Things We Didn't Say Yesterday #12

At some point you have to remember I'm not that kind of person.

Everything--and everyone--was now neatly divided. The objects had been easier than the people, some of whom might have struggled when deciding. Looking over the list of guests who had attended her wedding, Cindy found few surprises among the friends she and Chris had once shared. Her friends, naturally, had swung easily to her side, and Chris' friends had done the same. Their mutual friends seemed to have taken one of two routes: Some abandoned her and Chris all together, while others declared allegiance to one side or another.

She and Chris had not spoken in months; they had not even crossed paths though they still lived near to one another. The morning of his birthday she woke up and, still drowsy, found herself considering what type of cake to make. She wondered if she would ever forget his birthday or their anniversary. But, she was happy that the "daze and malaise" had passed, though with her wedding guest list on the table in front of her, she knew she had not severed everything completely. And in the box at her feet were the wedding pictures, the major part of any archaeological record that she and Chris had been married. He had not asked about them, and she did not know what to do with them.

Their last encounter had been in front of Stiller's Ice Cream Emporium. It was a place they'd both frequented before they'd even met, so she did not find it odd that they would meet there. Chris was sitting at a table on the patio, and she had seen him from inside. It would have been easy for her to leave without talking to him, but she no longer felt that she needed to avoid him.

"Vanilla?" she asked. He seemed neither surprised nor perturbed by her presence. She sat across from him.

"I'm a vanilla kind of guy," he said. "Strawberry?"

"Habitually," she said. "How are things?"

He shrugged. "Things are things. My mom died."

"Oh...Chris! I'm sorry. When?"

"Last month."

"Why didn't you call me?"

"Why should I call you?"

"To be considerate. I loved your mother."

He didn't say anything, and she didn't think he was especially pleased by her presence.

"How's your dad?"

"He's fine," Chris said.

"You sound bitter."

"Bitter?"

"Yeah. Bitter. You finally angry with me?"

"Which do you want me to be--angry, or bitter? Take your pick."

"Can't we be pleasant, at least?"

"We could be. We could be pleasant. But I don't know if I'm ready for that."

"That doesn't make any sense, Chris. You told me a long time ago that you weren't angry, that you were doing fine. Why the change?"

He wiped ice cream from his fingertips. "Maybe you've convinced me that I just need to start being honest."

"With you, or with me?"

"Both."

"It sounds like something that counselor told us."

"It could be. I'm seeing 'that counselor' again."

"Why?"

"Just to talk. To have someone tell me that I'm not the reason for all this. At least, not the only reason."

"I never said that you were. Did I? Did I ever say that?"

"No. But it's what you thought--I could tell. I know I wasn't a good husband in a lot of ways, and maybe now I'd be a better one. Little things don't bother me as much as they used to, and I think I understand you more now than I did when we were married."

"Good lord...you really have been getting counseling, haven't you?"

"Yes."

"I've thought about a lot of things too, Chris. I told you all along that you are not to blame. Why didn't you believe me. Why couldn't you believe what I said?"

She watched his eyes as he seemed to consider several answers. His face had changed.

"You never told me that. You should've told me then. I might've believed you then," he finally said.

"Maybe I didn't use those words, but I said it in different ways. At some point you have to remember I'm not that kind of person.

"Which kind of person?"

"The kind of person who would blame you for everything."

"You chose to end things."

"Oh, stop."

"And maybe you should go talk to someone."

"I've got friends to talk to."

"So do I, Cindy. But maybe you need someone to tell you things you don't see and don't want to hear."

"It sounds as though you're blaming me for something."

"I'm not."

"I wish that I hadn't come out here to talk to you. I didn't want this. I don't want this again." With that, she finished her ice cream cone and left.


She dropped the guest list into the box that held the wedding album, set the lid in place, slid the box back into the closet. She thought that she would send the entire box to Chris, that he could carry that burden for awhile. Things had to change some more; she saw that now.