Chapter 2

I froze for a second, then understood what she was picking at.

"Cole's going to meet his future in-laws. That's serious business."

"And me going to an interview isn't?"

"Don't twist my words. He fills the tank when he's done, and he's my own brother."

Daphne nodded.

"I see. When your own brother borrows the car, it's helping each other out. When your wife borrows it, she's freeloading off you."

Her tone was flat, but it lit something hot in my chest.

"It's just a car. Do you have to blow it up into a whole moral issue? I charged you because I didn't want you rushing off to some company that far away on impulse. Cole's meeting the parents this once. How is that the same thing?"

"It isn't."

She set the car keys on the highest shelf by the door.

"From now on it won't be the same, either."

The next morning, there was no breakfast on the table.

I figured Daphne was still sulking, so I boiled myself a bowl of noodles. I'd finished and was about to head out when I noticed a coffee stain on my shirt collar that hadn't washed out.

Every night before, Daphne used to lay out what I'd wear the next day. Shirt pressed, tie set beside it, and she'd even remind me of the forecast and which clients had food they wouldn't touch.

I changed shirts and couldn't stop myself from texting her.

The interview didn't pan out, but you don't have to take it out on the housework, do you?

She replied fast, with a spreadsheet.

The title was Household Duties Handover List.

Utility and gas payment dates, the property maintenance number, my mother's rehab appointments, how much was left of her regular meds, where the insurance paperwork was kept, the car's annual inspection and insurance expiry dates — all of it laid out clean and clear.

At the bottom of the sheet it said:

The above matters were previously handled by me. Starting today, each of us handles our own affairs; shared expenses to be transferred by the agreed ratio. The materials your mother needs for her follow-up appointment this Sunday are already sorted. Paper copies are on the second shelf of the TV console; the digital version has been sent to Alvin.

I scrolled down a few pages, and the more I read, the more ridiculous it seemed.

What exactly do you mean by this?

A handover.

We're husband and wife, not coworkers.

It was a few minutes before she wrote back.

Which is why I used the husband-and-wife rules for seven years. As of yesterday, you switched to rental rules.

I stared at that line, a heaviness pressing in my chest.

It was two hundred-some dollars. That was all.

Did she really have to haul the whole marriage onto a scale and weigh it?

When I got home that night, she'd already eaten and was sitting at the desk, reworking her résumé.

I set the takeout on the table and deliberately didn't call her over.

She didn't ask, either.

We each stayed in our own room, and for the first time the apartment was quiet enough to hear the fridge kick on.

Friday, Cole came for the car.

He pinched the little whale on the keychain and looked it over, laughing. "Daphne's still got this thing? Wasn't it off that beat-up little car she used to drive?"

"She's sentimental."

"Women love hanging on to useless junk like this."

Daphne came out of the bedroom right then.

Cole waved the car keys at her.

"Daphne, borrowing your car for a couple of days."

She glanced at me, then looked at Cole.

"It's not our car. It's your brother's."

"You're married. What's this yours-and-mine stuff?"

Cole tossed it off, put on his shoes, and left.

Heat crept up my face.

Daphne didn't say anything. She just picked up her suitcase.

Only then did I notice it was already packed.

"Where are you going?"

She looked at me and answered.

"That company in Portside gave me a second interview. I booked a room nearby for three days."

"Isn't there still the subway and the shuttle?"

"The early shift's too tight for that."

"Then you can keep using the car."

She stopped at the door and turned back to me.

"Can't afford it."