The Talk

Today was the day Patty was going to leave Paul. He would walk into the apartment at five o’clock, grumble as he removed his shoes and tie, inquire curtly from the hallway what they were having for dinner, and Patty would end it right then and there.

They were supposed to have pot roast tonight. It wasn’t her favorite dish, but Paul liked it. He insisted on it every Tuesday. Once she had tried surprising him with reservations to an upscale restaurant downtown. She bought a new dress and shoes for the occasion, called Paul’s office to make sure he didn’t have any appointments that would keep him late that evening, and had his suit dry cleaned and pressed. But he had simply said, “What about the pot roast?” The suit went back in the closet, the dress and shoes went back to the store, and Patty went back to the kitchen. That had been their fifth wedding anniversary.

Patty was determined to end it tonight. She was determined to end it every night. Today, like yesterday, and like the day before, Patty woke up with the sense that things were going to be different. Her life was about to change. This thought—this modicum of hope—spurred her out of bed and set into motion the clockwork of a day that to Paul seemed like every other day but to Patty was special. Important. The day her life would change.

It all seemed so easy in the morning. Patty’s mind wandered to all the inviting possibilities of a life free of this, free of Paul. And while Paul was showering, Patty would cook his eggs just like she always did. And while Paul was eating, Patty would pack his lunch. And while Paul was imagining a day just like every other day, Patty would try to imagine the look on his face when he discovered dinner wasn’t on the table when he came home.

Paul was out the door by nine o’clock. That gave Patty precisely eight hours to prepare. The first thing to do was pack. She pulled a suitcase from under the bed and filled it brimming with all the clothes she had bought but never wore, clothes she always imagined she would wear in a different time, in a different life. She added a few essential toiletries to the suitcase, and some framed photos of their old cocker spaniel, Charlie.

The suitcase was light. She didn’t have much of her old life she wanted to take with her. It went back under the bed, in case Paul popped in at lunch needing a fresh shirt, or wanting a change of shoes. She didn’t want him to find out—not until tonight.

Then Patty called the motel. The girl at the front desk was friendly and discreet, just the kind of person you would hope to talk to on the occasion you were leaving your husband and needed a room until you got back on your feet. The girl’s name was Jenny. She only asked questions like, “How can I help you?” or “How will you be paying?” These were easy enough for Patty to answer without revealing too much. She would like a single room for three nights, and she would be paying by debit card.

Patty had her own checking account that Paul didn’t know anything about. It contained three thousand dollars and some odd change, money she had inherited when a favorite aunt had died three years back. Paul didn’t know about the three thousand dollars. He didn’t even know about the aunt or that she had died.

Patty would call her sister in Phoenix once she was settled at the motel. But until then, she was certain she didn’t want anyone to know what she was planning to do. She was afraid they would try to talk her out of it, convince her to stay with her husband, remind her how difficult it was for a woman her age to get along in the world alone. These were the things people were always saying to women like her.

Women like her. Women who wanted too much. Reached for too many things. The thought of being one of those women simultaneously excited and worried her. She had been married for almost twenty years, and she didn’t remember what it felt like to be alone. What was it like to make dinner for one? What did it mean to sleep in a bed alone? Who would wonder where she was all day or ask her to run to the dry cleaners or want to weigh in on her every decision? So much of who Patty was, the woman she identified as, relied on the underlying condition that she was not alone, nor would she ever be until death do us part.

At 11:30 a.m. Patty wrote a check to Wilmer Gas & Electric Co. in the amount of $98.23. She scrubbed the countertops and floor of the kitchen. She emptied the trash. She performed these tasks mindlessly. If Paul or anyone could see her now, they would not know that she was about to do something drastic.

At midday she pulled the suitcase out from under her bed and began to make substitutions. A pair of beat up tennis shoes went in for the $200 heels she had never worn. Her favorite sweater with the frayed hemline replaced a summer dress that Paul claimed was too revealing. A pair of sweatpants and a baggy Metallica t-shirt supplanted the silk negligee she had worn only once in their first few months of dating.

Practical. She had to be practical. She was a middle-aged woman, soon to be separated from her husband. She was twenty years older than the woman she wanted to be and so much more tired. A silk negligee would bring little solace in the loneliness of the room at the motel where she would be sitting in bed watching Pride and Prejudice on PBS.

By one o’clock she had completely unpacked the suitcase and was telling herself tomorrow would be a better day for this. Tomorrow Paul had meetings until late, which would give her more time to make up her mind about what to bring. Tomorrow she wouldn’t have four pounds of beef chuck roast thawing in the sink. Tomorrow she would be able to stock the fridge with frozen dinners so Paul wouldn’t starve to death after she was gone.

Maybe she should call Paul’s mother to say goodbye. She and Doreen had always gotten along. Doreen would understand.

But maybe she wouldn’t.

The realization hit her—she might never speak to Doreen again. Ever since she and Paul had gotten together, Doreen had been mother to them both. Patty’s mother was dead, had passed from this earth twenty-seven years ago. Her father had never existed, at least that’s how her mother used to put it, and so until she met Paul, until Doreen came into her life, Patty had been an orphan.

Leaving Paul meant leaving Doreen. It also meant leaving George and Liz, Paul’s brother and his wife. It meant leaving Donny, Marco and Katy, their three kids. It meant leaving the only family she could remember anymore.

No, Patty thought. She still had her sister in Phoenix. And Margaret, her cousin in Baltimore. They had been her family once. Twenty years ago. They had been the ones to visit on holidays and summer trips, to call on lazy Sundays to catch up. They had been the people who loved her more than anyone in the world.

Now that job went to Paul. Theoretically. But today was the day Patty was going to leave Paul.

She returned to the suitcase and started filling it with sentimental things. The guestbook from their wedding. A postcard they had sent themselves from their honeymoon in Niagara Falls. Old Christmas cards from George and Liz and the kids. A jade necklace and earring set Doreen had given her for her fortieth birthday.

She could always buy new clothes.

The suitcase went back under the bed.

Now it was time to practice what she would say when Paul came through the door. She had come up with a few zingers but didn’t think she was brave enough to pull them off. She thought of maybe sitting him down at the kitchen table and explaining everything to him, how she felt, what she was thinking, how she had wanted to say these things for the past fifteen years. But she was afraid he might say something to make her stay. She didn’t want to give him an opportunity to do that. There was a man in there that she had once loved, and she was scared that he would become that man again, if only for a moment, to win her back.

And now it was 4:35 p.m., and Patty still did not know what she was going to say. He could walk in at any moment, and depending on where she was in her thought process she was liable to say any number of things. And what she decided to say would determine everything.

Then she remembered her glasses. She only needed them for reading, but she should have them with her, nonetheless. She quickly packed them away in the suitcase and then returned to the kitchen table to wait.

Five o’clock came and went. Maybe he got held up in a meeting. Maybe he went out for drinks with his officemates. That wouldn’t be entirely out of the ordinary. Maybe she should put the pot roast on; Paul would be hungry from a long day at work.

She picked up the phone to dial his office but decided to call the motel instead. A different girl—someone called Tiffany—answered. But just as Patty was about to say something, she heard the key in the lock.

Patty clicked the phone onto the hook.

She counted silently in her head. One, he removes his shoes. Two, he removes his tie. Three…

“What’s for dinner, babe?”