Electric Regret

The divorce papers sat on the kitchen counter, weighted down by Maxwell's oversized vitamin C bottle—those enormous horse pills he'd swallowed religiously every morning, convinced they would stave off the inevitable decay of our marriage. Of course, they hadn't.

Outside, lightning fractured the November sky, illuminating the empty space where Buster's dog bed used to be. The golden retriever had been Maxwell's idea, too—a practice child for the ones we never managed to conceive. When Buster died last spring, something fundamental had collapsed between us, leaving only the silence of filled prescription bottles and unanswered questions.

I poured myself a glass of wine, watching the storm build. Another flash of lightning, closer now, made the kitchen fluoresce briefly. In that momentary ghost-light, I saw Maxwell standing in the doorway, rain-soaked and breathless.

"Forgot my vitamins," he said, his voice rough against the thunder that followed. "Can't get sick for the deposition tomorrow."

I slid the bottle across the counter, our fingers touching briefly, electric. The same lightning that had struck when we first met, fourteen years ago at that disastrous office party. He'd been wearing that ridiculous dog tie, I'd been the new associate with too much to prove. We'd ended up in the supply closet, which everyone pretended not to notice.

"You're sleeping in your car again?" I asked, though I knew the answer.

He shrugged. "Hotel's full with the storm evacuees."

The lightning struck again, and the power died, plunging us into darkness. In that black void, I heard him sigh—the same sound he made when the vet gave us Buster's diagnosis, when the fertility specialist said there was nothing more to try, when he moved out three weeks ago.

"The couch pulls out," I heard myself say. "For tonight."

"Just tonight," he agreed, but we both heard the lie in it.

As thunder rolled overhead, I thought about how we'd spent years collecting things we thought would save us—dogs, vitamins, each other—when all along, we were just waiting for the lightning to strike again, to show us what was already there.