Gabe was standing beneath a light, misty drizzle, checking on his little bit of garden—the flowerpots on the second-floor balcony. Playing through his head was a snippet of Sibelius he’d been listening to, over and over, the day before while he was trying to get his grading done. But he didn’t know the whole piece by heart—far from it— so mostly the same bit was repeating, over and over.

The melody was in the horn section. There was something so lonely about a French horn. Composers almost always grouped their horns by four or eight. And yet they still sounded lonely. Like a group of lonely people who had gathered together… to be lonely together.

He kneeled down to see that one of the cups he had set out to catch rainwater had a cricket in it. It looked to be staying afloat for now, but there was no way it could get out. Cupping his hand, he reached in, and it tickled ever so slightly as it climbed up onto his hand, then jumped onto his shirt. He let out a bit of a laugh as he saw it balanced on the lip of his breast-pocket, as on a tightrope. It was at that moment that he glanced at his watch and saw that he had to get ready.

He closed his eyes for a moment and went inside, taking off the slippers he wore on the porch. He would need to change his shirt, take a swig of water. No, a bottle. Was there a bottle? Ten minutes of pottering around the kitchen and bedroom and he was out the door, raincoat swishing every time he moved his arms. Another ten minutes and he was waiting on the subway platform. Another hour and he was belatedly plugging the address of the courthouse into his cell phone. Then switching over to text Alex and Mara to tell them when the ordeal would likely be over. Then back to the app for the directions.

***

II

Lucia looked up as he came into the room, and both froze. He could see it in her face: she did not know how to react to him any more than he did to her.

She was the first to speak. She always had been: “How… have you been? Um. Keeping yourself, I mean.”

“Oh. You know. Work. Friends. Tomato-plants.”

She nodded. “Oh, and whiskey,” he added.

They both chuckled. He felt his shoulders relax as he saw hers do the same.

“You shouldn’t drink too much,” she said. “You should smoke weed instead.”

She was giggling into her hand. He laughed openly now. “Ah yes, weed versus booze. The two sides of the eternal conflict. This is probably why we—.” His eyes opened wide and his mouth closed shut. It was too soon. Her shoulders tensed again. So did his. He felt tears brimming under his eyes. “I. I didn’t mean,” he said.

It suddenly felt warm. Gabe reached for the zipper of his coat and started to open it. He stopped when he saw Lucia’s eyes go wide again. He looked down and saw the cricket. He panicked and brushed it off his shirt. It jumped and landed again on his shoulder. His hand flailed and he squashed it flat against the soft fabric of his hoodie. There was a dark, soggy place when he scraped it off his shoulder.

Lucia’s eyes were looking at him, wondering why he had just done that. He was wondering the same.

“I—.” He fell silent. What had he been meaning to say? To tell her why the cricket had been there? To tell her that he had saved it from the bucket of rainwater? To apologize again? To ask her to dinner after they were done signing the documents so they could talk—just talk? No—he was meeting with friends. She probably was, too. But…

He smiled to himself as he considered each possibility in turn. But sometimes the most forceful thing; the most productive thing; the most sensible thing you could do was say nothing.

A great door opened and a crowd of people came out, among them, the lawyer who was mediating their case. The three of them went back down the steps, chatting pleasantly—or trying to—until they reached the law offices around the corner. Gabe felt so close to Lucia at just that moment. A breeze was blowing the humidity of the morning’s rains away. A bit of blue had broken through the clouds. The sparrows and pigeons could be heard, their voices magnified by the sleek skyscrapers and stone government buildings. It seemed like everyone was in a good mood except Gabe and Lucia. He wanted to hold her hand. As a friend would do. And at the thought of it, hot tears started rolling down his cheeks. He made no attempt to stop them They had their place in today’s ritual.

“So,” he said, turning his head to Lucia as they walked. And then: “How have you been?”

“Oh, you know. Only had to wash one patient’s poop off of me yesterday. So. You know. Could be worse.”

They both chuckled with just their mouths.

***

III

The lawyer’s office was on Worth street, just north of City Hall. Floor-to-ceiling windows overlooked a park, and they could hear the delighted shrieks and giggles of the children playing below. Both looked lingeringly on the tableau spread out beneath them. The mediator sat down. As if tugged by a single string, the two realized they had been staring and redirected their eyes to—well. Lucia started looking at the diplomas on one wall. Gabe started trying to read the spines of books on the other.

“Do you know why I asked you both to be here in person today?”

Lucia piped up: “Not really. Wouldn’t it have been easier to send copies or courier…”

The lawyer smiled and adjusted her seat. “Well, we have to get those signatures notarized anyway. You’d still have to go somewhere. A bank, for example. I don’t do this for everyone. Your divorce was particularly amicable. It helps you had a prenup. And not many permanent assets. And of course, no children. Lucia’s gaze darted in the direction of the park. Gabe looked at his feet. There were times when Gabe would not presume to know what Lucia was thinking. Lots of times. But this was not one of those times. She was subtracting her age from the age her mother had reached when she had her first miscarriage. Gabe didn’t know how responsible to feel. But if he looked at her and she looked at him, then he would feel totally responsible. And he wasn’t sure that was the way forward.

“Anyway. I’ve seen a million divorces. I’m not saying you two need to become friends. Not for a while anyway. But you should say goodbye. Say something graceful to each other when you part ways. It’ll help. At least give each other that much.”

Both were silent for a while. The lawyer sat at the table opposite them. And again they began turning their faces to opposite sides of the room; as if each found the flotsam of a law office not only interesting but urgently pressing.

The silence endured for some time. Finally, Lucia said: “No.”

The single syllable was separated into two by a crack in her voice. She cleared her throat and said again: “No.”

Gabe nevertheless waited for her to say something more. Lucia had been the talker in the relationship. At least that’s what it had felt like. Gabe could chatter with the best of them, but nobody could out-argue Lucia. He had been proud of that, once upon a time. The way she could set a table on a roar. The way she would talk about sexual politics and menstrual cycles at the Shabbat dinner table as if it were the most natural thing in the world. It wasn’t. But there was something exciting about the way she did it. People joined in. Or they got used to it. Or they stopped inviting her round. But most people, it seemed, at the very least, got used to it. And perhaps even saw it as a breath of fresh air. In such moments, Gabe was happy to play second fiddle in Lucia’s tour de force; to add depth and richness to her conversational sallies but never, or rarely ever, to take the lead.

She was the river and he the riverbed.

Perhaps not though. If that had really been true, they wouldn’t now be getting divorced. Or would they? Sometimes a river finds a new path. Was that what had happened? Or was it: sometimes a metaphor stops being useful.

That “no,” the two syllable word her voice had made it, hung in the air a long time. It was impossible to him that she did not have anything else to say. Gabe shifted in his seat, about to speak. But then didn’t. The silence felt thick and nervous in the air—as when a dying loved-one breathes out a ragged breath, then pause, and it is unclear whether those weakened lungs breathe in again. Gabe had the distinct feeling that he was not himself; that he was a tiny pilot inside a human-sized vehicle. That he would have to send signals individually to get his hands to move; to force words out of his mouth.

“Fuck it,” Gabe said, each syllable like a separately executed command. “I have something to say. I know a lot of things about our marriage didn’t turn out—.” He spared a glance for the children playing out the window, then one for Lucia. “Didn’t turn out how we’d hoped. But you’ve taught me a lot. And I like to think I’ve taught you a lot, too.”

“Maybe not all good things,” he ended helplessly and then sat back down. When had he stood up?

“Anyway. There’s more I could say. But that’s it for now. I just—I just want to say thank you. For everything.” His cheeks were now fully wet with tears and his eyes shone. Lucia was not looking at him. She was not sitting upright exactly but there was a tension in her body like she was bracing for some action. But if she knew which action, or which direction, Gabe at any rate did not.

The minutes of silence while they finished up with the paperwork and, by way of farewell, nodded to each other, did not pass quickly. But they passed.

***

IV

A couple of his friends were waiting for him around the corner when he got outside. He looked at his watch and saw that they had not been waiting long. Still, he was grateful. Without them there… Well. He had vivid images in his mind of tomato plants ripped up by their roots and thrown over the edge of the balcony to sail like green teardrops to the pavement below, followed by the flattened bodies of dozens of crickets, ladybugs, and maybe some sparrows and pigeons, too, for good measure.

Instead, they went around the corner to Fraunces Tavern. Because why not? Gabe had always wanted to check it out. Supposedly it had been there since the revolutionary war, in one form or another. They ordered their drinks and sat down.

Mara, whom he’d known since grade school, was the first to speak: “Are you okay?”

“No,” he said immediately, and then again: “no.” Mara and Alex tried to start a few more conversations, but without success. Gabe had two clenched fists on the table, his drink untouched in between. Eventually, Mara put a hand on one of Gabe’s forearms and kneaded the muscles with her fingertips. Alex did likewise with the other hand. An electric light in the shape of a candle at the center of the table cast flickering lights and shadows across their knuckles as they did. Gabe smiled just a little bit under their touch. Finally, he said: “God, I feel like such a piece of shit.” He wanted to pick up his drink and pour it into himself, but he didn’t want their hands to leave his.

Both of his friends shook his head at his words, which hung in the air for a few seconds. Then Mara said: “I’ll kick your ass if you talk about my friend that way.” His laugh came out like a snort, which elicited another laugh at the ridiculousness of the exchange.

It was a while before anyone spoke again. Eventually, a waiter came over. They glanced at the menu and Alex ordered nachos. While they were waiting for them, Gabe found his voice. He told them about the squished bug. Then he started talking about the horn section in the orchestra. By the time a large plate of nachos arrived, he was feeling anxious and frustrated again. He had to go home, check on his substitute teacher, start grading the assignments that would have been uploaded to Blackboard at the end of each class. This was what passed for taking a personal day.

But that was all still to come, and the nachos were here. He picked one up, then another, then another. Each time they made such a satisfying crunch in his mouth. There was nothing locally sourced or home-made about this food. But there was something to be said for getting the flavors and textures just right. When Alex saw the pace at which he was taking chips off the plate, he discretely signaled to the waiter to bring another plate.

The evening passed in a haze. Gabe didn’t particularly remember mumbling to them about how he had to go take care of some stuff for tomorrow. Which, in turn, bled into wandering out of the bar, then into the subway, then out of the subway on the other side, by which time the sky had become fully dark.

– Adam Katz