You haven’t been yourself for a while. I know that you are grieving for October, I understand that she was more than just a colleague, and the dream of seeing your own work on screen stalling, again, must also be upsetting. But it still feels as if there is something else going on. Something you’re not telling me. There are residents in our lives, the ones who stay for years, and then there are the tourists just passing through. Sometimes it can be hard to tell the difference. We can’t, and don’t, and shouldn’t try to hold on to everyone that we meet, and I’ve met a lot of tourists in my life, people I should have kept at a safe distance. If you don’t let anyone get too close they can’t hurt you.
I spent today alone, visiting the parts of New York I’d never seen before, while you followed Henry Winter around the city. The elderly author might seem charming to you, on the rare occasions when you have been in his company, but in real life the man lives like a hermit, drinks like a fish, and is impossible to please. I can’t tell you that, because I shouldn’t know. I’ve read all of his novels, too, just like you. His most recent was mediocre at best, but you still act as though the man is Shakespeare reincarnated.
I tried not to think about it when I visited the Statue of Liberty. The ferry to the island was ram-packed, but I still felt alone. Inside the monument, I joined a group of strangers for a tour. There were families, couples, friends, and as we climbed the staircase, I realised that everyone seemed to have someone to share the experience with. Except me. A friend from work texted to ask how the trip was going. I haven’t known them very long, and it seemed a little over-familiar, so I didn’t reply.
There are three hundred and fifty-four steps to the Statue of Liberty’s crown. I silently counted the reasons why we were still together as I climbed them. There are plenty of good things about our marriage, but a growing number of bad ones make me feel like we are starting to unravel. This distance between us, the empty spaces in our hearts and words; it scares me. A lot of married couples we know are muddling along, but most of those have the glue of a young family to keep them stuck together. We only have us. I did something I never do at the top… I took a selfie.
I headed to Coney Island after that. I guess it must be busier in summer, but I quite liked wandering around the closed arcades. I even found a last-minute gift for you – the copper theme this year posed a bit of a challenge. We’ve had so many highs and lows over the course of our relationship, but I suppose year seven is supposed to be difficult. I’ve heard about the seven-year itch and I’m sure you must have too. Whatever happens, I know I won’t be the first to scratch it.
When my feet ached from all the walking, I headed back to the aptly named Library Hotel. It’s a small but perfectly formed boutique hideaway, full of books and personality. Every room has a subject and ours was Maths. Horror might have been more appropriate, given the way this evening has turned out.
I’d booked us a table for dinner – I knew you would forget to remember – at a nearby steak house called Benjamin that the concierge recommended. The decor and atmosphere made me think of The Shining meets The Godfather – which again seems rather fitting in hindsight – but the service and steaks were perfection. As was the wine. We drank two bottles of red while I listened to you tell me about your day with Henry. You didn’t ask about mine, or notice the new dress I’d bought in Bloomingdales. Paying me a compliment is something you only do by accident these days.
I forgot to wave tonight when you walked into the restaurant, but somehow you still knew it was me. Given that all faces look the same to you, and I was wearing something you had never seen, your confidence as you sat down at our table was out of character and surprising. I was equally baffled by how much attention you paid the waitress, wondering how you recognised the beauty of her twenty-something features if you couldn’t see her face.
I think I knew we were going to argue even before you said what you said. Sometimes fights are like storms, and you can see them coming.
‘I’m sorry to do this, but Henry wants me to go with him to LA. Given all the buzz around this film, the studio want to adapt another of his books, and he says he’ll only entertain the idea if I go along to meet them and agree to write the screenplay.’
‘What about Rock Paper Scissors? You’re not going to give up on that, are you? It’s terrible about October, but there are other actresses. Working on Henry’s novels was only supposed to be a stepping stone to—’