Page 36 of Green
“Anyway. It takes two to un-tango. I don’t want to get a divorce. Just so you know.”
I stared at him, dumbfounded. “Are you being serious right now?”
“Dead serious.”
“If I decided to file for divorce next month, say, after your naturalization ceremony, you’re saying that you wouldn’t sign the papers?”
“At this point, I can honestly say that I don’t want to.”
“Why not?”
If he had just said, right then,“I don’t want to divorce you because we kissed last night and I want to keep kissing you, as your husband,”I would have melted and said “okay.” But he didn’t.
He said: “Are you planning on filing for divorce next month?”
He was trying not to look nervous, but I could tell he really didn’t want to divorce me. I should have been happy about that, I suppose. I certainly didn’t want to stress him out. “No, I wasn’t planning on doing it next month, necessarily, I just assumed…”
“That’s why I brought it up.”
I sighed and poured myself another cup of coffee. This conversation was getting ridiculous. “You want to keep doing what we’re doing? Keeping our legal marital status a secret while you continue to bone other women?”
He nearly spat out his coffee. “Well, Gem, if you have any suggestions as to how we should make some adjustments to the current situation I would love to hear them.”
“You’re just trying to make me late for Ben.”
“Maybe Ben’s trying to keep you away from me.”
“He’s not. But what if he were? He has every right to.”
“I disagree, and don’t change the subject.”
“You’re the one who changed the subject.”
“This is kind of an important issue. I think we need to talk about this.”
“Agreed…We need to live separately, get a divorce, and go back to being just friends again.” I saw him wince, but I continued. “I need to start dating again.”
“You mean Ben?”
“Maybe. I need to be single. I don’t like lying.”
“About what?” His arched eyebrow challenged me.
About my feelings for you, idiot.
“I wouldn’t feel right living with you and dating someone else. I mean, someone new. I know it’s fine for you, but it isn’t for me, so I don’t want to do that.”
“Then don’t.”
“Don’t live with you?”
“Don’t date someone else.”
“I have to.”
“Are you horny, baby?” He did his Austin Powers imitation. It was dead-on, except for the fact that the weird phony accent actually made him sexier.
I cracked up. Not because it was funny to me, because I couldn’t take this conversation seriously. How could I? We didn’t talk about these things. Not with each other, anyway. Not sober.
