Chapter 3

The next day, Pamela showed up at the door with three lunchboxes in her arms.

"I'm so sorry. I didn't know it bothered you."

She set the boxes on the table and explained in a small voice,

"I was cleaning up the office and realized there were a few Mr. Matthews hadn't gotten a chance to bring back."

"I haven't said anything yet."

"Mr. Matthews scolded me yesterday for posting on social media and making you misunderstand."

She turned the top box around so I could see it.

The note on the lid had been torn down to a single corner.

"My stomach's bad. Mr. Matthews saw me taking pills all the time, so he gave me the lunches."

"Your stomach's been bad for ninety-nine days straight?"

Pamela bit her lip.

"Do you think I stole your things on purpose?"

"I only ate a few meals."

"Then why crumple up the note?"

"It didn't have my name on it. It was strange to leave it there."

Jeffrey came out of the bedroom, and the moment he saw the scene his brow creased.

"Who told you to come here?"

Pamela lowered her head.

"I wanted to explain things to her."

"Please don't be angry, Mr. Matthews. It's all my fault."

Jeffrey instinctively stepped in front of her.

"Cordelia, I'm the one who gave her the food. This has nothing to do with her."

"I didn't say it had anything to do with her."

"Then what were the two of you talking about?"

"About how she's eaten it for ninety-nine days, whether her stomach's any better."

Pamela looked up at him.

"Mr. Matthews, have I caused you trouble?"

Jeffrey picked up her bag.

"No."

"I'll have the driver take you home. Your blood sugar's low. Don't take the subway."

He turned to look at me.

"I'll walk her down. I'll be right back."

"Go ahead."

Pamela reached the door, then hesitated and stopped.

"About the box on the bottom. I washed it once and set it on the drying rack, and I knocked it off by accident."

"I had someone glue it, but I don't think it came out right."

Then she bowed her head, as if she'd truly only made one small, unimportant mistake.

After Pamela left, I opened the lunchboxes.

The one on the bottom was the insulated container my mother had given me before she died.

The lid had cracked down one side, and the latch was snapped off.

Jeffrey spoke up at once, smoothing it over.

"She didn't do it on purpose."

"How do you know?"

"She already apologized."

He held the cracked container, trying to press the latch back into place.

"The latch is broken. I'll get it fixed."

"Or I'll buy you ten of the newest ones tomorrow."

"My mother gave this to me before she died."

I stared at the crack, my voice shaking.

Jeffrey's hands went still for a moment.

"I know you don't want to let it go, but it's broken. We have to find some way to deal with it."

"It's mine. I don't need you to fix it."

"Cordelia, she already apologized. What more do you want her to do?"

I looked at the crack in his palm, and suddenly one more word of explanation felt pointless.

Jeffrey set the container back on the table and tried, the way he always did, to wrap up the argument.

"You've been off lately. Is it because I didn't spend our anniversary with you?"

"A little."

"I knew it."

Jeffrey pressed a gift voucher the size of a key card into my hand.

"Two nights at the hot springs resort. I'll take you next month."

"And if something comes up for Pamela?"

"Stop holding on to her like this."

"Looking out for her a little more as her boss doesn't mean I don't love you."

"You love me?"

"Of course."

"Do you love her?"

"No."

"Then why are you better to her than to me?"

Jeffrey frowned.

"When was I ever better to her than to you?"

"My stomach hurt and I wanted to eat crackers in the car. You said they'd leave crumbs and made me get out."

"And your passenger seat was covered in her chip crumbs."

"Her blood sugar's low. It's a different situation."

"I wanted sushi. You said it was hard on my stomach."

"She wanted it, and you took her that same day."

"Because it was her birthday."

"That day was our anniversary too."

Jeffrey said nothing.

I pushed the signed divorce papers across to him.

"Let's get divorced."

Jeffrey glanced at them without opening them.

"You're worked up right now. We'll talk once you've calmed down."

He still stubbornly believed that as long as he arranged everything for me, the problem would go away on its own.

I didn't argue anymore.

He walked into the kitchen and, with practiced ease, cooked a bowl of noodles with no scallions and no cilantro.

"See? I remember everything you don't like. Stop letting your mind run wild."

Jeffrey ruffled my hair.

"I know."

He did remember what I wouldn't eat.

But he never understood that remembering what I couldn't eat didn't give him the right to decide things for me.