Chapter 7: Cracks in the Surface

“But Natalie is young.”

“Ben, youth and beauty come at a price.”

“If not, why would a just-graduated young woman want you?”

A friend said as he poured me more whiskey. A few days ago, Natalie and I had our first real argument. It wasn’t a big fight, but I still felt bad.

We sat in a booth at Murphy’s, my old haunt. The walls were lined with neon beer signs, and Derrick was halfway through a basket of onion rings, grease staining the napkins. The smell of fried food was thick in the air. Derrick, who’d seen me through college, shook his head and laughed. “You’re forty, man. She’s what, twenty-seven? You gotta keep up somehow.”

“I know.”

“I never said she was materialistic or wasteful, it’s just…”

It’s just that after seeing the massive credit card bill, I lost my temper. Natalie loved to buy luxury goods. From head to toe, inside and out, everything she wore or used was a big brand. I knew most of this before marriage, but I didn’t expect she could buy several limited-edition designer bags in a single month—some hadn’t even had their dust covers removed. The shoe cabinet and walk-in closet at home were crammed full by her.

I remembered Rachel, sorting coupons at the kitchen table, rolling her eyes at my impulse purchases. How did I end up here?

“Forget it. I don’t even know what to say.”

I finished my drink and shook my head. Derrick laughed, “Your ex-wife didn’t want them, you insisted on giving. Now Natalie buys them, and you’re not happy.”

Maybe it had been too long since I’d thought about Rachel. Suddenly, I felt stunned. Scenes of giving Rachel gifts flashed through my mind.

She’d hold the bag in both hands, a polite smile on her face. “I told you not to buy bags anymore. It’s not appropriate for work. Let’s just return it. Save the money and take our parents on a trip during the holidays.”

Later, we did take a few trips. I frowned, as if realizing something. For those trips, Rachel almost always used her own credit card.

I never really noticed before, but looking back, Rachel was always the one pulling out her card at hotels and gas stations. My stomach tightened—how had I missed that?