View toward the port.
I bought almost nothing at first.
Bed.
Desk.
Couch.
Coffee machine.
The apartment looked empty.
I liked that too.
No shared history in the furniture.
No negotiations.
No memory attached to a table.
The divorce proceeded mostly through attorneys.
Petra cooperated.
That mattered.
There was no attempt to punish me financially.
No last-minute games.
No exaggerated claims.
We divided the proceeds of the townhouse.
Retirement accounts were handled.
Personal property settled.
Six years of legal marriage was reduced to documents with section numbers.
Carol sent me forms.
I signed.
Petra signed.
Time passed.
One afternoon, about three months after I moved, an email appeared.
From Petra.
Subject: No action needed.
I almost left it unread.
Then opened it.
Eli,
I’ve rewritten this several times because every version sounds like I’m asking you to make me feel better, and I don’t want to do that.
I understand more now than I did when you left.
I kept believing that because Damon and I weren’t sleeping together, your discomfort was something you needed to work through rather than something our marriage needed to address.
I see how selfish that was.
I also see that every time you tried to talk, I defended my intentions instead of listening to your experience.
I’m sorry.
I don’t expect an answer.
I hope Singapore is everything you needed it to be.
Take care of yourself.
Petra
I read it twice.
Then a third time.
I believed her.
I also knew it changed nothing.
I wrote back.
Thank you for writing this. I mean that. I’m doing okay here, and I hope you are too. Take care of yourself, Petra.
That was all.
For several months, that was our final personal communication.
Todd became my unofficial Seattle intelligence network.
I rarely asked.
He occasionally told me things anyway.
Petra had moved into an apartment in Capitol Hill.
Still at Hale & Strand.
Doing well.
Damon was no longer in her life.
Apparently he had begun dating someone a few weeks after Petra cut contact.
Todd expected me to care.
I didn’t.
“Seriously?” he asked during a video call.
“Seriously.”
“You don’t think that proves something?”
“What?”
“That Damon was waiting around?”
“Maybe.”
“Doesn’t that make you angry?”
“No.”
Todd looked disappointed.
“You’re boring now.”
“I live eleven thousand kilometers away.”
“So?”
“So whatever Damon wanted is his problem.”
“And Petra?”
“Her problem.”
Todd stared.
“You’re actually over it.”
“I’m getting there.”
Month four, Todd visited.
He hated the humidity.
Complained about it before we left the airport.
“People voluntarily live in this?”
“Millions.”
“Why?”
“Food.”
That convinced him.
We spent three days eating.
Maxwell Food Centre.
Old Airport Road.
Chinatown Complex.
Laksa.
Hainanese chicken rice.
Satay.
Char kway teow.
Chili crab.
Todd decided Singapore had earned the right to be humid.