Chapter 7 - THE STRAWBERRIES
Six months after separation, I was shopping at a grocery store in Blackwood.
I saw Linda.
Of course.
She had driven up to “look at condos.”
Her cart contained:
Organic berries.
Imported cheese.
Wine.
A bouquet.
I looked at the strawberries.
$8.99.
She noticed.
For one glorious second, neither of us spoke.
Then I smiled.
“Money growing on trees?”
Her face turned red.
I regretted it instantly.
Petty.
Accurate.
Still petty.
Linda surprised me.
She laughed.
Actually laughed.
“I deserved that.”
I stared.
“What happened to you?”
“Your divorce.”
Not the answer I expected.
She looked at the strawberries.
“I was awful.”
I said nothing.
“I thought because you didn’t spend much, you had less.”
“Yes.”
“And because you had less, I thought Mark had to protect himself.”
She looked embarrassed.
“I treated your thrift like evidence of inferiority.”
Better than most apologies.
Then:
“And I liked being needed.”
There.
“I didn’t want Mark moving because I was afraid if he built a life farther away, he’d stop calling.”
“That was his decision.”
“I know.”
She swallowed.
“I made it yours.”
I nodded.
“I’m sorry.”
I believed she meant it.
That did not make us close.
But I stopped hating supermarket aisles.
May you like
Progress comes strangely.
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