After that exchange, nobody seemed particularly interested in eating.
Gerald cut another piece of steak, but he didn't finish it.
Walter held his glass without drinking.
I could hear the rain more clearly now.
The house was quiet except for the occasional sound of silverware touching a plate.
I looked around the dining room.
I knew that room better than either man probably realized.
I knew which cabinet held the serving dishes.
I knew where the extra tablecloths were kept.
I knew which chair Walter preferred and which light switch sometimes needed to be pressed twice.
I knew because I had lived there.
I had helped make the house function.
And now Gerald had announced that I had forty-eight hours to leave it.
He called it his house.
That was another thing I couldn't stop thinking about.
For years, I had never divided our life into his and mine.
The meals were ours.
The responsibilities were ours.
The company was ours.
The difficult days were ours.
But when he wanted to end the marriage, the house suddenly became something that belonged to him alone.
I looked at the place where he had pushed the envelope.
"Why forty-eight hours?"
He frowned.
"What?"
"Why did you decide I had two days?"
"Because I don't want this dragging on."
I nodded slowly.
"You've had forty years."
He looked away.
Walter made a small sound of irritation.
"There's no reason to turn this into a discussion about the past."
I turned toward him.
"You brought up the past when you told me I had taken too much from your family."
He didn't respond.
I had never thought of myself as someone who kept score.
I wasn't.
But I was beginning to understand that there were people who remembered every benefit they believed they had given you while forgetting every responsibility you had carried for them.
I remembered Walter's appointments.
I remembered his prescriptions.
I remembered the soup.
I remembered the times I had made sure things were arranged because Gerald was busy.
I had never asked Walter to thank me.
But I had not expected him to sit across from me and speak as though I had spent forty years taking advantage of him.
I looked back at Gerald.
"When did you decide I wasn't entitled to a conversation?"
He rubbed his forehead.
"That's not what this is about."
"Then tell me what it is about."
He didn't answer directly.
Instead, he pointed toward the envelope.
"Everything is in there."
I glanced at the documents.
There was a proposed settlement.
There was the acknowledgment.
There were papers I had not signed.
I wasn't going to pretend I understood every detail of what Gerald wanted simply because he had placed it in front of me.
I had read the first page.
I knew what it said.
I also knew what it didn't say.
I had no intention of signing the remaining pages without understanding them.
Gerald seemed annoyed by that.
"You're making this harder than it needs to be."
I almost said that he had made it hard the moment he decided to announce a divorce over dinner.
But I held back.
There was something about his confidence that made me want to be careful.
I didn't want my words to become another excuse for him to describe me as unreasonable.
So I remained quiet.
I folded my napkin.
Then I placed it beside my plate.
Walter finally drank from his glass.
He looked toward Gerald.
I noticed the exchange.
They had been doing that all evening.
A glance.
A nod.
A brief movement of the head.
It was as though they had discussed this beforehand and were now waiting for the final steps to happen.
I wondered how long they had planned the dinner.
Had Gerald chosen Monday because it was convenient?
Had Walter been told what would happen before I came downstairs?
I didn't know.
I wasn't going to invent answers.
I only knew that neither man looked surprised by the announcement.
I was the only person at the table who hadn't known.
That realization hurt.
I stood and collected my plate.
Gerald looked up.
"Where are you going?"
"To the kitchen."
"You don't have to do that."
I looked at the plates.
For forty years, I had cleared the table after meals.
It was a habit.
Even when I was tired, I usually did it without thinking.
But that evening, I paused.
Then I put my plate back down.
"I know."
I sat again.
It was a small decision.
Perhaps nobody else noticed.
But I did.
I didn't have to keep doing every familiar thing simply because I had always done it.
Gerald looked uncomfortable.
I couldn't tell whether it was my words or my silence.
Walter moved his chair slightly.
"Teresa, you should be practical about this."
I turned toward him.
"I am trying to be."
"Then accept what has been offered."
I looked at the envelope.
"An offer isn't an agreement."
He said nothing.
I understood then that they wanted a quick conclusion.
They wanted the acknowledgment signed.
They wanted me to accept the settlement.
They wanted me to leave.
And they wanted all of it to happen without anyone asking what had come before.
But I remembered.
I remembered the early office.
I remembered the Friday payroll.
I remembered the blue binder.
I remembered Gerald sitting on the kitchen floor.
I wasn't ready to let those things be erased by a dinner announcement.
Click here to continue reading: PART 7: The Blue Binder Had Been Sitting Between Three People Who Trusted One Another, and I Could Still Remember Every Signature
The Dinner I Thought Was Ordinary Until My Husband Put Down His Knife and Changed Everything
Part 6 of 20
