There was no answer. When he emerged from the pantry, the box of powdered eggs in his hand, her heart shriveled a little. This was for real, this was serious: they were going to eat fifteen-year-old powdered eggs for dinner. Winnie opened her mouth, the words poised on the tip of her tongue, ready to fly, but then she noticed a dark curl resting across her husband’s forehead. He looked like a little boy—like Samuel. She didn’t really know why in that moment she lost her voice, or why she’d lost it a hundred other times. She loved this man something terrible; she just wasn’t sure if he loved her anymore. Today was their fifteenth wedding anniversary, and they were having powdered eggs for dinner.
While they ate, Nigel talked about a book. Usually Winnie was better at listening, but today she was furious that he’d forgotten their anniversary and now was talking about something that didn’t interest her in the least. Had he thought she’d read it? It was Stephen King, for God’s sake. The only feelings Winnie could pull when she thought of those brick-sized books were misery and desperation. All puns intended.
She watched as he ungracefully spooned neon eggs into his mouth, oblivious to her discomfort. He was so hungry; why was he so hungry? The ketchup, she noted, made their anniversary dinner look like a crime scene. Picking up her glass of water, she drank deeply, trying to open her ever-constricting throat. The kitchen was cold. Winnie wanted to get up and close the door, but she was too tired. Nigel’s voice was a dull drum, and she listened to the beat rather than the words. She wondered if she should give him the present she’d bought him; it would make him feel bad, but she’d been so excited about it. In the end, she said nothing, pushing her fake eggs around her plate until eventually she dumped it all down the disposal. She didn’t want to upset Nigel; she needed him in the mood.
Winnie wanted one last shot at getting pregnant again before her ovaries went into retirement. Her friends thought she was crazy—she had a perfectly healthy thirteen-year-old son, why in the world would she want to start all over? As she stacked the plates into the dishwasher, she tried to list the reasons: because she hadn’t gotten to enjoy it the first time, because she felt like she owed Samuel a connection in life other than her and Nigel, and because she wanted someone to love her unconditionally.
But by the time Winnie’s dainty blue dinner plates were tucked into the dishwasher, her attitude was limp and her tear ducts were straining. Nigel was still sitting at the table, scrolling through his phone with glassy eyes. She didn’t like the way he was sitting, with one ankle balanced on a knee so casually. Winnie stood in front of the fridge to hide the tears now rolling down her cheeks.
One, four, eight and fifteen: those had been the hardest years of their marriage. Sometimes it had been her who’d caused the trouble and sometimes it had been Nigel. A lot could happen in fifteen years. But no matter how Nigel messed up, no matter what trouble he brought into their marriage, it would never be as bad as what Winnie had done. She knew that and he knew that.
The very thing that kept them together was also the thing that kept them apart.
3
WINNIE
Her first date with Nigel had been a setup by Winnie’s cousin Amber, who “knew a guy.”
The guy she knew was Nigel Angus Crouch, and if Winnie had heard his full name before she agreed to the date, she would have said “Hard no.” Fortunately, her cousin kept his full name to herself during the matchmaking. Amber had just moved to Washington from New York the year before. She already knew more people than Winnie, who’d grown up there.
“What guy? How do you know him?”
“Kevin knows him. He’s starting over.”
“Starting over? What does that mean?” Winnie hadn’t exactly trusted Amber’s taste in men; her last boyfriend had kept pet snakes. She shuddered, remembering the time he’d made Winnie wear one. A scaly scarf wrapped around her neck with a lethal heaviness. Amber’s answer came three seconds late because she was taking a drag of her cigarette.
“He was engaged. I think it was a bad breakup.” Her lips formed a cartoonish “O” as she blew the smoke out. Winnie