Jess carried her suitcase down the long flight of stairs, and seeing the effort it took felt like a jolt through Malcolm’s bones, that feeling like missing the last step. He watched her heave it into the trunk of her car, somehow, he didn’t think she’d be able to do it, and then he just stood there while she went back for the duffel, also packed tight.
The craziest thing, the thing he couldn’t stop thinking about after she was gone, was that as he was driving home from the gym, he thought she might come over to the bar with him, help him judge the costumes and award prizes, throw a few darts if she was having fun. It had been such a long time since she went there just to hang out, and she loved Halloween. They’d been moving around each other without seeing one another lately, but that week she’d touched his arm as she passed behind him at the sink. She’d reached for him in her sleep and fitted her body around his. He thought things were getting better, but actually, all that time, she was saying goodbye.
What did he do in his house for two hours, alone, before he left for the bar? Aside from answer the door over and over and over again. It was lost time. The last thing she said to him was a warning not to leave the candy bowl outside because one bratty kid would just dump the whole thing in his bag. And then they looked at each other across a distance of maybe ten feet—she on the front lawn, he at the door, and he thought, Jesus Christ, she’s micromanaging the candy bowl even now.
He almost never drank at work but once he got to the bar that Halloween night, he did two shots, quickly, before the party started, and then three more, spaced about thirty minutes apart so he was never drunk, exactly, just better able to contain thoughts of Jess in a corner of his mind. He gave out the prizes for best costumes, singles and groups. He thought he was being normal, being fun even, but then Emma’s mouth was by his ear, asking if he wanted to take a break.
“I had a rough afternoon,” he said, standing close to her as he took in the delicate frame her collarbones made for her shoulders, the way her shirt skimmed her body. He was about to tell her what happened, that he and Jess had separated, he guessed, if that was the right word, but they got interrupted by a group of women a little older than Malcolm who’d come dressed as a nineties girl band and wanted a photo with him. So he smiled, and they leaned against him and cocked their hips, and then they huddled over phones and after a moment asked for another photo, just one more, a slightly different angle. He wondered how old their children were, if they had children. He wondered if they were divorced. He could tell which ones among them had once been hot, and which had blossomed later, after marriage, after motherhood, perhaps, a rare trajectory.
He considered telling them that they had a few good years in them still, despite their age, and that’s when he suspected he might be more drunk than he thought he was. Emma guided him to a stool, told him he could be the master of ceremonies from a seated position. And then she brought him a pint of water and a plate of fries.
He half expected to arrive home hours later and find Jess there, waiting for him. “Sorry about before,” she might say, her voice hoarse with sleep. “Can we talk about it tomorrow?” But inside, the house was as empty as it had been when he left, a dirty coffee mug in the sink.
* * *
He thought, at first, that he might never have to tell her about his side deal with Hugh. One day, when business was booming and they were organizing their assets, he’d present her with a nice surprise.
But she wouldn’t leave it alone. Hugh sent a fruit basket to the house along with a card that referenced the smart decision Malcolm had made, the good bones the place had. Jess kept leaning across the counter to take another look at the message, asking Malcolm what it meant.
“He just means best of luck, I guess,” Malcolm said, shrugging. But there was something in the construction of the message. She kept rereading it like she was dowsing for water, going around with her rod, poking surfaces.
At first, he could see, she honestly didn’t know. But then, two days after closing, while Malcolm was sleeping and she was getting ready for work, it dawned on her.
“Did you buy the building? Did we? The contract I saw only included the business.”
She never woke him before she left for work, but that morning she shook him until he opened his eyes. She asked him to please sit up.
So he told her, and she went pale, stared at him for a long time. She asked if he’d hired a lawyer, and when he said he had not, she went even more pale. He thought for a moment that she’d hold back, that she’d see that it wasn’t all that different from what they agreed to except they’d have to shoot some money over to Hugh, too. And for that they owned a building! A building with enormous potential! But after a moment of silence where it turned out she was only gathering her strength, she asked everything at once: the terms, the payout structure, what happens if he defaults. She asked to see what he signed.
“I didn’t sign anything. We did it on a handshake.”
She pressed her palm to her forehead and stood there for a moment, staring at him. He’d never known her to be at a loss for words before.
“You left me out of things, too,” he said, before she could start.
“What did I leave you out of? I never hid anything from you!”
“Give me a break,” he said. “You knew I didn’t want to take everything so far. You knew I didn’t, but you kept making appointments. Last time you had your baselines taken before I even knew we were doing it again. That was sneaky.”
“Sneaky! The window was so small, and getting smaller every single day. You want to think about everything for a month, but there was absolutely no time for that. I’m not a mind reader, Malcolm. I thought we wanted the same thing. If you were that against it, you could have made yourself heard.”
“I wasn’t against it. I just—it was like a vacuum that sucked up everything.”
“You’re obsessed with how much it cost. To have a child. Ask anyone what they think their child is worth, and they’ll tell you she’s invaluable.”
“I’m sure they would! But we don’t have a child, Jess. So this isn’t the same. And anyway, what I meant was that it was sucking all the joy from our lives. It was all we ever thought about. But sure, money, too. You act like that’s superficial or something but people like us—people like you and me—we can’t afford multiple big dreams. We can only afford one. And I just wonder why it had to be that one. When it was very clear to everyone except you that it wouldn’t work out.”
“Then why did you go along for so long? If you were so sure it wouldn’t work?”
“Because,” he said, and looked at her like the answer was so obvious he’d never bothered putting it into words.
“Because?”
“Because it’s what you wanted.”
* * *