Lisa’s Sunday plan had been wings and a cold and a boy on the carpet. She had texted Pam that she was staying in. Pam had sent the flute plea. Lisa had sent a heart and stayed. Rick had not seen the heart. He had seen an old pattern and bet on it. The bet failed in the commercial. Commercials were when phones got picked up. She would think about that later, the ordinary gesture, the buzz, the preview. Ordinary had been the trap. She did not stop being ordinary. She stopped trusting his schedule.
Cole told one friend, a boy named Derek, that his dad was at Uncle Mike’s because of a phone. Derek said phones were how his aunt left. Cole said huh. They played a video game with the sound low. The low sound was courtesy to Lisa, who was on the phone with Joan. Courtesy was a skill Cole was learning early. Lisa heard the low sound and was grateful and angry that he had to learn it. Both fit in the dull green room. She let them fit.
The separation papers took four months. Rick did not fight the house. He fought a Saturday when he wanted the Sunday back and lost. Sundays stayed Lisa’s. She did not watch the team. Cole watched at Derek’s sometimes and came home with the score. Lisa said thanks. She did not need the score. She took it because he had brought it. Bringing was the opposite of a thread she had not been meant to read.
Heather sent one more text to the old phone before it died in the drawer: I am sorry about the kid. Lisa did not answer. Sorry about the kid was a sentence that made the wife the extra. Lisa was not the extra. She was the house. The house had a new wall color and a banister that no longer held a jersey. That was the reply she could live with. Silence, accurate.