The Coffee Cup

She always relied on cleaning to help steady her racing mind. It wasn’t that she necessarily enjoyed it, that couldn’t be further from the truth. Yet, there was something therapeutic about allowing incessant thoughts to escape through her busy hands. Each scrubbed plate and bleached countertop helped her center herself. The longer she spent tidying the kitchen, the more time she had to reflect on the meeting with her potential attorney.

The idea of separating from her husband started as a young seedling the year prior. She tended to drive the intrusive thought into the fortress at the back of her mind. Undisturbed, a safe distance away, where she often left her least favorable emotions. As the months went by and their home grew colder, the idea began sprouting roots so rapidly that she couldn’t continue pretending it didn’t exist. She thought discussing her options with a professional would make her feel better. Instead it left her riddled with anxiety, making her wonder why bother with separation when there was divorce.

Like the draw of a moth to a flame, merely thinking of the dreaded ‘D Word’ made her husband appear. Right as she finished sweeping the floor, he strolled into the kitchen. It was the one day off per week they had in common, and they hadn’t really spoken for its entirety. He briefly acknowledged her presence with a head nod in her general direction. Silently, he crossed the floor and placed his coffee mug into the freshly washed sink. She watched him in her peripheral vision as she put the broom away, anticipating his next move. Would he take the initiative to wash it? Would he express gratitude at the effort she put into maintaining the cleanliness of their shared space? 

No sooner than the cup ceased clattering against the metal did he turn away from the sink, making his way toward the exit. He didn’t thank her for cleaning. He didn’t wash it. He didn’t ask her if she would mind washing it on his behalf. He didn’t even look at her. 

Genuine, immeasurable love used to flow abundantly within the walls of their home. There once was a time when simply existing in the same room as her husband felt as easy as breathing. She hadn’t considered him that way in several months. 

He had nearly reached the archway into the hall when she blurted out: “I met with a divorce lawyer today.”

He chuckled, pausing in stride to finally look directly at her. “What?”

The amusement he found in her declaration rubbed her the wrong way. Though she hadn’t intended on saying it aloud, it was out in the open. She voiced it, he heard it, and he laughed. She cleared her throat, steeling herself. “I’m thinking about filing.”

Slowly, the smile melted from his lips. “That’s not funny.” 

Exactly, she thought. “I’m not joking.”

He openly gawked at her for a moment, his eyes darting across her face. “Are you serious?”

She nodded. 

When she didn’t elaborate further, he frowned. “Is this about the cup?” He jerked a thumb over his shoulder, gesturing to the sink behind him. “Stop messing around, babe. This really isn’t funny.”

“It’s not about the cup!” She erupted incredulously. Was the subject really that far outside of the realm of possibility to him? Could he not feel the distance between them? “But while we’re on the topic, babe, is it that hard to wash your own dishes?” 

He let out an exasperated laugh, continuing on his way out of the kitchen. “I’m going to bed.” 

She would not be dismissed. Glowering, she followed behind him. “Not without washing that cup, you’re not.” 

He stopped so abruptly that she almost ran into his back. He turned to face her, his brow raised in a mocking challenge. “Is that an order?”

In an attempt to calm her ever rising irritation, she took a deep breath before she spoke again. “I’ve already done the dishes for the night. It’s really inconsiderate of you to just dump another dish in the sink and walk off.”

He peered at her for what felt like an eternity. She didn’t know what he was searching for within the depth of her eyes, or if he found it there. Wordlessly, he walked past her back into the kitchen. Her heart hammered away at her chest as she watched him. He plucked the mug from the sink, examined it briefly, and unceremoniously tossed it into the garbage bin. “There.” He said, turning to face her with an unkind smirk. “All clean.” 

“You’re a child.” She seethed, clicking her tongue. 

He raised both brows at the insult. “I’m childish for throwing my cup away?” 

“Yes.” She bluntly confirmed.

“So what are you?” He challenged. 

“Excuse me?”

“You’re the one who wants to throw our marriage away, apparently.” He scoffed. “What does that make you?”

“Oh, please.” She rolled her eyes, crossing her arms over her chest. “As if you even care.” 

“Of course I care.”

“Ha!” she bristled. “That’s rich.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You’ve hardly said two words to me since we lost the baby.” There it was, laid bare in all its infamy. The one thing she never allowed herself to dwell on. The miscarriage she suffered the year before was more difficult to accept than she was ever willing to speak aloud. She couldn’t seem to move past it no matter how hard she tried. Meanwhile, she watched day by day as he went through the monotony of life seemingly unaffected. If he felt anything at all about it, she couldn’t tell. To her, it was the catalyst to the demise of their relationship. 

He flinched, clearly taken aback. “You have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Then explain it to me.” She spat, feeling the onslaught of tears swiftly approaching. “Explain to me why we never talk about him. Can you do that? I’ve never even seen you cry for him, not once! Did you even love him?” She was slightly aware that she was being cruel by that point, yet she couldn’t find the energy to care. 

“Maybe if you had just gone to the hospital earlier that day, like I asked you to, he’d still be here!” he shouted, visibly distraught. 

She inhaled sharply, the tears she held at bay welling in her eyes. “I can’t believe you would say something like that.” 

“I can’t believe we’re arguing over this!”

She didn’t respond as devastation overtook her. She couldn’t move, couldn’t speak or even blink, at risk of falling completely apart. 

“I’m sorry.” He said hastily, all traces of anger gone from his tone. He took a step towards her then retreated, remorse showing on his face. “I didn’t mean that.”

Tears flowed freely down her cheeks as she crumpled to the floor where she stood. Every time she thought about the baby she blamed herself. She hadn’t felt any of his tiny kicks that morning, she should’ve known something was wrong. Her instincts urged her to pay attention and she went to work anyway... She drew her knees to her chest, wrapped her arms around them, and sobbed. She never would have imagined that he blamed her too. Was he harboring hate for her in his heart each night he slept beside her?

“Hey.” He said gently, his voice much closer than it was before. She felt his hands wrap around her wrists, attempting to unravel her from herself. 

“Go away.” She managed to choke out between sobs, straining against his grasp. 

He continued to pry her arms away from her knees and the will to fight the unwelcome touch abandoned her. She stared at the floor, her wrists limp in his hands. “Hey.” He said again, his voice strangled. 

She finally looked up at him. 

Silent tears stained his cheeks, a pleading look in his eyes. “What happened to the baby… That was not your fault. Not even a little bit.”

She nodded with a sniffle, rubbing her eyes with the heel of her hand. 

“I’m an idiot and I’m sorry.” He affirmed, pulling her to his chest and encircling her with his arms in a tight embrace. 

She couldn’t remember the last time he held her that way. She tentatively returned the hug, crying into his shirt until the tears stopped flowing. “I’m sorry too.” 

After a long stretch of silence, his soft voice was almost blaring beside her ear. “All of this over a coffee cup.” 

She frowned into his chest. “It was never about that stupid cup.” 

“I know.” 

“I don’t know how to fix this.” She whispered. 

“Neither do I.” He admitted, planting a tender kiss atop her head. 

She supposed that his response should have made her feel defeated. If they both hadn’t a clue about how to save their marriage, shouldn’t splitting up be a natural progression? Only, she felt so close to him, in more ways than physically. In that moment, she felt a connection to him that she thought was lost along the way. For the first time in a long time, she knew that he still loved her, she felt it in the soothing circles he stroked along her back. She could feel that love in the vulnerability it took for them to acknowledge that they were still grieving. In the revelation that he could be just as mentally burdened and broken as she. 

It wasn’t a perfect union. Perhaps one day they would go their separate ways. But that night, clinging to each other on the kitchen floor, it was enough to make her consider trying again.