Pause (Larsen Bros)

“You’re frowning,” says Leif. “Why is that?”

I scrunch up my face. “Oh. Ah . . .”

“Be honest,” he chides.

“I was thinking deep thoughts about my soon-to-be ex-husband’s character.”

He scratches his stubble. “Yeah, see, this is difficult for me. Because I kind of want to high-five you for dumping the asshole. And make no mistake, he is an asshole and completely undeserving of you. But on the other hand, you had your heart stomped on by that whole situation and I don’t want to be an insensitive dick.”

I frown. “Yeah.”

He bops his head like he’s listening to music. Or just agreeing with himself. “You seem like a smart woman who’s got it together. So I’m sure he wasn’t always a complete cock splash. At least, I hope not.”

“No, he wasn’t.”

“But it sounds like it’s probably time now to catapult that marriage into the sun.”

“This is true.” I heavy sigh. “You know, I used to think we were perfect. It’s kind of been a wake-up call to find out that we were far from it.”

He doesn’t say anything. Just cocks his head to let me know he’s listening.

“We used to coordinate outfits and finish each other’s sentences and all that annoying couple stuff.”

A grunt.

“Now I just wonder if our wardrobes were boring, if we never had an original thought between us, and perhaps urgently needed to each get a life irrespective of the other,” I say. “I used to think his shortcomings were so cute. The way he’d carry on and on about work stuff. How he’d scream at the television during football games. Guess everyone’s cute and funny until they’re not.”

“The veil has been lifted.”

“Indeed.”

“Relationships.” His broad shoulders deflate. “What can you do?”

“I take it they’re not your thing?”

He sighs. “That’s a conversation that needs to be accompanied by alcohol.”

“Got it.”

“Listen, I’m sorry I didn’t make it to your birthday bash,” he says, face tense. “I, um . . . I’m not much into group things at the moment. But I hope it was a good day and everything.”

“Sure. Thanks.” That Mom invited him is news to me. Though she knew I’d been to see him, so I guess her inviting him makes sense. Why he’s against group events, I have no idea. But it’s not like they’re my thing right now either. People en masse are a problem. Their opinions and expectations and just how generally overwhelming it can all be.

We wander through downtown, the city bustling around us. It’s nice to be out amongst it all. I’m grateful for so many things these days. Maybe that’s the main difference between old me and new me. New me knows what it’s like to lose your independence. New me has been through some shit.

A few blocks away from the water we turn into a brightly painted bar in an old building. The booths have scarred old wooden tables and teal leather bench seats. It’s cool. Behind the bar, a tattooed woman with a braid of gray hair hollers hello to Leif and he blows her a kiss. Obviously he’s a regular. We grab a booth near the back.

“What do you suggest?” I ask, checking out the menu.

Head cocked, he asks, “May I be so bold as to order for both of us?”

“Go ahead.”

“Any allergies or strong dislikes?”

“I don’t like pickles.”

“You don’t like pickles? Weirdo.” He turns in his seat, waving a hand at a passing waiter. “Two of my regular, please, Andi. And may I say you’re looking particularly radiant today.”

The lady smiles. “Why thank you, Leif.”

“What do you have on your burger if you don’t have pickles?” Leif asks, making himself comfortable. Which apparently means reorganizing the salt and pepper shakers, straightening the cutlery, and smoothing down the white paper napkin. The man is a fiddler.

“Meat, cheese, ketchup,” I say. “The normal things.”

“But pickles are a normal thing.”

I wrinkle my nose. “Pickles are a normal thing to take off hamburgers, not put on them.”

“Huh.”

“What are your allergies and strong dislikes?”

“Mint,” he says. “I hate that shit.”

“You don’t eat Mint Oreos? That’s so sad. How about mint chip ice cream?”

“Yuck.”

“What are you even doing with your life, Leif?”

“Living it happily mint free, is what I’m doing.”

“We both hate green food items,” I say. “Interesting.”

“It’s like we were always meant to be together.” He gives me a wink to show he’s joking. “What’s your stance on Kermit the Frog, though?”

“He seems like a cool dude. I mean, he plays the banjo. That’s pretty great.”

“It is indeed. So it’s not the color green, just certain foodstuffs. Okay. I can live with that,” he says. “How are you taking to the single life?”

“I haven’t been single in so long.” My shoulders slump. “Oh, God, I’m going to have to register for a dating app. I’m actually going to have to go out and meet new people. That’s so depressing and scary.”