Never What It Was

My wife and I had agreed to spend the holiday at my parents' house. Right before we walked out the door, she said, "I forgot to change my address again. The package was delivered to Grant's place!" I went still. Three years of marriage, and yet she had never once updated her default shipping address. A microwave she ordered online was delivered to her ex-boyfriend. She said it worked out, since his microwave was broken anyway. The anniversary gift she had picked out for me was signed for by her ex-boyfriend. She said it would be too awkward to ask for it back. The Valentine's Day gift she ordered for me online ended up in her ex-boyfriend's hands. She said she could not give me something secondhand, so she let him keep it. This time, she was ordering a holiday gift basket, and I had reminded her two weeks in advance. It still went to her ex-boyfriend. I kept my voice as steady as I could. "Go get it back. Drive over there right now." Her expression darkened. "He already signed for it. How am I supposed to get it back? We'll just pick something up on the way." "Get it back," I said. "Do you have to be so petty?" she snapped. "You're a grown man. You always have to make such a big deal out of everything." Every time something ended up at her ex-boyfriend's place and I asked her to get it back, that was the answer I got. My hands clenched until the knuckles went white as I watched her slam the door on her way out. I ignored the dull ache in my chest and sent a message to my lawyer. "Happy holidays. Could you please draft a divorce agreement for me? Thank you." Chapter 1 I bought replacement gifts and went to my parents' house for the holiday alone. They both found it strange. "Where's Linnea? Didn't she say she was coming today?" "Is everything all right between you two?" I smiled. "Sorry. Her office called her in for last-minute overtime." They both nodded. "Work comes first." However, I was staring at my phone, at a social media post from my wife's ex-boyfriend, Grant Tierney. There was a caption and a carousel of photos. The caption read, "The holiday surprise she put together for me. She really went all out." The gourmet gift box I had spent weeks researching had been unwrapped, everything arranged and plated exquisitely. He had already gone through all of it. In one of the photos, a pair of hands was arranging the contents. The fingers were slender and delicate, with a small scar across the right thumb. I recognized them immediately. They belonged to my wife, Linnea Fairchild. I also noticed that the wedding ring was gone from her left ring finger. Not a trace of it remained. Our mutual friends had liked the post and left comments underneath. "I keep saying you two should just get married already!" I liked the post. Within minutes, Linnea's voice messages came through. "Theo Aldridge, you kicked me out on a holiday. What was I supposed to do, eat on the side of the road? "It's bad enough that you threw a fit with me, but doing it in front of Grant so everyone can laugh at us? That's humiliating." Every sentence was an accusation. I did not understand how liking a post qualified as throwing a fit. Beyond that, there was the name itself. Grant. His name always came out warm, almost fond. However, when she said mine, it was flat, clipped, like she was calling a colleague. I had brought it up once and told her that it bothered me. Linnea had waved it off without a second thought. "It's just the way I say things. Do you have to be so sensitive?" I scrolled back through our message history. "Is the coffee here yet? It's been over two hours. Can you check if something happened with the driver?" "I forgot to change the address. It got delivered to Grant's place." "Can you please just set your default address to our apartment? Can you just delete his address from your phone?" "It's one cup of coffee. Do you have to be this hysterical about it? That's embarrassing. Just order yourself another one." She was the one who had promised to order it for me. I waited over two hours, and all that anticipation amounted to nothing. Furthermore, she turned it around on me. I scrolled further back. "Babe, it's almost midnight. Valentine's Day is practically over. Where's the surprise you said you had for me?" "I forgot to change the shipping address. It went to Grant's. I'll make it up to you next time." I could not pinpoint exactly when it had started, but at some point, every exchange between Linnea and me had become exactly this. Packages would end up at the wrong address. Deliveries would go to the wrong door. We had agreed a full year ago that she would come to my parents' house for the holiday. She sent the gift meant for my parents to Grant's place, and then she followed it there herself and spent the holiday with him. I stared at the photo where Linnea had removed her wedding ring. I felt ridiculous. Maybe all the misdelivered packages and wrong addresses had never been mistakes at all. Maybe the person she meant to send everything to had always been her ex-boyfriend. I was the error that needed correcting. My phone buzzed twice, and I closed Linnea's chat. It was a message from my lawyer. "Mr. Aldridge, happy holidays. The divorce agreement has been drafted." After saying goodbye to my parents, I drove home and printed it out. I was about to sign when Linnea walked in and held out two bags. "You can get those treats anywhere. I went and got your parents' clothes back. "It was my fault. Let me take you out to Fontaine's tonight to make up for it, okay?" I did not correct her. My parents had chronic health conditions, and that gift box was one I had carefully chosen from the only vendor that carried it. It was not something available just anywhere. I did not remind her, either, that I did not like Fontaine's. I had already told her this many times. She did not care, and she never would. Bringing it up again would only earn me another lecture about being difficult and dramatic. None of it mattered anymore. Chapter 2 I opened the bags and found that every piece of clothing had already been unwrapped. The tags were gone, and there was a smear of dried sticky stuff on the beige slacks that had not been cleaned off. It had hardened, but the stain was obvious. They could not be returned. I stared at that stain the way I might stare at the wreckage of my three-year marriage. "Who opened these?" Linnea hesitated, then lowered her voice. "Grant opened them. He signed for the package and assumed they were for him, so he just..." My tone was even. "He opened them. He got them dirty. And you brought them back for me to give to my parents?" Her patience vanished. "They were already open! What do you want me to do? The tags are cut off. I can't return them. "These were sized for your parents. They wouldn't fit anyone else. "If you don't want to give them to your parents, just throw them away!" Would not fit anyone else. I did not need to ask who "anyone else" meant. The truth was as absurd as it was plain. Grant's parents could not wear the clothes because they were the wrong size. That was the only reason Linnea had brought them back. If they had fit, they would have disappeared the same way every other misdelivered package had before them. I stuffed the clothes back into the bags. "You deal with it." I turned toward the study, but Linnea called after me. "Can you stop making a scene? I booked us a table at Fontaine's to apologize. "It's a holiday. Can we please not fight over every little thing?" She pulled me out the door, but when we arrived at the table she had reserved, someone was already sitting there. He was wearing a three-piece suit, his hair styled with product, groomed from head to toe. Meanwhile, I had been dragged out of the house in an oversized t-shirt and loose pants, looking like I had stepped outside to check the mailbox. I did not belong in a place like Fontaine's. Linnea, in a fitted dress and full makeup, and Grant were more like a polished couple who had their lives together. I was the one tagging along uninvited. I did not ask Linnea why Grant had arrived at the restaurant before us, at a dinner she had supposedly booked to apologize to me. She pulled me into a chair and explained as we sat down. "Grant can't go home for the holiday. I've had this reservation for a while and he's been wanting to try this place, so I invited him along. "He's younger than you. Just be the bigger person." I looked at her. Before we married, she had mentioned that her ex-boyfriend was six months older than me. Now she was telling me he was young and that I should be more understanding. Whether she had genuinely forgotten or was simply showing her hand, I no longer cared to figure out. She did not remember that I did not like this restaurant, but she remembered that Grant had been wanting to come here for months. When she made the reservation, who was she really thinking of? I did not ask the question out loud. There was no point. I sat across from the two of them as they shared one side of the table, heads bent together over the menu the waiter had brought, ordering as if I were not there. "You like macarons. Get one." "I remember you do too. Let's get two." "The escargot looks incredible." "I knew you'd go for that! This place is famous for their escargot. You're going to love it." When they finished ordering and handed the menu back to the waiter, they seemed to remember I existed. Linnea cleared her throat. "We ordered enough for three." Grant smiled, all sweetness. "Sorry, bro. Linnie and I just get carried away when it comes to food." Linnie. I pondered the name over and over in my head. Two years of dating and three years of marriage. Linnea and Grant had broken up close to six years ago, yet he still called her that. She never so much as blinked. Whenever I tried calling her "Lea" as a joke, she wrinkled her nose and told me to stop. She said it was cringey and that it gave her goosebumps. The food began to arrive. Escargot, foie gras, oysters, mussels and poached salmon. I looked at the spread and did not pick up my silverware. Across from me, Grant had been bouncing with excitement since the first dish landed. Every new plate earned a small gasp, and he gripped his knife and fork like a kid who could not wait another second. Linnea sliced a piece of foie gras with practiced ease and set it on his plate. He grinned at her with delighted surprise and thanked her. Then she looked at me and frowned. "The salmon's here. That's your favorite. Why aren't you eating?" "I'm allergic to seafood," I said. "I don't eat salmon." She went still. Chapter 3 However, the very next second, Linnea's expression shifted to blame. "I didn't remember, so why didn't you say something? "And even if you can't eat seafood, there's still the beef carpaccio." Still, I had never eaten anything raw. Linnea used to know that. At some point, she had forgotten everything. I suddenly could not see the point of sitting there any longer. I stood up and left. Behind me, Grant's voice was full of concern. "Is Theo upset?" Linnea's barely lowered voice did nothing to hide her irritation. "He just has to kill the mood no matter what. Ignore him. Let's eat." I walked out of the restaurant alone and took a cab home. This time, there was no room left for denial. I sent my resignation to my company first, then started packing. The study was where I began. Linnea's work could only be done at her office, so this room had always been mine. The books, the sketches, the notebooks. All of it mine. I was halfway through when Linnea came home. The smile on her face disappeared the moment she saw me. What replaced it was deep, unmistakable disappointment. "Theo, when did you become like this? It's a holiday and you are refusing to enjoy it. You've been causing problems from morning to night. "You're not going to stop until everyone's miserable, are you?" It was almost laughable. Even now, she was accusing me of causing problems, of deliberately ruining everyone's experience. I had nothing left to say to her. "Linnea, let's get divorced." The words barely left my mouth before her phone rang. It was Grant's custom ringtone, a bright, cheerful melody. Linnea had always kept her phone on the factory default. She said she could not be bothered to change things on it, but Grant was the sole exception. In three years of marriage, she had gone through three phones. Every time she got a new one, the very first thing she did was set that melody as his ringtone. I had asked about it once. She told me the song had been with her since college, and that it was just a habit. I found out later that it belonged to Grant. I watched her answer the call without a second of hesitation. After whatever was said on the other end, she turned and headed for the door. "Wait for me. I'll be right there!" The door slammed shut. She had not heard me ask for a divorce, or perhaps she had heard and did not care. I looked around the empty living room. Maybe my marriage to Linnea had been a mistake from the very beginning. A custom ringtone that belonged only to Grant. A default shipping address she could never bring herself to delete. Every gift meant for me, every gift meant for my parents, all of it ending up with Grant. Linnea had never tried to hide it. I was the one who kept holding out hope, telling myself that one day she would see me, that she would come to her senses, that she would change. In the end, nothing changed. I was the only one who had wasted three years, living like a joke. I finished packing everything in the study and went to the bedroom to wash up for the night. By the time I came out, it was almost one in the morning, and Linnea had finally sent a single message. "Grant ran into some trouble and needs my help. I won't be coming home tonight." I did not reply. I locked my phone, lay down, and fell asleep almost immediately. The next day, I continued packing. Clothes, toiletries, the small things that made up a daily life. I had never noticed before, but now that I was sorting through everything, it became clear. Over three years of Linnea sending things to Grant's address, I had developed my own quiet, stubborn grief. Whenever something she ordered ended up at his place, I simply never replaced it. The matching slippers, the matching loungewear, a few decorative pieces and small plants I had picked out for the apartment. The two electric toothbrushes on the bathroom counter were identical, the cheapest model available, ugly and barely functional. After we got married, I had spent weeks researching the perfect electric toothbrush, something well-designed with all the right features. When I was ready to order, Linnea said she would take care of it. It ended up at Grant's, as expected. I asked her to get it back. She refused. So I walked to the nearest store and grabbed two of whatever was on the shelf. I stuck a waterproof label on mine so we could tell them apart, and I refused to buy replacements. I thought that seeing those two cheap toothbrushes every morning would make her feel guilty and uncomfortable, and would push her to reorder the ones I had originally chosen. However, that toothbrush had gone through three product generations since then and she had never once cared. We were still using the same ugly pair. I stood there for a moment, looking at the two of them side by side. Then I picked them both up and dropped them in the trash. By the time I finished packing, Linnea called. "That bonus I mentioned from work came through today. My colleagues are insisting I treat everyone to dinner. "You should come too. I'll send you the location." I was about to say no, but then she added, "My parents are coming. Don't be late." I paused, and the refusal died on my tongue. I let her hang up. If I was going through with the divorce, her parents deserved to hear it from me in person. I waited for the movers to arrive, had everything shipped out, and called Mom to ask her to sign for the boxes. I told her I would explain when I got home. I took one last look at the apartment where Linnea and I had spent three years of marriage, then I left without looking back. Chapter 4 Linnea had booked a large private dining room with two tables, packed with close to 30 people. Grant was seated at the same table as Linnea's parents. He was right beside them, with Linnea on his other side. When the hostess opened the door for me, the first thing I saw was Linnea leaning toward Grant, saying something to him in a low voice. Their faces were close, both of them smiling. The room went quiet for a beat when I walked in. Linnea jerked back, putting distance between herself and Grant. As if to cover for the moment, she stood and walked toward me. "You made it." She waved a server over and turned to me. "We were just waiting on you. Come sit." I nodded and went over to greet her parents. Linnea leaned in to explain. "Mom missed Grant, so she asked me to invite him." She dropped her voice so only I could hear. "There are so many colleagues here tonight. One more person doesn't make a difference, right?" I stepped back, away from her. "It's your call," I said. I was seated on Linnea's right, with Grant on her left. The moment I turned my head, I noticed the fidget spinner he was playing with. It was a limited-edition collaboration piece I had wanted badly last year. Linnea had said she would buy it for me, but it ended up at Grant's place. The sports kettle on the table in front of him was also one I had picked out. Same story as the spinner. However, what I could not stop looking at was the bracelet on his wrist. It was a rosewood beaded piece from a luxury brand's museum collaboration, released for Valentine's Day the year before. I had fallen in love with the collection the moment it was announced and had been following it since. As it happened, the bracelet went on sale on the exact date of my second wedding anniversary with Linnea. We agreed to buy each other gifts to mark the occasion. The one she got for me was delivered to Grant. When I asked her to get it back, she refused. We had the worst fight of our marriage and did not speak for a month. Now the bracelet sat on Grant's wrist for the whole world to see. The food arrived quickly. Everyone there was either a colleague or a friend of Linnea's, and the room was loud and lively. A few drinks in, someone started egging things on. "After all these years, Linnea and Grant still look like a married couple!" "If it hadn't been for that misunderstanding back then, they'd have been married ages ago. They'd probably have had a couple of kids by now!" "Linnea's never changed Grant's ringtone all this time! If that's not love, what is?" Grant went red. He looked thrilled. Linnea only said, "Stop spouting nonsense after just a few drinks." However, the teasing only grew louder, and she gave in with a helpless smile. I sat there, perfectly still, my expression unchanged. When the meal was winding down, I reached into my bag and set two copies of the divorce agreement on the table in front of Linnea, with a pen on top. I spoke to her parents first. "I'm sorry to do this here, but I wanted to tell you in person. I'm filing for a divorce from Linnea." Then I turned to Linnea. "I've already signed. Please sign your name. "We can go file the divorce as soon as the courthouse opens."