Coffee, No Creamer

She was free.  

That is what Susan told her last night anyway. “You are finally on your own again, Michele. The divorce papers have been served. He is gone. A new you.” Susan was right about that. Shane was gone. He grabbed a bunch of his things and would grab the rest later. She was on her own. "You will be happier now. Trust me."

She considered the source. Susan was on her fourth divorce.

The morning coffee brewed. She wondered if it would somehow taste differently. Perhaps the taste of freedom changed things.  

She was married to Shane for eighteen years. They had one son, Eric, but he passed soon after he was born. Her spirit to have any more children passed as well. Shane was always supportive of that choice. Indeed, Eric’s death brought them closer together for a few years.  

But perhaps life happened without them. Shane was busy with his office supply business, and she was busy with her teaching. When they spoke over dinner, the words became emptier and emptier. Shane spent his evenings organizing invoices on the computer, then falling asleep watching television. She graded papers and spent too much time thinking of a better life. She just wanted to be happy.

The other staff members at the school seemed to do so much more with their husbands. Terri and Glenn went to Florida every year; Terri would come back with a tan and a dozen stories of the fun things they did. Stephanie and Rob took their kids skiing. Cherrie and her husband Paul always seemed to be visiting art galleries and wine tastings all over the state.  

She and Shane went out to eat quite often. They used to enjoy that. "We just do the same boring things," she complained to the girls over a bottle of wine one night. When they did go on vacation, Shane seemed to enjoy the trip; it was fine. She could not help but think that if she did not plan the trip, Shane would be happy just sitting at home all summer and every holiday. That annoyed her.

Oh, it was more than that. The passion was gone. That was a topic of discussion on her frequent escape the house nights with the girls. Shane sometimes complained she was out so much, but it's not like they were doing anything at home. The girls all nodded when she told them she was going to talk to Shane. "You need to be happy, Michele".

 After one of her girls’ nights, she confronted her husband. “We have drifted, Shane. You see that. You have commented on it many times yourself.”

“We have,” he admitted. “We got too busy with other things.” Then he smiled. That angered her. Why would he smile? “Guess we better work on some things.” It was like he did not think she was serious.  

They did try working on things. Well, Shane did anyway. Suddenly he was peering over her shoulder when she was trying to grade papers. He would hug her from behind when she was trying to cook. He sent her messages at work to say he was thinking of her.  

A few weeks later she addressed things again. "Shane, we have never really been physically affectionate.”  

“Until now. But I realized I missed holding you, and besides, you yourself said we were drifting.” He wrapped his arms around her. “Now I am pulling you back in, Michele.”

She found the sudden bursts of contact disconcerting. She never knew how to respond. Part of her doubted Shane’s actions anyway. What was he trying for anyway? It is not like they had ever been affectionate. It was uncomfortable for her now. It had been too long, and it just felt forced. She told him that too.

“Not forced at all,” he replied. “I realized how silly I had been not to keep you closer all these years. Will not make that mistake again.”

She smiled but quickly turned before the annoyance flashed across her face for Shane to see. None of the other women at work ever seemed to have this problem. They never seemed to have to work on things, marriages just worked. Sure, they probably had their problems, but they did not let them get so incompatible that trying was just awkward.

“Not all marriages last forever,” Susan told her one night as they sipped wine. “You need to be happy. Does Shane make you happy?” Susan took another sip, then pointed the glass at her. “Seriously Michele, answer me. Does Shane make you happy?”

Brenda was with them that night. “She is right, Michele. I am not proud of what happened with Joseph, but I was so unhappy in my marriage that you guys know it was not all my fault.” Joseph caught Brenda cheating a few years before and had divorce papers served on her within the week. “I was not happy.”  

Michele never understood why Brenda cheated, but as they sat and sipped wine - she had to admit - it had been a long time since she was happy with Shane. It was not that life was bad, Shane was a provider and had always been there for her staff parties and winter programs. But marriage was more than just “being there”, or so she tried to tell Shane later that night.  

“Divorce?” Shane looked stunned. “What are you -” His words became a tirade; he was livid. He said some hurtful things, she stored them close in her heart. He mentioned Eric, which was an unforgivable mention. He was angry, as angry as he had ever been, and in Michele’s mind, that proved he was not the man she married.  

He stayed on the couch for a few days and pointedly ignored her around the house. She came home to a note on her pillow after work one day. She glanced it over, but whatever promises of love were written there did not change anything. They were not the same people as a decade ago.  

The divorce papers were served filed a few days later. The girls assured her she would be happier once the process was started. “Relief,” they assured her. Shane organized some things and slept at the office last night. He had said he would stay there until an apartment opened up. It was one of the last things he said to her; his silence further proof to her that they were not meant to be.

And now the coffee was ready. Shane usually made the coffee, but she felt a sense of freedom making it herself. She smirked. Susan would be proud. She pulled a mug out of the cabinet, then replaced it with another; the first was a mug that Shane had made for her. She put that one at the back of the cabinet. The smirk was gone.  

She poured the coffee and opened the fridge and peeked around for the creamer. Shane always had creamer in the fridge for her - but there was no creamer now. She sipped the black coffee, then spit it into the sink. The rest of the coffee followed it in. She made a note to get creamer.

She opened the door. Shane’s truck was missing. There was not even a clear spot in the snow. His truck was not there overnight. The truck was always there when she left: he always left shortly after she did. She scowled. He always cleaned off her car in the morning. Another job she was going to have to take care of now.  

She went back inside and pulled on a heavier coat. It had been a long time since she brushed off the snow from the car. She nearly slipped on the sidewalk. She could not help but want to tell Shane how slick it was outside. That is the kind of stuff they still talked about in those last few years. Coffee and the day and the weather. Boring things. She started the car and began scraping. For the first time, she wondered who she would call if she went into the ditch on the way to work.

Susan would be asleep. What would she do to help anyway? Whenever she had a car problem she always let Shane deal with it. He did not know how to fix anything, but he knew who to call.  

She sat in the still cold car. She was free. She could be independent. If she wanted to go out with Susan every night, Shane would not be there to scowl that she was going out too often. What was she supposed to do? Just sit there and watch him fill out invoices? She was on her own. She could do things that made her happy.    

She reached for her coffee, then remembered it was poured - creamerless - into the sink a few minutes before.  

And then she sat there in the cold, weeping and lonely, more lonely than she had ever felt before. She checked her phone for messages. Three weeks before there was a “Have a good day, gorgeous” message from Shane. Since then, a few housekeeping messages and then a few angry texts. There would be no more texts.

The car engine warmed. Michele just sat there, her tears as free on the cheeks as she was, sitting in a car on a cold morning, free - and alone.