note: ten-part series continued! | 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6

The last time. It was raining lightly and cold outside. It was one of the more dreadful February evenings in New York. He held an umbrella up for Janet as they walked out of the restaurant. It was their fourth visit to Otto, the upscale pizzeria and enoteca near Washington Square. During the course of their relationship, Janet had helped him to develop a fondness for wine and cheese. Otto offered a large selection of Italian wines and various types of cheeses, and the couple usually opted for eight or nine different cheeses with maybe two or three appetizers on the side. He always ordered the fresh calamari with basil although Janet seemed to disapprove of the raw texture.

He knew something was off-kilter when she only sipped half a glass of wine the entire night. They usually ordered a bottle of Lugana Riserva Zenato 2002 and then tried a random red. They never finished the Lugana, and she asked the waiter for more ice water.

“Are you seriously going to stick with that job of yours?” she asked.

“Hey, we’ve had this talk before. I still need to sort things out and think about what I want to do,” he said.

“You’ve been ‘sorting’ things for ten years now. You can’t keep settling for shitty dead end jobs and pitying yourself,” she said.

“Okay. Listen. We’re out to have a quiet night and to enjoy dinner. So let’s not talk about this now,” he said, but she had already stopped listening to him.

They made love that night. He had trouble sleeping afterwards. The soft feeling of inebriation absent this time, he grew anxious. She was often testy these days, and she exhibited a coldness that seemed to intensify noticeably with every petty argument. He was afraid that if he woke up the next morning, she would be gone.

She was still there when he woke up, her back turned towards him. He let out a sigh and got ready for work.

It was the next day that she left. He knew instantly the moment he got back from work. Her clothes and personal belongings were either gone or thrown into the trash can. He looked for a hand-written note or a message on his cell phone. Nothing. He wanted to call her, but didn’t know what to say. He took out a bottle of chianti, which they kept along with a few other wines on top of their refrigerator, and began to drink straight out of the bottle.

The next day, he found an email from her. Sorry, I had to leave. I’ll have the papers sent to you. Please sign them so we can end things peacefully. He furiously wrote up a reply, asking why she was doing this, and how she could simply throw away the marriage without even consulting him. Had she been in an affair? Couldn’t they work out their problems? Did he do something wrong? But he never sent it to her. He waited, and the papers came.

He lied to his parents. He said it was a mutual parting and that they had remained on friendly terms. They felt bad for him, but did what they usually thought was best for all parties – they left him alone.

The last time he heard her voice was when he called her a few weeks after their divorce had been finalized.

“Hi.”

“Hi.”

“How have you been?”

“Good. You?”

“I’m okay.”

“Hey, did you take the iron?”

“Yes.”

“Oh.”

“I have to go.”

“Okay.”

She hung up before he could tell her to wait. He went to Duane Reade that day and bought an iron. He didn’t even know where she stayed.

***

The last time. Greg called late at night and left a message on his voicemail the day before their planned dinner at Wolfgang’s.

“Hey, I hate to do this to you, but I’ve been offered a new job, and it looks like our business thing will have to be put on hold. I’ll call you up sometime. Take care.”

He never heard from Greg again. He went to Wolfgang’s that evening on his own and ordered a filet mignon, a side of creamed spinach and German potatoes, and a bottle of cabaret sauvignon, which he managed to finish by himself.