
The night I paid for two.
It was my thirtieth birthday, and I was sitting alone at a table for two.
At nine fifteen my husband texted: Something came up. You know how work is. I didn’t cry. That’s what scared me. I had stopped expecting him to show up years ago, and I had never said it out loud.
I paid for two. I went home, put my ring in the kitchen drawer next to the takeout menus, and packed one bag. There was no big fight. There were hundreds of small moments I had learned to sleep through.
This book is every one of those moments, and what I know now. The things I wish someone had told me at twenty-three.
TABLE 12 · PARTY OF 2
Happy birthday, Mrs. M.
