When we graduated, I had a job in publishing in Manhattan, and Ben had his first big idea and a check for ten thousand dollars from his grandmother. It would be six months before he learned this was the last check he’d be receiving. We found a walk-up apartment in the East Village that we could almost afford, and I think we were happy. I’d come home from work and find him at the kitchen table, excited about a potential new investor. I’d cook as he shared the real-time details of their conversation. I figured he was too excited about his day to ask about mine.
By the time we married at twenty-six, the glow had worn off. Ben was still railing against the injustice of having no passive income, an injustice that fueled his rage against the simplemindedness of the investors who weren’t interested in his schemes. The part of me that knows who I am and knew I shouldn’t marry Ben had become hard to hear over the din of wedding plans. Newton must have been thinking of twentysomethings in long-term relationships with hard-to-secure wedding venues when he decided that objects in motion tend to stay in motion.
When I was two kids and one broken house into the marriage, I had to face the fact that Ben didn’t really like much about me at all. He didn’t like my worldview, my hair, my house. He was blind to my best qualities, and eventually I was too. I think our whole marriage was about me trying to make him glad he picked me. I humored him about his poorly thought-out projects. I made the money but did it quietly so he could feel like his work was what mattered, like I was waiting tables while he finished medical school. I even started using his words to describe my work, “another dumb romance.” I cooked the food and tried to be upbeat for the kids. I remembered his mother’s birthday and sent her gifts. It wasn’t enough.
In my mind, I was holding Ben up; in his, I was holding him back. He had a way of making me feel like every time another project fell apart, it was my fault. And there was no reason there, no logical connection, but the not-so-quiet implication was that it was me who was keeping him down. One night when I discovered we had thirty-seven dollars to our name, I suggested we eat at home rather than meeting friends out. “You have scarcity in your heart, Nora. You’ll always be broke,” he’d told me, disgusted. I have a husband who doesn’t work and tears through money like he’s printing it, I’d thought. Yes. I’ll always be broke.
That night, alone in my bed with Ben on the couch, I fell asleep clinging to the oddest thoughts. Among them was that starting tomorrow I’d have full control of the TV. Starting tonight, I’d be going to bed without Ben next to me, pestering me for bad sex. I imagined tomorrow’s sunrise and how that would be the last sunrise I’d ever watch with him in the house. The remaining sunrises would all be mine. I felt a profound relief that the struggle was over, like if you stopped treading water and then found yourself effortlessly floating to the surface. Go, Ben. Go find your big life.
Of course, it wasn’t just me. Ben was walking out on his kids too. And that was going to hurt them for a long time. But in my new buoyance, I couldn’t help but think that I’d never again register the doubt on their faces as he promised them something we couldn’t afford. I’d never again have to explain “what Daddy really meant when he said that mean thing.” This was going to take some time for them to adjust to, but in my heart, I knew they were better off with him gone.
The next morning, I woke up thinking about Arthur’s vocabulary test. He’d bombed the last one and was nervous to try again. I pictured him tackling all those tough words just after his father told him he was leaving. I ran downstairs and woke Ben. “Can we just wait until after school to tell the kids?”
“I’m leaving, Nora. You’re just going to have to accept it. I’m sorry.” He rubbed his eyes and turned back into the couch, and I thought, Man, the disconnect is real.
“I know, and I’ll come to terms with it,” I played along. “But let’s just let the kids have their school day, and we can tell them in the afternoon.”
“Sounds good,” he said, sitting up and meeting my gaze. “I’m going to shower.”
Over breakfast, Ben acted like everything was normal. I took the kids to school and went out to the tea house while he packed his things. I was anxious over the details of what was to come, but also a little nervous that he’d come out and tell me he’d changed his mind. I caught myself smiling out the tea house windows, wondering if maybe the future had actually just opened up. I never would have had the courage to let go of the rope in this tug-of-war, but Ben had done it for me.