The day after my husband told me that he wanted to separate, I stayed in bed late. Thinking. Calculating. Making lists in my head. It’s what I do to try to take control of a situation.
My process, so to speak.
Deciding that I needed sustenance in order to figure out how best to handle my soon-to-be status as a separated spouse, I went upstairs to our renovated Brooklyn brownstone kitchen and was greeted by the smell of breakfast and to the image of a bright sunny clean room, with my husband puttering around. When he saw me he smiled.
He smiled.
If this had been any other morning, I would have smiled back.
“Good morning!” He moved so quickly to kiss me I almost didn’t kiss him back.
I stood there taking in the whole scene, and wondered for one brief minute if I’d dreamed the whole separation thing up. But no, that would require me sleeping, which I definitely did.not.do.
theburnpile 