Eventually one of them said they should stop pretending.
They did.
When Laura and I became serious, she told me Michael had been her first real love.
That phrase bothered me more than I admitted.
First real love.
It created a category.
I was not first.
Perhaps I was supposed to be lasting.
I never asked.
Michael came up occasionally.
A restaurant Laura remembered.
A concert they attended.
A trip to Asheville.
A story about getting stranded during a snowstorm.
Nothing inappropriate.
People have histories.
I had dated people before Laura too.
I did not expect marriage to erase the years before we met.
Michael married someone else several years after Laura and I married.
I remember when Laura found out because one of their old college friends posted wedding photographs.
She showed me one.
“That’s Michael.”
I looked.
He was standing beside a blonde woman in a vineyard.
“Seems happy.”
I said.
“I hope he is.”
Laura replied.
That was it.
At least I thought it was.
Nine years into our marriage, Michael’s name appeared on Laura’s phone again.
It happened on an ordinary Thursday evening.
I was cooking chicken.
Laura sat at the kitchen island scrolling through her phone.
She suddenly said:
“You’re not going to believe who messaged me.”
I kept stirring the pan.
“Brad Pitt?”
“Better.”
“That is statistically unlikely.”
She smiled.
“Michael.”
I stopped.
Not dramatically.
Just enough.
“Michael Michael?”
“My ex Michael.”
“What does he want?”
“He says hello.”
She turned the screen toward me.
I did not read the whole message.
I remember the beginning.
“Hey, Laura. This is probably strange after all these years, but I’ve been thinking about old friends lately…”
I turned back to the stove.
“That is strange.”
“He’s getting divorced.”
That got my attention.
“How do you know?”
“He said it.”
Laura kept reading.
“They’ve been separated almost a year.”
“He says the paperwork is nearly done.”
I nodded.
“What are you going to say?”
“I don’t know.”
Then she looked at me.
“Would it bother you if I answered?”
There are moments in life when your instincts react faster than your principles.
My instinct said yes.
My principle said no.
I did not want to be the husband who told his wife which former friends she could speak to.
So I said:
“No.”
“Why would it?”
Laura smiled.
“Thanks.”
I wish I could say something immediately felt wrong.
It did not.
She answered.
He answered back.
They exchanged a few messages.
Then we ate dinner.
For the next week, Michael came up every few days.
He was living outside Raleigh again.
His marriage had apparently been difficult for years.
His wife initiated the separation.
He had changed jobs.
His father had died.
He was reevaluating things.
Laura seemed sympathetic.
“He sounds lonely.”
She said one night.
I was reading in bed.
“He probably is.”
“He lost a lot in a short time.”
“Divorce does that.”
I turned a page.
Then Laura said:
“He asked if I wanted to grab coffee.”
The book stopped making sense.
I looked at her.
“When?”
“Saturday.”
“You want to?”
“I think so.”
“Why?”
She immediately became defensive.
“Because we were close once.”