I Want a Divorce

5. Pretender

Ivo got into his car and waited for me to do the same before opening the gate of the house. He wouldn't even think of opening the door for me unless one of the kids was asleep in my arms. He connected his phone to the speaker and spent the entire drive talking to a man from work. I was in the passenger seat, watching the raindrops slide down the window glass, while listening to my husband's endless lis of tasks.

We arrived at the restaurant and the valet opened my door and extended a hand to help me out. Ivo joined me after a few minutes, still with the phone glued to his ear, while the hostess asked us to follow her through the tables with white tablecloths and candles in the center; I loved this place, you could say it was one of my favorites, as it was very intimate. Couples were scattered around, having pleasant conversations, everything looked even more romantic with the subtle piano music in the background, but I was sitting alone, waiting for Ivo to finish his call somewhere.

—May I take your order? —the waiter asked beside me.

—A bottle of red, please, and I'll tell you about dinner in a moment —I replied while my eyes danced over the menu, disguising the fact that I was alone in that place—, thank you.

The young man nodded and stepped away, leaving me even more solitary than before. I looked at my phone to have something to do while waiting for Ivo to finish his tasks. That is what I meant when I told the psychologist that I couldn't talk to him. To occupy my time, and not lose hope, I decided to reply to Deniska's pending message.

«Yes, just Nikola. I regret not going for that coffee with you, at least I could have talked to someone», the message said, and somehow I felt so identified with it that I could only manage a small, sad smile.

«Me too,» I replied while my husband settled in front of me with a sullen face, something had gone wrong and it showed.

—What happened? —I asked, interested.

—They're inept —he complained bitterly—, they can't sort out anything if I'm not there. Did you order yet? —he inquired. I shook my head— You should have. You were very hungry and I, with the anger, also needed to eat something.

My husband's words twisted my stomach with anger, he didn't miss the opportunity to emphasize his stupid speculation that my hunger was the reason for my mood. Ivo raised his hand to call the waiter. After a quick glance at the menu, he had ordered and now waited for me to do so. I ordered shrimp pasta as a starter and salmon on a bed of vegetables. The young man took the order, poured the wine glasses, and disappeared again.

My phone vibrated again, catching my husband's attention, who raised an eyebrow in my direction and then observed me for a few minutes, directly in the eyes. I ignored the phone, instead, I took the fruity wine glass and took a sip. It seemed like he wanted to tell me something, but the words wouldn't come out of his mouth. Finally, he took the wine glass in his hands and sighed.

—How are the kids? —he asked coldly— Have you talked to them yet?

—They're fine, they're coming back tomorrow.

—Hey —he snapped, placing the napkin on his lap, as if downplaying what he was about to say—, sorry for not coming yesterday, but it's been very heavy days, the workload has been drastic lately, and it's good that it is —I pushed down the sadness that was starting to grow and forced a smile, after all, he worked for us, to achieve his dreams and goals, lifting us to a higher economic status than we had now—. Maybe it would have been better if you had gone with your mother and the kids.

I don't know if he didn't care or didn't even bother to find out how I got home the night before, and it was perfectly clear to me that he didn't remember what day it was. I suddenly felt a surge of anger, but again I tried to contain myself and took another sip from the glass, this time with more desperation.

—You don't know what day it was yesterday, do you? —I asked, and Ivo's face changed, his eyes widened as he pressed his lips together, making it clear he had no idea— It was our wedding anniversary —I added, swallowing the lump in my throat.

—Of course I remember, love —he said, but I knew him so well that I knew he was lying, he had forgotten—, but with everything I did yesterday —I listened to Ivo's response, knowing that whatever he said wouldn't be enough to make up for the pain he had caused me—… I'm sorry, Regina.

The waiter returned, breaking the somber mood that surrounded me, placed the pasta in front of us, and then, without saying a word, left, as if he understood that his presence had been untimely. I stared at the beautiful dish in front of me, searching within myself for the strength to pick up the fork and start eating, the first bite urging me to continue in the same manner: slowly, without speaking.

—I truly am sorry —he sighed, scratching his eyebrow, without looking at me.

—Don't worry, it's in the past —I slowly turned until I found my handbag. I had bought something for him. After all, it was 15 years of marriage and I didn't want to let it pass—. Here you go. I got you this.

—What is it? —he asked, frowning.

—Open it —he obliged and stared at the watch for a few seconds before pressing his lips together—. Do you like it?

—It's not my style, but I appreciate the thought —he explained while looking intently at the contents of the box, and that broke my heart. It really wasn't necessary, but if you wanted to spend money, you could have bought me a cologne, a pen, or something I actually needed.

«I'm a fool. I don't know why I bothered. He's never liked the things I buy him and I don't know what I was thinking…» I scolded myself as I took a bite of food, historically he had never liked my gestures, even though I tried so hard to show him my love, even if I ended up just like at that moment.

Ivo's face suddenly changed, as if something had occurred to him out of nowhere, but he said nothing, not a single word came out of his mouth. On the contrary, an absolute silence settled between us, something didn't feel right, he wasn't okay.

I opted to talk to him about work to calm my emotions. However, Ivo only responded monosyllable to each question. No matter what I asked, he cut the conversation short. I inquired about his family. Although I wanted to know how his parents and siblings were, it had been almost half a year since we last saw them, but he only responded with a simple "fine, they're fine"; I was disheartened by his demeanor, but I didn't give up and tried to engage in more conversation to reach the exact moment when I wanted to tell him how I felt; although I tried, I couldn't, Ivo was physically in front of me, but his mind wasn't there.

The waiter approached to clear the plates and leave the main course on the table. My husband checked his phone intermittently while eating hastily. He looked at me sporadically and gave a half-smile, trying to make me smile too, but he had no idea what I was feeling at that moment, after the desperate attempt to express myself in any way, the only thing swimming through my entire being was disappointment and an idea began to take root in my head, with force.

"What had happened to us?" It had been several years since we began frequenting this place, since we started dating back in college, and I remember everything being so different. Back then, he would hold my hand and look at me! His eyes focused on me like a divine treasure; his ears were always open, receptive, willing to listen for hours to everything I had to say; the delicacy with which he treated me was infinite, as if my body felt to him like a delicate and fragile crystal rose. He would hold my hand as we walked down the street, caress me, acknowledge my achievements no matter how small, talk with me about any topic, we shared dreams, laughter, and days together... now we only shared the food that lay on the table in front of us, the bed, if Ivo didn't come home too late and end up falling asleep on the couch in front of the TV, so as "not to wake me" according to him, and of course, I can't forget the debts and our wonderful two children.

I felt like a wreck, abandoned, forgotten, and unable to express myself, but above all, it pained me to think that he might have stopped loving me. I didn't believe he was cheating on me; he was too loyal for that. What I did consider, however, was the far more silent and devastating possibility that he had simply lost interest in me, that somewhere along the way I had become ordinary to him, and that our relationship had quietly transformed into nothing more than habit and routine.

"What are you thinking about?" the gruff voice of a man, from a couple near our table, caught my attention, prompting me to discreetly glance sideways at them. "Will you tell me?"

The man insisted, and the woman with him extended her hand across the table, just for him to take it gently on his own, caressing it with a tenderness that felt almost sacred. They were so sweet, it was impossible not to envy them; they looked so in love.

"About how," she began, somewhat shyly, "I would like to share my days with you. I imagine waking up next to you in the mornings and having your smile be the first thing I see. I want to walk by your side and when we're old, say to you: 'See, you were the love of my life!'"

I lost track of what the woman was saying, my mind took me back to years ago when there were such comments between Ivo and me. For a moment, I saw us sitting at that same table, holding hands under the candlelight, believing that the love we had would survive anything that came our way.

"What's wrong?" Ivo grumbled as he wiped his mouth. "Isn't your food good?"

"Yes, it is," I paused, and my husband looked at me as if questioning why I wasn't eating. "... It's just that I was wondering... Do you remember the day you came to find me in Barcelona?"

The man with honey-colored eyes, cold and calculating, in front of me smiled slightly, nodded, and then let out a sigh filled with nostalgia.

"Your dad didn't want me near you and sent you there on vacation," he commented while scratching his beard as if reminiscing, "the only way he could think of to keep you away from me, and even though he took your phone, he didn't count on you telling me where you'd be through your friend's phone."

"You traveled for 6 hours to see me and be with me," I said in a voice still touched by the memory.

"It wasn't 6, it was actually 8 hours," he replied, then gave me one of those smiles I missed so much. "There was traffic that day. And well, how could I not do it? You know... I suppose I missed you."

I brought the fork to my mouth, a resigned smile escaping my lips. I also missed my husband, the one who showed me I was the only woman in his life. I missed the person I adored with devotion and who I still loved with all my heart.

"You know?" I inquired, catching his attention that had wandered, I suppose, into memories of that trip. "I'd like us to take a couple of days, and maybe we could go back to Barcelona for a getaway."

—Right now, it's not possible —he replied bluntly—, with the supermarket chains coming on board, I'll be busier than ever, even on Sundays I'll have to work.

—Maybe it could be in a couple of weeks or a month —I added, trying to keep the possibility open.

—It could be, but I think it's going to be very complicated. Besides, I don't like Barcelona, you know that.

—So, tell me, where would you like to go? Wherever you want, we'll go. The main thing is to spend a couple of days together.

—I like Seville —he countered—, but soon we'll be in winter, so it might be nice to take the kids to the Alps. I could teach them to ski, or we could hit the beach if you prefer. I think they would like that.

I nodded, feeling even more sidelined, he hadn't paid attention to what I wanted, to be alone, but it wasn't a bad plan to have a family vacation either. I resigned myself; maybe it just wasn't the right time. I just focused on eating while my husband continued sending messages or answering calls and asked for the bill.

I picked up my phone and texted Deniska. It was the only thing I could do. I didn't want David to find out. After all, I felt he didn't fully understand me and I just wanted to vent. I wasn't sure what I was thinking, I suppose I firmly believed that she understood me, that she knew exactly how I felt.

«I have a question for you: How often do you have to pretend you don't want to cry?» I wrote before getting up, slipping my phone into my purse. I'd spent the whole dinner wanting to cry and scream at once. I hadn't even been able to tell him how I felt about his attitude. I guess I was just giving in. I got up to find the restroom, to use the restroom and check my reflection in the mirror, upon returning, I felt Ivo's gaze, heavy and confused, he looked me up and down and clicked his tongue, then squinted in my direction as I sat down in front of him.