Chapter 4
I woke up on Monday to the sound of trucks on Lexington and a radiator that clicked even though it was May. The apartment on 81st was a third-floor walkup I’d found Sunday afternoon on my phone while sitting on the diner curb after Julian left. A sublet from a grad student for six weeks, furnished with a mattress on a frame, a chipped kitchen table, and blinds that didn’t close all the way. I’d paid the deposit with the last of my savings and promised the rest on Friday after my first paycheck. That was the math that kept me honest.
My suitcase stood by the door where I’d left it. Black hard-shell, handle down. I hadn’t unpacked it. I kept thinking if I left it packed I could still leave.
I made coffee in a pot the girl had left, rinsed a mug twice, and sat at the table with my copy of the divorce papers. My signature was there on the last page, dated May 9th, notarized at a UPS store on 42nd. Julian’s line was blank. Marcy’s card was tucked under it. Marcy Adler, Esq., Lexington Avenue, small print that said family law and mediation.
My phone buzzed at 8:14. Julian.
I let it ring once before I answered. I’d told myself I wouldn’t avoid him before Tuesday.
“Morning,” he said. His voice was less out of breath than at Gate 6. Quieter. “Did you get home okay?”
“Yeah. I got a place. Up on 81st.”
A pause. He breathed on the other end. “You need anything? Towels, groceries? I can drop off—”
“No,” I said quickly. “I’m good. I don’t want you bringing things over.”
“I wasn’t going to come up. Just leave them.”
That was Julian, always trying to be useful in a way that made me feel managed. During the marriage he’d stocked the fridge without asking what I ate, paid the Con Ed bill before I saw it, fixed the faucet while I slept. Help that felt like a ledger.
“I’ve got it,” I said. “I start work Thursday. I’ll get what I need after that.”
Another pause, longer this time. “Okay,” he said. “Tuesday still good? Ten?”
“Ten,” I said. “Your copy notarized.”
“Already did it this morning,” he said. “I’ll bring it.”
After I hung up, I sat there with the mug in both hands and looked at the blinds. Light fell in stripes across the table. I could hear the woman downstairs starting her shower. I’d chosen this place because it wasn’t our old apartment on 38th, because the walls were thin and the street was loud and it felt like nobody could pretend anything here.
I finally unzipped the suitcase. The sound was loud in the quiet room. My gray blazer and skirt from Gate 6 were folded on top, still holding the shape of the bus shelter bench. I lifted them out and hung them in the closet that smelled like cedar and old paint. White V-neck underneath. Black heels placed neatly together on the floor. At the bottom were the things I hadn’t needed to show Julian: a framed photo from our City Hall day where we both smiled too hard, a manila envelope with his engineering transfer letter, my birth certificate I’d brought thinking I might need ID to leave the state.
I unpacked the rest into the dresser drawers. Jeans, t-shirts, a sweater I’d bought for interviews. When the suitcase was empty I slid it under the bed instead of leaving it by the door. It fit exactly.
At noon I walked to the dollar store on 86th and bought two towels, gray, a dish rack, a sponge, and a small plant that was already drooping. The guy at the register said “welcome to the neighborhood” without looking up. I carried the bag home and the handles cut into my fingers. In the apartment I put the towels on the radiator to look like someone lived there, set the plant on the windowsill, and washed the one mug again even though it was already clean.
I sat on the edge of the mattress and texted Marcy’s office to confirm Tuesday.
We’re confirmed, 10am, she replied. Bring photo ID and unsigned copy.
May you like
I typed back Thanks and stared at the word unsigned until the screen went dark. I was still married. The paper on the table said so in the blank space. The apartment around me said I was alone. Both were true.
That night I ate cereal at the chipped table and listened to the trucks. I didn’t miss the bus anymore. I missed the idea that getting on it would have been simple.
