He forgot me again. He was supposed to pick me up from the library but dinner with friends probably turned into drinks which would undoubtedly end in him stumbling into bed at 2am with sickly-sweet alcohol dripping from his pores. He would try to embrace me and I would push him away in a dance we’d been doing for weeks; I knew the choreography by heart. He forgot me again, so I took the bus home.
My key in the door excites the puppy who snoopy-dances around me as I discard the day. Now, here is something worth coming home to, I think. And the realization hits me; suddenly and without warning I am sure it has to end. Unaware, Riley continues to hop around me dodging in and out as she attempts to land kisses on my cheek, my ear, anywhere. Until I begin to cry. Startled she climbs into my lap, distraught, not understanding… whining and attempting to lick the tears away. My child of divorce.
I never thought I would be the one to leave.
The next day, we are sitting on the bed. I pick at a bunch of grapes, but this is no roman love scene. He fidgets and I search for the words we both know are coming.
“…in different places…”
“…not going to work…”
Before I know it, the conversation is over and we are ending. The credits roll. Dazed, we leave the theater… wondering what just happened. What events have brought us here, almost 3 years later, dividing up our hearts like possessions?
Who gets the dog?