My Honeymoon Without Him

2: 2 I said nothing more, and turned to go out to the balcony for a clean change of clothes. On the drying rack hung a pale pink knit sweater. It was small. Not mine. Russ came out after me. "Her clothes got soaked yesterday, so I brought them back to wash. I'll take them over with the soup later. Her washing machine's broken, and she didn't want to ruin the sweater, so it had to be done by hand." There was a little rabbit embroidered over the chest of the sweater. Exactly like the limited edition I'd fallen for last month, the one I'd asked him to grab for me. I told him three times. Every time, he was busy, and forgot. The words I never said backed up in my throat and turned bitter. I didn't bring it up. I turned and went into the study. I wanted to find the honeymoon itinerary I'd printed out, to go over the cancellations one more time. I dug through the shelves for a while and couldn't find it. What I found instead was a brand-new notebook with a rabbit on the cover. I opened it, and inside, packed line after line, was everything Rosalind liked. No cilantro, no scallions, bubble tea light sweet with pearls. Nothing cold during her period, weak stomach so smaller meals more often... Every stroke neat and careful. More careful than his own work notes. And my period, he never once remembered. Last year my cramps got so bad I couldn't stand, curled up on the couch in a cold sweat. He told me to drink more hot water, then picked up his laptop and went to fix Rosalind's router, not coming home until the middle of the night. My phone suddenly rang. It was Russ's mother. I picked up, and her voice was bright and cheery. "Sylvie, dear, Russ has had his hands full taking care of Rosalind lately, so you just be patient with things at home. That poor girl lost her mother young, and she's just had her heart broken. It's such a pity." I gripped the phone, my fingertips cold. I hung up, and Russ came in from the living room. He saw the notebook in my hands, and his face went a little stiff. "What are you going through that for?" I set the notebook down on the desk. "Where's our honeymoon itinerary? The one I printed three copies of." He scratched his head. "Oh, that. I saw the backs were blank, so I tore off some sheets for Rosalind to use as scratch paper. She's been practicing her handwriting at home lately, goes through a lot of paper. It's not urgent anyway. We can plan it again once she's feeling better. It's not like we're leaving right away." I'd stayed up three nights, read dozens of travel guides, marked every place I wanted to go. He tore it up and handed it to someone else as scrap paper for practicing handwriting. It suddenly felt absurd. "Russ, that was our honeymoon plan." His brow furrowed. "I know that. It's just a few sheets of paper. I'll sit down and do it with you again, all right?" "Rosalind's emotions are all over the place right now. Practicing her handwriting calms her down. What's wrong with us being a little accommodating? Why are you getting more and more difficult?" From when she moved in next door after her breakup, to now, it had been a month. I'd accommodated her for thirty days. Accommodated her right down to my mug being hers to use. My balcony hers to dry her clothes on. My notebook in my study hers to record her preferences in. My honeymoon itinerary hers to use as scratch paper. And now even my new husband spent most of his time over at her place.

3: 3 Two o'clock in the afternoon. The anniversary photoshoot I'd booked a month in advance, for our two years together, and the photographer was texting to ask where we were. I looked up at Russ. "We need to head out. The photographer's waiting." He blanked for a second, then pulled out his phone, scrolled through the calendar, and smacked his forehead. "Oh, right, I forgot all about that. Rosalind's got her stomach checkup this afternoon, and she's too scared to go alone. I have to go with her." "Can we push the photos to another day? There'll be plenty of chances later anyway." I drew a deep breath. "A friend pulled strings to get me that photographer. He's booked solid through the second half of the year. It can't be moved." He slid the phone back into his pocket, picked up the car keys, and his tone turned sharp. "Can you not be so childish? You can take photos anytime. Rosalind's timid, and if something happens to her alone at the hospital, then what?" "She just went through a breakup. She's fragile right now. Can't you be more mature about this? Stop fighting over pointless little things like a kid." I said nothing. He took it as agreement and turned to open the door. Still muttering as he went. "I'll bring you takeout tonight. Order whatever you want, my treat. Consider it me making it up to you." "No need." My voice was quiet, but firm. He turned back to look at me, confusion in his eyes. I picked up my phone, opened the app, and held the cancellation-confirmed page up in front of his eyes. "I canceled the honeymoon. You don't have time for it anyway." His face darkened, degree by degree, and he snatched the phone from my hand. "You just throw away a fifty-thousand deposit like that? Sylvia, have you lost your mind?" He hurled the phone onto the couch and raised his voice. "Just because I'm taking Rosalind to her checkup? Is it really worth this? If something's wrong, we talk it out. Why blow fifty grand out of spite? Since when did you get this willful?" Me, grieving over our own trip, was willful. Him, dropping me over and over for someone else's small things, was kindhearted. I looked at his eyes, red with anger, and suddenly I laughed. "Do you know why I canceled it?" "It's not because of today's photos." "It's because last night I had a fever, I wanted a cup of hot water, and instead you went out in a thunderstorm to warm an eight-dollar glass of milk for someone else." He paused, then his brow knit even tighter. "That's all this is about? Didn't I tell you to pour it yourself? You've got two hands and two feet, you don't need me waiting on you. Rosalind was alone and scared. Was I supposed to just ignore her?" Even now, he thought I was throwing a tantrum over nothing. He didn't understand that what crushed me was never that glass of milk. It was the countless moments I'd been overlooked, the fact that I was always ranked last. I was about to speak when his phone rang. "Rosie" flashed on the screen, and the ringtone was urgent. He answered at once, his tone softening into someone entirely different from a moment ago. "Hello? What's wrong? Are you not feeling well?" "Okay, okay, I'm coming right now, don't worry, wait for me at home, I'll be there in a minute." He hung up, grabbed his coat, and headed for the door without another glance at me. I blocked the entryway. "If you dare walk out that door today, we're getting divorced." His steps froze. His face was full of disbelief, edged with disappointment that I could be so unreasonable. "You want a divorce over something this small?" "Can you stop being so unreasonable? I already told you, Rosalind's alone—" "She's alone. She's scared. She's pitiful." I cut him off, my voice so calm it startled even me. "That's her problem. It has nothing to do with me." "Russ, I'm asking you one last time. Today, do you choose her, or me?"

4: 4 He stared at me, brows knotted tight, lips pressed into a hard line. The motion light in the entryway had switched on. That pale, sickly glow fell across his face and showed the war going on behind his eyes. A few seconds stretched out like centuries. In the end he looked away and reached for the door handle. "Sylvie, stop this. She really needs me. Just be good and wait, and we'll talk when I'm back, okay?" Even as he spoke, his fingers had already flipped the lock on the handle. The door opened a crack. Outside it had started to rain again. Cold wind carried the rain in through the gap. It hit my face, cold enough to sting. He swung the door shut. I put out my hand and caught it in the gap. A dozen rushed footsteps later, the door of the neighboring building opened. His figure disappeared. My phone started buzzing. It was a message from the photographer. "Miss Swanson, are we still shooting? If the schedule's changed, I'll go do the wedding shoot first. That gentleman wants to add a set on short notice, says he wants more shots of the honeymoon phase." I rubbed my aching eyes and wrote back. "Yes, I'm on my way. Change the couple shots to solo. Don't bother refunding the deposit." The shoot was at the beach. The sea wind lifted the hem of my dress and sent it flying, exactly the style I loved most. The photographer called out between shots. "Give me a smile, Miss Swanson." "Careful—" A cry went up behind me. A little boy clutching a swim ring was shoved forward by a wave and crashed into my back. I lost my footing and pitched headfirst into the water. Outside the ER, the photographer kept apologizing. "Miss Swanson, I'm so sorry. I should've kept an eye on our surroundings." I pressed a hand over the wound on my forehead, still oozing blood, and let out a quiet sigh. "It's fine. Not your fault." "Sylvia? What are you doing here? What happened to your head? You're hurt? Why didn't you tell me?" Russ was standing beside me with a stack of test results in his hand. The photographer's expression froze. "And this is?" "Her husband." "Not someone I know well." The two answers came at once, and the photographer scratched his head, awkward. "Right, well, I'll leave the photos with you. Don't worry about the balance, I'll transfer the deposit back when I get home. I've got another job after this so I'll head out. Take care of yourself." He pushed the photos into my hands and fled the scene like he couldn't get away fast enough. Russ's brows drew together as he took the photos. "Was that necessary? You don't know me, but you called me in for a photoshoot?" I twisted my mouth into something like a smile. "I used to know you. These days, not so much." His frown deepened. "Can't you just talk like a normal person—" Before he finished, Rosalind Winfield came over with a hand pressed to her stomach. "Sylvia? I didn't expect to run into you here. Russ has gone to so much trouble taking care of me these past days. I kept meaning to find a chance to come thank you at your place, but my health just won't cooperate..." I nodded. "So I see. If you're not well, go out less. Anything you need, just call Russ. He comes the moment you call anyway." Russ reached out to take my arm, and I turned aside to dodge him. Rosalind spotted the set of photos and took them straight out of my hands. "This angle isn't good. Makes you look short." "Wrong time of day too. The sunlight's too harsh, easy to overexpose." "Sylvia, this dress isn't right for the beach. I've got some new ones. If you don't mind, next time you can just use mine." I drew a slow breath. "No need to trouble yourself, Miss Winfield. I don't have a habit of using other people's castoffs." Russ's face went cold on the spot. "Who's all this snide talk for?" "Rosie has good taste. Helping you pick photos was a kindness." I turned to look at him. "Who paid for these photos?" "You did." "And who's in them?" "You. What are you even trying to say?" "Then I happen to like this style. Any problem with that?" His face went ashen. "You're completely impossible! I swear your midlife crisis is coming early!" Before I could get a word out, Rosalind's eyes had already gone red. "Please don't fight, it's all my fault, I knew it, I shouldn't have been a burden to anyone, my whole existence is a burden, he's not wrong..." And with that, she covered her face and ran out. Russ moved to go after her. I put out my hand and blocked him. "Let's talk. It'll be quick." He pointed one hand in the direction Rosalind had gone. "Can't you see she just ran out? What if something happens to her out there alone?" "I'm alone too. This whole month, I've been alone." "She's sick, her health is bad, how can you compare yourself to her?!" He flung the papers away without looking. The thick stack of test results flew up into the air, then drifted down all over me. By the time I'd peeled off the sheet stuck to my forehead with blood, there was no one in front of me. It was five hours later by the time I'd had the wound treated and came home with the printed divorce agreement. I finished packing and set the agreement on the coffee table. Just as I was about to leave, my phone suddenly rang. I hit answer, and Russ's urgent voice came through. "Sylvia! Shut up and listen to me first!" "Rosie was so upset by what you said today that she insisted on jumping into the sea to make it up to you." "We just pulled her out, she's still unstable. Transfer me that Iceland trip booking right now, I need to take her somewhere to get her mind off it!" I looked out at the black night beyond the window. "The booking's already been canceled. You saw it." "Then place a new one, same as last time will do! I'll wire you the fifty thousand when I'm back, saving her comes first!" "Russ, you can place the booking yourself, you can plan the itinerary yourself, you can book the flights yourself." "What's that supposed to mean?" "Let's get a divorce."