She raised her head but she didn’t look me in the eye as I plopped down in the arm chair. “God,” she said, “this is harder than I thought.”
Now I was concerned. “What is it, Glenda? What’s happened?”
She took a deep breath and then let it all out abruptly. “I don’t know any other way to do this, Alex, so I’ll just say it straight out: I want a divorce.”
“What?” I asked stupidly. “Is this a joke or something?”
“No,” she said quietly, “I’m not joking. I’m going to file for divorce.”
I felt as though I had fallen into one of the bad novels I have to edit at work, except that the characters usually have witty comebacks. I had nothing. “But why? We have a good marriage. I don’t want a divorce — I love you.”
She shook her head impatiently, like I was a child slow to learn his lessons. “No, it hasn’t been good for a long time. I’ve felt it, even if you haven’t.” She shifted her position on the sofa and leaned forward as though she were trying to sell me something. “It’s nothing you did, Alex, it’s just that we’ve grown apart. It’s nobody’s fault – these things just happen sometimes.”
I tried to protest but she held up her hand. “Please don’t,” she said. “There’s nothing you can say to make me change my mind. I’m just going to pack a bag and then I’m leaving,” she went on.
I was still in a state of disbelief. “Leaving? Where are you going? Can’t we talk about this?”
She shook her head sadly. “I’m going to stay with a friend until we can get everything finalized here. Please just accept it. Neither one of us wants to say anything that will make this harder than it already is.”
With that she disappeared into our bedroom, and as I stood there in shock, she reappeared in a remarkably brief time, rolling her suitcase behind her. It was as if she already had it packed and waiting.
“Please, Glenda, what about counseling? Can’t we find somebody . . .”
She brushed by me and opened the door. “I’m sorry, Alex, there’s nothing to talk about. It has to be this way.” With that she rolled the bag over the threshold and pulled the door shut behind her, leaving me standing there in stunned silence.
I slowly walked back to the sofa and collapsed on it. In the kind of novels I edit, the main character goes into a towering rage, or heads off to the nearest bar to get drunk, or leaves to try to get laid. I did none of those things. Instead I sat there in the growing darkness and tried to find answers to the questions swirling through my head. I simply could not comprehend what had happened, much less why.
My relationship with Glenda had not been remarkable. We’d gone to the same college and had been part of a group that hung out with each other all four years we’d been there. Most of the time none of us actually dated each other; it had been easier to do things as a group rather than pairing off. But during our senior year, Glenda began going with a guy who wasn’t part of our group, so we didn’t see her as much as in the past. I think she was hoping he’d pop the question, but he opted for grad school in California and they broke up at graduation.