Marriage was just paperwork anyway, wasn't it?
That's the joke Luke liked to make whenever the topic came up at dinner with his family.
"It's just a piece of paper," he'd say, grinning. "We're already a team."
But I'd noticed, too, how his bank account stayed in his name only, and mine stayed in mine. He called it practical.
"Just for now," he always added.
"It's just a piece of paper."
***
I climbed into bed that night and listened to him breathe beside me. I told myself I was being impatient and that he'd propose when he was ready. I had no idea that one ordinary Tuesday and the front door opening at the wrong time, was about to undo every story I'd been telling myself.
***
I came home from the gym earlier than usual that Tuesday. My class had been canceled, and I jogged the last two blocks because it had started to drizzle. At the apartment, Luke's car keys sat in the little bowl by the door because he was also off work that day.
I told myself I was being impatient.
I slipped out of my sneakers in the entryway, wanting to surprise him.
Then I heard his voice in the bedroom, low and easy, the way he sounded when he talked to Donald.
I took a step closer, smiling already, ready to pop my head around the corner. That's when I heard my name.
"Emma? Come on, Donald. It's not that serious."
That made me stop. I held the strap of my gym bag a little tighter and stayed in the hallway.
That's when I heard my name.
"Come on, just because we've been together for eight years doesn't mean anything," Luke said. Then he laughed, a short, light laugh, as if he were telling a joke at a barbecue.
"She's not wife material. She's great to live with, sure. Life is easy with her. But a wife? No, that's different."
I froze, and my gym bag slid off my shoulder. I caught it before it hit the floor.
"I know, I know," Luke went on. "I'm still waiting to meet the one. Emma's, you know, comfortable. There's a difference."
"She's great to live with, sure."
I put my hand against the wall. The wallpaper felt cold under my palm, and I remember thinking how strange that was because nothing in our apartment had ever felt cold before.
His words echoed in my head.
"She's not wife material."
After eight years of love, loyalty, and the belief that we wanted the same future, I still wasn't the woman he wanted to marry. I was just convenient, someone who made his life easier.
I remember thinking how strange that was.
I didn't make a sound.
I walked back to the door, picked up my sneakers, and stepped out as quietly as I'd come in. I walked into the hallway. After about 10 minutes, I returned. This time, I jangled my keys loudly at the door, stomped my feet on the mat, and called out,
"Babe? I'm home. It's pouring out there!"
