1: 1
I came home late from working overtime, and the broken lock on our door still hadn't been fixed.
I called Desmond Henson's name through the door for ages before he finally came out, annoyed.
"Don't you have a key? Why don't you just open it yourself?"
I froze. "The door won't open. I told you this morning to get someone to fix it."
He blinked, then said, flat and indifferent, "Forgot. I'll definitely call someone tomorrow."
Of course. That same couldn't-care-less attitude.
The laundry sitting in the washing machine, he'd forgotten to hang. When I asked, he said, "I never said I wouldn't. I'll go do it in a minute."
The kitchen scraps had gone rancid overnight, and I reminded him to take them down when he went out. He forgot again anyway. "I'll just make another trip later. No rush."
Every single time, he brushed it off like it was nothing.
I changed out of my shoes and stepped inside. "You couldn't hear me knocking all that time?"
He kept scrolling through his phone, not lifting his head. "Fifi and I were on a video call."
"She was in the middle of a shower and her water heater broke, so I was walking her through the repair."
I glanced down. He was still looking up a water heater maintenance tutorial.
So while I was locked outside, he'd been on video with his childhood friend, dripping wet and wrapped in a bath towel.
All these years of marriage, one call from Felicity Swanson, water out, gas out, power out, and he'd always rush over at once.
Seeing me not move, he set the phone down and pressed a hand to my shoulder to smooth things over. "All right, all right, I'll call someone to fix the lock right now, okay?"
Fixed or not, it didn't matter anymore, because the door I'd kept open for him in my heart, I was about to lock.
1
I went into the bathroom to shower and found this morning's laundry still sitting in the machine.
I'd had a meeting that morning and left early, and I'd made a point of telling Desmond to hang the clothes before he went out.
I turned to leave the bathroom, meaning to ask him about it, when his phone rang first.
A video request popped up, and Desmond hit answer on reflex.
On the screen, Felicity was wrapped in a towel, wet hair still dripping. "Des, my keypad lock's dead, I can't get in, it's so dark out here, I'm scared someone bad's around..."
Murmuring soothing words, he was already grabbing his keys from the entryway, heading out with his jacket only half on.
"I'll come charge it for you right now. Send me the lock model."
The door clicked shut behind him. Clean and quick.
He hadn't even taken a second to tell me.
Towel in hand, I stood in the bathroom doorway and slowly looked around this home I'd put so much care into.
Suddenly it all felt absurd.
All this time, I'd just been too foolish, too earnest.
My phone buzzed. A message from my boss.
"Winnie, the fellowship slot has to be submitted in the next couple of days. You're sure you want to give it up? These chances are rare. Think it over again."
I stared at that line for a long time.
Before, I'd never wanted to live apart from Desmond.
Now, thinking about it, he probably wouldn't care either way.
I wrote back to my boss, "Okay. I'll go."
Once I'd sent it, I turned and walked into the bathroom.
I hung the laundry first, then showered, dried my hair, turned off the light, and got into bed.
Desmond didn't come back until the middle of the night.
He pushed the door open, climbed into bed, and leaned in close, murmuring, "Did I wake you?"
I didn't move.
He tried again. "Did you hang the laundry? I told you I'd do it. You always rush."
Once, I would have rolled over and sat up and demanded why, when I'd reminded him again and again, he still forgot.
The clothes had sat shut in the machine all day, nearly rotting!
But I'd said all of that plenty of times. I didn't want to say it anymore.
When I didn't answer, he went on by himself. "Fifi didn't know how to charge the electronic lock. If the keypad died and someone got in, a girl living on her own like that, of course I had to go over."
I opened my eyes. "Does she not have hands? Can't read a manual? Can't call customer service?"
The moment it was out, Desmond paused. "Do you really have to be this nasty?"
"Fifi lost her parents when she was little. Is it so strange that I look out for her a bit more? What's with the snide tone?"
I rolled over, turning my back to him.
Behind me it went quiet for a few seconds, then came the sound of him getting up and going into the bathroom.
He showered and came back to bed.
He pressed against me, his arm winding around my waist. "All right, all right, don't be mad, I'll be more careful from now on, okay? Hm?"
He coaxed me, his temper softening a little, his lips moving toward my ear, and in the warm breath there was that perfume Felicity always wore.
A wave of nausea rose in my stomach.
I pulled his arm off me and rushed into the bathroom, retching over the sink.
Desmond didn't follow. I heard him grumble from the bed, "Winifred Whitney, don't take this too far!"
I braced myself against the sink and stood, rinsed my mouth, and came back to the bed.
Desmond had already rolled over, his breathing even, asleep.
I stood at the foot of the bed and looked at him for a while, then picked up my phone and messaged my boss one more time.
"I'm sure about the slot. Please start the process for me."
