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I am already thinking ahead to filing for divorce. Now is not the time. I’ll have to wait until after my dad dies.

I can’t believe my dad is going to die.

“It will get better,” he says. Then again: “It will.”

That’s the thing with Kyle—he cannot sit in the darkness with me. He insists on only tilting his head to the light.

In the past couple of years of resentment building, I’ve been questioning the institution of marriage as a whole, thinking it unreasonable that we’re meant to choose a person when we are only a quarter of the way through our lives and remain bonded to that person forever —eating the same meals, watching the same TV shows, listening to the same music, sharing the same bed and sleep habits, aligning on financial values and sex drives and energy levels.

To top it all off, there are the children, little grenades, each of them.

Each baby is an explosion in a marriage, but you are supposed to carry on as usual, holding hands as you navigate the ruins and rebuild.

Some months ago, I tried talking to my work friend Jill about it:

“Think about your best friend in high school, or your college roommate. Could you live with them forever? It’s normal to grow out of relationships, is it not?”

“What are you saying, exactly?” she asked. “Do you want to get divorced?”

“I don’t know. It seems like that should be the norm, doesn’t it?”

I went on to declare that “till death do us part” really only benefits husbands, citing an article that said women’s health and well-being improves after divorce while men’s tanks.

I ranted and raved about how our society praises relationship masochism, applauding couples who stay together for decades, calling women’s self-sacrifice “commitment” and their suffering “loyalty.”

Jill just listened. When she was sure I was done, when I allowed for a second of silence, she said, “Nic, a lot of couples go through hard times.”

“Right,” I said. “Because marriage is fucking hard.”

She was silent, so I returned to my rant: “If we have to do marriage, we should have to renew the contract annually, like home insurance.”

“Would you renew your contract with Kyle?” she asked me.

“I don’t know. I can’t commit to any contracts right now. I have two small children,” I said. “Would you renew your contract with Matt?”

“I would.”

I groaned. “That’s because you don’t have kids. It’s easy to like your spouse when you don’t create humans with them.”

She laughed. “Would you date Kyle if you were to meet him today?”

I thought about it. “I don’t know,” I said, though the more honest answer was no.

Kyle wasn’t interesting to me anymore. His ambition had been attractive when we were younger, when we were college kids with no money and big dreams. Now, though, he was someone who worked hard and was well paid.

We had a good life by anyone’s standards, and I wanted, desperately, for that to be enough. But it just wasn’t.

“Really?”

“I don’t know if I’d date any man again,” I said.

“Switching teams?”

“I wish I could. I just can’t be attracted to vagina.”

“Are you attracted to penis?”

I gagged. “Good point.”

“Nic, I really just think you’re super stressed right now,” she said. “It’s a phase.”

Later that day, I asked Kyle the question Jill had asked me:

“If you met me today, would you want to date me?”

I hoped the question would foster a larger conversation about the very foundation and purpose of our marriage.

I fantasized about us being an evolved couple who could have these Big Talks and raw confessions and maybe agree to “consciously uncouple” if that was best for our individual paths, namaste.

“If I met you today?” he said. “Sure.”

Sure. As if I’d just asked him if he could pick up dishwasher detergent pods at the store.

I waited for him to ask the same question of me, but he didn’t.

Because he’s just not that curious. He doesn’t like to pick at things.

He doesn’t crave the kind of intimacy that I do, an intimacy that involves knowing the deepest, darkest parts of each other.

I didn’t crave that intimacy until I became a mother, until I became aware of the deep, dark parts of myself that I needed to have witnessed and pardoned.

This is my problem with marriage: it’s predicated on two people never changing.

I had the very best intentions, but I’ve failed. I’ve changed.

I curl up on the couch, cover my legs with Grace’s pink unicorn blanket.

I read and reread Elijah’s texts. I realize any psychologist worth her salt would make note of how I’ve manifested—the latest trendy word—this lovely Elijah distraction right when my life is falling apart.

I could have turned to booze or prescription pills for a pleasant release from reality, but no, that would be too conventional.

So instead, I’ve become dependent on the saga of Katrina and Elijah.

I like to think the fact that I have insight into what I’m doing means I’m not crazy.

Hey you

He texts back immediately:

Omg, way to leave a guy hanging. I really thought you were pissed

Maybe I was. But I’ve forgiven you

Him: I seriously can’t stop thinking about you

I am burdened with this same problem

Him: You can’t stop thinking about you?

Ha ha

Him: I don’t know if I can accept not seeing you again

I’m not sure if I can accept it either

Him: Remind me again why we can’t just keep doing what we’re doing?

You have no idea, I want to say.

So many reasons, I want to say.

Maybe we can . . .

He sends a party-hat emoji.

Him: I’ve worn you down already?

I regretted ending things immediately after I did it

Him: So it’s not just me feeling this thing?

It’s not just you

Him: I know you’re hesitant. It’s long distance and everything. We can be mellow. I just want to see you

Maybe I can come back up this weekend

I wasn’t planning to, had told Merry and my dad that I’d be back in a couple of weeks. But I have every right and reason to change my mind.

Him: You serious?

It would be cruel if I wasn’t

He sends a musical-note emoji.

Him: Music to my ears

We text until nearly midnight. The crushing fatigue I’ve felt all day vanishes. When I tell him I have to go to bed, it’s not because I’m tired but because I know the girls will be up early and then I’ll be tired.

Him: Alright then, night-night Kit Kat

We send each other kissy-face emojis, and I head back to the bedroom with a stupid smile on my face. Kyle is sleeping deeply enough to snore. I get under the covers and stare at the ceiling, heart slamming in my chest. I rehearse what I’ll say to Kyle:

I want to tell Merry about the official diagnosis in person. I feel like I should be there every weekend, for a while at least.

I’m still wide awake at two, then three. I don’t care, though. Even if the girls call for me at five, I’ll have a smile on my face.