“Life.”
I stood.
Petra crossed her arms.
“Here we go.”
That phrase did more damage than she probably intended.
“Here we go?”
“Yes.”
“The jealousy thing again.”
I laughed.
Actually laughed.
Petra frowned.
“What’s funny?”
“I turned down Singapore.”
Her expression changed.
“Don’t.”
“Don’t what?”
“Use that.”
“I’m not using anything.”
“You bring it up every time.”
“I have mentioned it twice.”
“Because you want me to feel guilty.”
“I want you to understand scale.”
“What scale?”
“I gave up something enormous because you told me our life here mattered.”
“It does.”
“Then why am I spending Saturday nights alone while you talk about life with your ex-husband?”
“He’s my friend.”
“I’m your husband.”
“Those things aren’t mutually exclusive.”
“They shouldn’t be.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means I’m tired.”
Petra’s face hardened.
“Of Damon?”
“Of negotiating for your attention.”
“That’s dramatic.”
There it was again.
I looked at her for a long time.
“Do you even hear yourself?”
“Yes.”
“I don’t think you do.”
She walked into the kitchen.
I followed.
“What are we doing?”
She turned.
“What?”
“This.”
“Our marriage.”
“Eli.”
“No. I’m serious.”
“So am I.”
“I feel like your roommate.”
“That is ridiculous.”
“Is it?”
“Yes.”
“When was the last Saturday we spent together?”
She opened her mouth.
Stopped.
“When?”
“I don’t know.”
“Exactly.”
“That doesn’t mean we’re roommates.”
“What does it mean?”
“It means we both have lives.”
“You spend yours with Damon.”
She slammed one hand on the counter.
“Damon is my friend.”
“I know.”
“He was in my life before you.”
“I know.”
“And he is going to be in my life going forward.”
I waited.
Then she said it.
“If you can’t handle me spending time with my ex-husband, maybe we’re not right for each other.”
Silence.
Three seconds.
Maybe less.
I remember an odd sense of calm.
Not shock.
Recognition.
Like watching the final number appear in a calculation you already knew was going to end badly.
“You’re right.”
Petra blinked.
“What?”
“You’re right.”
“That isn’t what I meant.”
“I appreciate you saying it clearly.”
“Eli, stop.”
“I’m not doing anything.”
“You’re being passive-aggressive.”
“No.”
I shook my head.
“For once, I’m listening.”
Then I went upstairs.
I sat on the edge of our bed.
I expected anger.