Page 36 of Her Ex-Husband's Brother

Oh my god. This is how it happens, isn’t it?

Every time, and usually, so smoothly I don’t even realize it’s happening until it’s too late. The reframing, gently repositioning reality withyou’re not thinking clearlyinstead ofI disagree with your thinking. Until my own perception of reality becomes a symptom of something rather than a valid data point.

Holy shit, I’ve been in this hall of mirrors for nine years and I’m only just starting to understand what the hell is going on.

“I’ll tell you what,” he says. “Neither of us should be doing anything rash right now. Making big decisions. Dating or?—”

He pauses. “Let’s just agree that for the next year, we both take space. No outside… er, relationships. Let’s just take some time to think while we get ourselves together. And be celibate.”

I look at him.

He’s nodding slowly, like this is a reasonable thing he’sofferingme.

His face is open and sad and genuine.

This is the thing about Jake that I’ve never known how to explain to anyone?—

He means the things he says. He genuinelymeansthem and absolutely believes his own logic. So much so, that it’s easy for everyone else to believe it, too.

Like, in this moment, he’s a man who genuinely loves me and is in pain. So he’s doing and saying the things his pain is telling him to. His pain says he needs to make sure I can’t fully leave him. His pain needs to create an arbitrary rule I’m breaking if Idomove on, even after I’ve left him.

I really don’t think he’s doing it on purpose.

That’s always been the hardest part. It’s just how he sees the world, so clear in his own version of black and white.

It simply doesn’t leave any space for anybody else’s color.

I sigh. Then push past him down the hallway, “I’ve got to get a few more things out of the closet.”

He follows me to the bedroom. I put my hand up when he tries to follow me into the closet itself, so he stops at the threshold. I go in alone and breathe in the smell of our clothes still hanging together.

Then I glance over my shoulder to make sure Jake isn’t peeking in and crouch down to the sock drawer in the bottom of the closet.

I root around to the back of the drawer where I’ve ferreted away two socks, each stuffed with a thousand dollars in cash.

I hold them both in my hands.

Jake has locked me out of every account. Even while he talks about giving me space, I can tell he’s trying to ensure I can’t go far.

It would be fully understandable if I took both socks.

Texas is a community property state, I looked it up. I’m owed half of everything. Maybe more, depending on what the courts decide about alimony.

Two thousand dollars isn’t even a down payment on what’s fair.

Still, I put one sock back.

I tuck the other one into my bag, underneath the clothes I grabbed from the hangers, and then I walk out of the closet and take a long look at Jake standing in the doorway of our bedroom.

And I think:I’m choosing to believe you’re still the person I know, even now. And I’m choosing to be the personI want to beeven when it’s not the smart thing.

“I really think we can do this divorce through mediation,” I tell him. “Together. Like everything we’ve done in this marriage. You’re still the best friend I’ve ever had.”

His face softens. Hope moves across it, and I feel the familiar pull of wanting to be the one who makes things okay for him.

I always run towards his pain and tend to it.

I’ve had ten years of practice.