Left

Natalie ran her fingers over the front of the expensive and neatly-folded cashmere sweater. She felt sentimental, to be sure, but the feel of the gray v-neck transported her back to one of her earliest dates with Germaine. It had been the first snowfall of that winter, unspoiled and picturesque in the street lights. The half-melt of the next morning would snatch it up in tire treads and slosh it about as dismal gray city sludge during the commute. But, they weren’t thinking about that at the time. She’d accidentally left her gloves at the restaurant (the three vodka martinis?) and had playfully slipped her hands underneath his coat (also the three vodka martinis?), warming them against his sweater and working her way up to his neck as he winced at her icy fingers.

What do you get the man you’re divorcing for Christmas? She pulled back her hand with mixed feelings of gratitude and sadness, failure and freedom. Love was funny and devastating.

“Those are nice, aren’t they?” a saleswoman intoned. “They’re also 20% off. Holiday sale!” she waved her hands. She must have to say that every 4 minutes, Natalie thought.

“They are. Thank you. I’ll keep that in mind.” She moved along. The men’s department was filled with women this time of year. She wondered what their relationships were like. Were they still fluttery and exciting? Probably not, since they were shopping for sweaters, she thought cynically. Maybe they looked at each other with insider’s smiles when someone said something cliché, or borderline inappropriate. She would miss that intimacy, knowing what someone else was thinking before he even made eye contact, then having that knowledge affirmed with a single glance. Sometimes they’d both crack a smile at the same time. Sometimes she’d grip her hand around Germaine’s forearm, as if to hold back words of challenge that she knew would spill forth otherwise.

“What a beautiful couple you are,” a white lady said one time while they were out for a walk near Natalie’s parents’ house in Pennsylvania. They smiled momentarily until she spoke again. “Are your families supportive?” Natalie had hold of Germaine’s arm, and she squeezed it. Don’t bother, her look said. His nostrils flared, but he held his tongue.

“How could you let that kind of thing go?” he questioned her later.

“She didn’t even know that she was insulting us, Germaine. And even if we called her out, she wouldn’t have admitted it. She would just get defensive and say she was trying to give us a compliment.”

“But, Nat, you can’t just let that shit ride,” he argued, “People will never learn. Never get better about things.” He was right, of course, but she still didn’t think it was worth it. 

“It’s just one woman,” she defended herself.

“It’s just one woman, in one town, in one country, in one world,” he replied bitterly.

“She’d just create a sensation in this sleepy town. Get the goddamn garden club together and sic them on my mom.”

“You had a chance to try to make a difference today,” he sighed, disappointed in her again. She felt ashamed.

I could frame the divorce papers, she thought. He would like that. Kind of a humorous display of our mutual decision to part ways, there on the wall for all to see. They would high five as they signed them, collectively acknowledging their new liberties. That could be the last of their collective acknowledgements, she thought. Curiously, it wasn’t the thought of the divorce papers hanging as wall decor that bothered her, but the thought of an unfamiliar wall on which to hang them. He’d have a different wall. What color would it be? She wouldn’t have chosen the paint shade with him (or, more accurately, dragged him to the home supply store to at least tell her which ones he hated).

Their home had been a point of contention. It had stood decidedly in the Cons column on their Should We Get Divorced? worksheet.

“I love it here,” she said firmly.

“I love it here, too,” he replied. She softened.

“I love it here with you.”

“I love it here with you, too,” he warmed. He ran his thumb down her jawline and then took her chin between his thumb and index finger, the way he had a hundred times. He kissed her, and then took her into his arms. Maybe they could do this? No, they couldn’t. Yes, they could. No, they couldn’t.

No, she thought, about the divorce papers. Too much about the parting, and not enough about the being together.

She left the department store and drifted down the escalator to the pharmacy. Working her way toward the back of the store, she passed through the family planning aisle, which she always found amusingly titled. Wasn’t it anti-family planning? Maybe that was the same thing. Like flammable and inflammable.

No children went into both columns, pros and cons. Pro: it made it easier to split without kids’ lives to ruin. Con: Germaine wanted a family, and he had wanted it with Natalie. He’d warned her that he wouldn’t be wearing condoms anymore once they were married. “Fine,” she’d finally conceded after one of several arguments on this topic, “but I’m going on the pill.” Germaine wanted a lot of kids in addition to barrier-free sex. “I’m not ready,” she said after year one. Then after year three. Then after year five. There was a miscarriage, but she didn’t feel as badly about it as she thought she was supposed to. It was early.

“Picking up,” Natalie reported to the pharmacy technician. “Natalie Green.”

“Thank you Miss Green,” the young man replied. Mrs., she almost corrected him before deciding it was silly and pointless to do so. Have to get used to that. The technician returned in thirty seconds. “We need a few minutes to have the pharmacist double-check the order, Miss Green,” he said. “And do you have a photo ID on you?”

“Yes,” she replied, digging through her purse. She handed it to him and he checked it against the prescription label. She took a lap around the pharmacy while she waited. In the past, she’d have done some of her shopping for Germaine in here, picking up daily items and wrapping them with care to place into his stocking: deodorant, razor heads, lip balm, lotion. He always gave a sarcastic “ooh” for her benefit as he opened them, but he also genuinely appreciated not having to shop for personal care items for a while. Now, she felt that she had forfeited the right to buy him such incidentals. Funny how something as innocuous as deodorant felt more intimate than the grand gesture of a pricey gift. She knew what brand, what scent of that brand, what application of that scent of that brand, that he had been wearing every day for the past thirteen years. Funny and devastating.

She grabbed a roll of wrapping paper on her way back to the counter, where the pharmacist handed over her prescription after checking her ID again.

“Can I pay for this here?” she asked, holding up the wrapping paper.

“Certainly,” he replied. He raised the hand scanner to the SKU code.

“Gift wrap and controlled substances!” she quipped to alleviate her own discomfort.

“Tis the season,” he returned, without missing a beat. He smiled and winked at her, in what seemed like a genuine, non-judgmental way.

         Power tools? Germaine would use them. He’d actually be excited when he opened them. They weren’t too personal. He might even think of her when he picked them up for a new project. She could write him a gently-nostalgic-yet-casually-humorous card, something like, “For rebuilding your life. With Love, N.” Maybe not power tools. Maybe an antique hammer. She could have the handle monogrammed. A little bit sentimental. A metaphoric nod to a history of building. This might work.

         She turned back toward the greeting card aisle, seeking a blank card with a neutral-ish picture on the front, like a trimmed tree, or a winter scene. When she found one, she headed to the front of the store. Only one register was open. The other had a sign pointing to the open register. It said “register left” with an arrow.

         “Where’d it go?” she jokingly asked the man in front of her in the long line, gesturing toward the sign.

         “What?” he gave her a quizzical look.

         “The other register. Seems like we could use it.”

“Huh?”

         “Uh, nothing, sorry, I was just making a joke. ...The register?” she tried again. “Er, never mind.” He turned back around.

 Left. It could mean either having been abandoned, or having done the abandoning. Which described her?