Chapter 10
Monday morning I woke at six to the radiator clicking in my walkup on 81st. The envelope wasn't in my apartment. It was two miles downtown in Marcy Adler's locked drawer on Lex, but I could still feel its weight. I made coffee in the chipped pot the sublet came with and sat at the small table and looked at the suitcase under the bed. I had not pushed it into the closet. I wanted to see the black handle when I chose to stay.
At seven thirty I texted Julian the boundary line I had written Sunday night and kept revising.
"Trial separation starts today. I live here. You live at your place. We don't meet unless I ask. No workplace visits. Filing paused, not canceled. Are we clear on that?"
I watched the three dots appear and then disappear and then appear again. He answered at 7:42.
"Clear. I will not come by. I will not call. You reach out if you want. Signature stays. No pressure. Good luck today."
I held the phone a second longer than I needed to. The relief was quiet, not victorious. I put on my gray blazer, the same one from Gate 6, and walked to the train.
Midtown at nine was different when I wasn't running for a bus. Denise from temp staffing met me at the lobby of the building on 44th. She scanned my badge and said, "Elise, data entry, twelfth floor, windows face the alley but quiet." The room had six temps and the hum of old air conditioning. My job was to clean a spreadsheet of donor addresses for a nonprofit. I typed and my hands remembered the rhythm faster than my brain did. At lunch I ate a turkey sandwich from the deli downstairs at my desk because I didn't want to spend twelve dollars at the salad place.
At three, my phone buzzed once in my bag. I didn't look until my break at three fifteen. It was Julian. Only a photo, no text. The city bus turning onto 42nd. No caption. I stared at it and understood he had walked past Gate 6 on his way to work and thought of me. I didn't reply. The boundary was that I initiated. I turned the phone face down and went back to typing.
After work I walked instead of taking the train. I took Madison south for twenty blocks just to prove I could navigate without checking the map every two minutes. At 68th a church parking lot was empty except for a van selling tamales. The air smelled like onions and exhaust. I thought about how at Gate 6 his hand had reached for the telescoping handle and I had said, "Let go, Julian. I already signed the divorce." My voice had been loud enough for the bus driver to hear. Today I had used the same voice but softer, on a text.
Back in the apartment I took out a notebook and wrote the rules for the trial in ink the way Marcy wrote checklists.
1. Pay my own rent from temp pay.
2. Keep packet at Marcy's until I decide, not in my drawer.
3. Contact only if I want to, no weekly obligation.
May you like
4. If after six weeks I still want filing, file. If not, talk plain terms.
I read it aloud to the empty room to hear if it sounded like an adult. It did. I folded the paper and taped it to the fridge with a magnet shaped like an apple. The suitcase stayed under the bed, visible. I didn't need to pack. That was the point of this chapter.
