional people, and he loathed histrionics. She glanced down at the small handbag on her lap. It concealed her anniversary greeting card like a dirty little secret. She had brought the card along to reinforce her courage and conviction. She would need it to counter Gabriel’s inevitable use of cold logic and hard reason.
The thought caught her by surprise. She held back a sigh, but a deep ache settled into her chest, weighing her down. Perhaps the biggest indicator of a marriage gone astray was that she was gearing up for a meeting with her husband as if preparing for war.
She glanced up as a tall figure in a gray business suit cut through the crowd and strode toward her. Her heartbeat accelerated, although how much of it was trepidation versus desire, she could not tell. Gabriel still was—in fact, had always been—an attractive man. His athletic frame showcased an unconscious grace, and his piercing gaze reminded her of a lynx she had once seen in the wild—watchful, thoughtful, inherently a predator.
When he saw her, his lips curved into a faint smile—the same practiced, professional smile he offered to everyone else. “Val.”
She rose and leaned forward. He brushed a kiss upon her cheek—their standard greeting, which she attributed more to their shared Hispanic heritage than to any conscious affection on his part or hers. Her traitorous nerves fluttered at his close proximity. With effort, she kept her voice from deteriorating into a breathy whisper. “Gabriel.”
He gestured with a sweeping motion and waited until she had reseated herself before he sat down. His gracious old-world manners, which he had picked up from his grandmother, had always set him apart from the crowd, even when they were teenagers scrabbling to put together a hot meal on the table.
Valeria took her cue when he picked up the menu. Whatever they had to discuss would be put on hold until they had gone through all the social motions associated with a lunch date.
A pleasant-faced waitress came by their table. “No sandwich to go today, Gabe?” she asked with a smile.
Gabe? Valeria’s eyebrows arched.
“Not today,” he said. “This is my wife, Valeria. Val, Patti West.”
“Glad to meet you.” Patti grinned. She pulled out her notebook. “What can I get for you?”
Valeria set aside the menu. “Caesar salad with grilled shrimp, and an iced tea, unsweetened.”
“Slice of lemon with that?”
“Yes, please.”
“What about you, Gabe?” Patti asked.
“Reuben sandwich, with soup instead of fries. I’ll have an iced tea too.”
“The sweetened mango flavored one, right?”
He nodded.
Valeria tried not to resent the fact that Patti, the waitress, seemed to know her husband better than she did, but the frustration caught in her throat and made it hard to breathe. She stared at Patti’s swaying hips as the waitress sashayed back to the kitchen. Beneath the table, she curled her trembling hands into fists.
“Val,” Gabriel’s voice recalled her. For someone as busy as he was, his tone was remarkably calm. The kindness in it surprised her until she recalled that he had a great deal of practice exercising patience with his more exasperating clients.
She turned her attention back to his face. Twenty years ago, he had been the slightly overweight, bespectacled class nerd, but she had seen only the intelligent wit in his brown eyes and the gentleness in his smile. The combination had been compelling enough for her.
Over the years, he had added several inches to his height, lost inches around his waist, and laser surgery had fixed his shortsightedness. He was, she realized, not quite the same boy she had fallen in love with, but she loved the man he had become.
She only wished she knew if he loved the woman she had become.
He looked down at the table, and Valeria caught a flicker of something—unease, perhaps—in his usually confident stance. “I saw the note you left on the island last night.”
Right, straight to the point, as usual. No apology for the fact that you missed dinner entirely, or that you forgot our anniversary. Valeria swallowed the flare of anger. No histrionics, she reminded herself. She knew he hated public displays of emotion; they didn’t work with the professional image he projected. She had to match Gabriel’s icy reserve.
Patti returned with their drinks, set down the glasses of iced tea, and then bustled off to another table.
“I was surprised,” he continued when Valeria did not speak.
“Really? What were you surprised about?” Wow, where had the icy reserve of her tone come from? It stiffened her spine and allowed her to meet his steady gaze without flinching.
“At your unhappiness.” He shook his head. “It came out of nowhere.”
“Not quite nowhere.” But then again, you haven’t been around to see it.
“What are you unhappy about?”
“Just…life, in general.”
“Life?” The question was uttered a tone he probably reserved for cowering witnesses on the stand. “What about life?”
This was her chance she had been waiting for—her chance to change things. “Just…” The words refused to articulate themselves. She waved her fingers, trying to express the discontent that gnawed at her each night when she lay alone in bed, listening for his footstep on the stairs. How could she describe the frustration of knowing that she would probably fall asleep from exhaustion before he was done with work for the night? “It’s just…life. It’s not good enough.”
“Not good enough?” His eyebrows drew together, and Valeria sensed that this time, his confusion was genuine. “What exactly? I thought we saw eye-to-eye on what we wanted our lives to be. My career. Your causes. The kids are smart, healthy, and in a great school. We have a great home with everything we could possibly need and want in it; rainy day savings for today; investments for retirement; 529 accounts for the kids.” He enumerated each blessing by checking against the fingers of his other hand. “What are we missing?”
“It’s just…not what I thought it was going to be.”
He stared at her, but said nothing for several moments as Patti laid their lunch orders on the table. Patti’s blue-eyed gaze shuttled between Gabriel and Valeria, as if she, too, had sensed the tension. “You all just let me know if you need anything else, okay?” She walked away, and the shroud of unease fell over their table once again.
Valeria picked up her fork and poked
it into her salad. She had no appetite for anything on her plate.
Gabriel did not touch his food. He stared at her. “You said life’s not what you thought it was going to be, but how is it different from what you expected?”
“It’s hard to explain—”
Exasperation flickered across his face.
“Damn it.” Her temper got the better of her. “I’m not a lawyer. I don’t have the fancy words.”
The heat in his eyes chilled. “I’m not looking for fancy words. I’m just asking for a simple answer—the courtesy of an explanation of how the life I thought I was providing for you isn’t meeting your expectations.”
Valeria squeezed her eyes shut. Was this what it felt like to face him in court? His demands pulsed through her skull. Fancy words. Simple answer. Courtesy of an explanation. Her brain faltered like an engine choked of fuel, and she blurted out the words that came from her heart. “Why is it wrong to want more?”
He looked taken aback. “It’s not.” Relief flooded his tone as if he had suddenly found himself on firm ground again. “What do you want? A new car? More jewelry?”
Valeria released her breath in a shuddering sigh. Why was Gabriel’s answer to the problem just more stuff, as if throwing things and money at the situation would solve it?
More importantly, why had she—stupidly—expected his answer to be any different? As a child, Gabriel had endured the wrenching aftermath of being desperately poor. He had made it perfectly clear to her that his single-minded goal was never to be in a position of having to make difficult financial choices ever again.
Apparently, he had taken her lack of response as an answer of sorts. His eyes seemed to drill into her. “Perhaps we just need some time away together.”
She straightened and met his gaze. Something surged through her—fragile and precious. It almost tasted like hope.