A year into the global pandemic, G, my husband, and I went to Sun Valley, Idaho, to end our marriage. It was a place neither of us had ever visited — either as a couple or with our two daughters. It was neutral territory with no nostalgia.
One day, G took me to lunch in the town of Oyster Bay. We had been writing letters all summer, swapping book recommendations, and there we were sharing a bottle of wine and talking over one another, trading insights about Hemingway’s Nick Adams and Steinbeck’s Ethan Allen Hawley. We were captivated by those men writing iconic stories about life, death and the American dream — stories of moral compromises and the loss of innocence.
I had no family role models for how to do this. Growing up in the 1970s, divorces were few and far between, or represented in movies like “Kramer vs. Kramer” with its frightening portrayal of parents destroying their lives and that of their child. In my own family, to my knowledge, no relative has ever sought a divorce.
Early in our marriage, we took a trip to Laguna Beach. I kissed G, tasting briny crystals as I moved my mouth to the sea curl of his ear. “Let’s make a baby,” I whispered. I hugged him close and was afraid to look at his reaction. If I did — and saw how scared he was and considered how we had never talked about having kids before, how neither of us had jobs, only debt — I might make the wish go away.
With a deep breath, I took off. My body had no memory of the sport, and I felt the last year of languishing on the couch in my legs — they would not turn fast enough in the deep snow. Terror took over as my skis sped up and my limbs flailed as I crashed. The bindings disengaged, the poles went flying, and I tumbled over and over.G had stopped halfway down and started side stepping up the hill toward me. A man on his way down the hill found my poles and brought them to me.
One day I noticed everything in the freezer was melting. The door had been left slightly ajar. I closed it. The next day, it happened again. I asked my daughters if they were messing with it and when they said no, I asked G. He told me I was imagining things. A few days later, it happened again. I asked my daughters, and they said no. I asked G, and he was cagey. I pushed him, and he admitted to it.
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