“I’m not skulking,” she says. She brandishes a pen in her left hand. “I forgot to give you your pen back.”
I take it back from her with a little more force and annoyance than normal. “Thank you.”
“Who were you texting anyway?” she asks.
I stretch my arm down to retrieve my phone. “No one.” I quickly glance at the screen and notice another message has come through. I don’t have time, or enough stealth, to check if it’s James. Instead, I toss my phone into my cup holder and say, “I’ll talk to you later.”
I start to roll up my window when Sylvia tosses over her shoulder, “Bye!”
CHAPTER FIVE
James
NOW
“We wroteand committed the code, so the software should be up to date now. I was hoping you could take a look? If you don’t mind…” The request trails off as Diane, our senior software developer, ends her request with an apologetic grimace.
I nod at my two monitors sitting side by side, the one on the left displaying a screen split four ways like the opening credits toThe Brady Bunch. Though, I can probably bet my next paycheck most of those on this call don’t know who or whatThe Brady Bunchis.
“Don’t mind at all,” I reply. “It’s part of my job.”
“We initially started with Java after going back and forth between C++. Now we’re discovering so many bugs we might have to reconsider the base design,” Terry chimes in from the bottom right corner, “and I hate to ask when we should’ve had this figured out, but?—”
“Don’t worry about it,” I assure, interrupting what I’m sure was about to be a list of unnecessary excuses and apologies. “I really don’t mind giving it another look.”
Terry nods, the sky behind her already dark with the later hour in New York. “We really appreciate it. And I know the timedifference might throw things off, but I can extend my office hours if needed.”
Diane smiles kindly, the backdrop of her screen similar to mine with her office being only a few doors down. “Whatever you find, just let us know. We’ll be sure to review it with the team.”
I sneak a glance at the time on my screen. It’s past five, and I should’ve been on the road already, but this meeting took a little longer than expected.
“Listen, I have to go,” I announce to the team. “Just email me if you need anything, and I’ll talk to you separately tomorrow, Diane.”
We all bid our farewells, though a little less enervated than when the meeting started. This is why I hate end-of-day meetings. The attention span of those in attendance, myself included, is lacking, and we’re more focused on the seconds ticking away to punch out instead of more important things like actual work-related matters.
I’ve been at Nexus Sphere for about six years. Just after Sophia was born. It was a move I discussed in detail with Kendall at the time. I was growing a little weary at my old job. We’d just bought a house, and so many things were changing already. But that’s the thing with treading into the unknown. You worry about things you didn’t even need to worry about while forgetting to contemplate and brood over the things tucked far away in the back of your mind. Things that should’ve been brought to the forefront and held more of my attention.
I log off my desktop and head out the door. The elevator ride is filled with the same listless energy my meeting had with the long workday hitting myself and fellow office goers. As I walk past the security desk in the lobby, I feel my phone buzz in my pocket. I unlock it at the same time I enter the parking lot. It’s a text message from Kendall.
Kendall
I’m stopping by the store. Do you want me to pick up some dessert? Sophia’s been asking for ice cream.
It shouldn’t feel out of place, this near mundane back and forth between husband and wife, but it feels anything but. Messages with no heft or substance haven’t been a part of the repertoire in a while. Every text message, every strained phone call has weight to it. Otherwise, they wouldn’t exist. There would be no exchange of words without an essential cause.
It could’ve been weeks, or even months, since the last time we sent each other a message like this. They never mattered to me, and they felt just as ordinary as brewing a morning cup of coffee or making sure all the doors are locked before going to bed. But now, they’re significant. My heart skips a beat with each nugget of information my wife is willing to give me with a glimpse into her day.
I’ve been measuring our interactions on a scale. One end marked “good day” and the other aptly marked “bad day.” Sometimes, the small indicator in the middle leans in our favor, inching toward a good day. And on other days, on those particularly bad days, I don’t even look at it. I notice it’s on the good days these messages come in more predictable intervals. It’ll always be something informative like that we need more milk, or she’s running a little late because she’s getting gas or picking up something from the store. I’ll come home, and she’ll meet my eyes more often, smile at a joke I make for Sophia, usually at my expense. On the bad days, my phone stays silent. I don’t hear from her until I get home, and she offers a terse smile instead of a warm inquiry about my day.
I don’t understand how we got here. How years of hurt and bad luck led to the state of our marriage now. Too frail to hashout every argument. Every ordeal, every blow, every painful memory. Too hopeful to jump the bridge into divorce.
Divorce. It feels like a barbed vise around my heart. Even if we don’t share every detail of our lives or have weirdly unserious talks like if we’re scared of dying or whether or not we believe in aliens, the thought of not being able to see her walk through our home leaves a hollow cave in my chest. It might be why we’ve never talked about it, never brought it up as an option.
James
I’m good. Thanks for asking.
Kendall
