Ill be late, the sites a mess, Victorias voice crackled through the grinders whine. Can you hear me at all?
Loud and clear, Ethan shifted the phone to his other ear. Should I wait for dinner?
Dont bother. I might not even make it; the deadlines breathing down my neck.
Right.
A short buzz. The usual ending.
Ethan set the handset on the kitchen counter and stared at the pot of cooling borscht. Hed been making a twoperson stew out of habit, even though hed long since stopped trying to impress anyone. Victoria worked as a tiler, her schedule looking like a heartmonitor flatline: frantic spikes of activity followed by long, boring flat stretches. For six months she bounced from site to site, laying pricey porcelain slabs in strangers flats and racking up a paycheck that made Ethan quietly jealous. Then came six months of absolute lull, when no jobs came in and she was stuck at home.
Both extremes were miserable in their own ways. When Victoria was on the clock, she vanished. Physically, emotionally, mentallyshe was a ghost. Shed leave at seven in the morning and, if she ever returned, it would be past midnight. Sometimes she spent the night on the construction site because whats the point of going back and forth when Im starting again at six? Ethan ate dinner alone, watched his favourite series in silence, and crawled into a cold, empty bed. The only reminder that he was still married was a crumpled marriage certificate hidden somewhere in a filing folder.
He once tried to count how many dinners theyd actually shared in the past three months. Four. Four!
The real nightmare began when the workday ended. Victoria would stroll back home. One would think that would be a cause for celebrationwife finally back, time to be together. Not so. After half a year of hopping from one flat to another, shed accumulated so many design ideas that her own home began to drive her mad. Shed stare at the bathroom tiles she herself had laid two years ago and barely hide a wince.
This is a disaster, she muttered, running a finger along a misaligned joint. How could I have let this happen? A oneandahalfmillimetre shift. One and a half millimetres, Ethan!
Ethan, who couldnt tell a oneandahalfmillimetre error from a fifteenmillimetre one, simply nodded politely.
Then the dominoes fell.
First shed say, Let me see if I can fix it. Then, Ill chip out one tile, replace it, and were done. Next, If Im starting, I might as well redo the whole wall. And finally Ethan would come home to discover the bathroom had vanished entirelyjust bare walls, heaps of plaster dust, and Victoria in a respirator, merrily stirring tile adhesive.
In three years of marriage theyd survived four bathroom remodels, three kitchen overhauls, and one corridor makeover.
The job finally wrapped on time, and the lull returned. Not for Ethan.
Bring me the tile spacers, Victoria called while Ethan was at work. And the grey grout; Ill text the brand.
Im at the office, he replied.
Swing by at lunch. I need to finish that corner before evening.
Fine.
Bring, pick up, order, help. Ethan became part courier, part mover, part handyman. Victoria never left the house except for trips to the builders merchantsometimes three times a dayclaiming, I didnt know the grout would run out, how was I supposed to guess?
She was perpetually exhausted from the very renovations shed started herself. In the evenings Ethan would find her in the kitchen, covered in dust, hair stained with grout, eyes hollow.
Dinner?
Later. No energy.
She had no energy for conversation, for a film, for intimacynothing. Ethans sole purpose became fetching rollers when she felt too lazy to dress, hauling a bag of cement from the van, or holding a spirit level while she straightened a row of tiles.
Were married, Victoria would say whenever Ethan tried to protest. Spouses help each other.
Spouses. A funny word for a relationship where one partner exists purely as a servant for the others professional ambitions.
One Saturday evening Victoria was fiddling with a new backsplash pattern. The previous one didnt please her colour sense. Ethan was perched amid the chaos, trying to sip tea from a kettle perched on a hallway stool because the countertop was a sea of tiles. He found sugar in the bathroom and couldnt locate a spoon at all.
Victoria, he began cautiously, dont you think its enough?
Enough of what? she didnt even look up, fitting another tile onto the wall.
All this. The endless repairs. You keep redoing everything.
And what? I like it. This is my home; I want it perfect.
Itll never be perfect for you. Youll finish a job, move on to another site, get fresh ideas, and start again.
Victoria dropped the tile and turned slowly. Something sharp flickered in her eyes.
So whats your suggestion? Live like this, with everything driving me mad?
Live normally! Like normal people. Go to the cinema. Have dinner together. Talk about anything other than grout lines. When was the last time we went out just the two of us?
I have work.
You have no work right now! You invented it yourself!
Thats not an invented job, Ethan. Its called improving living conditions. Some people specialise in that.
Some people just want to live. Not in a construction zone, not covered in dust, not in a fetchandcarry mode. Live with a wife who remembers she has a husband.
She crossed her arms as if shielding herself.
You just dont get it. Youre a programmer, stuck in a cosy office tapping keys. I create things with my handssomething tangible you can touch. When I see a chance to make it better, I make it better.
At the expense of everything else!
If youre not happyno ones holding you back.
She said it almost offhand, as if referring to an uncomfortable chair that could be tossed out. Ethan fell silent. Those seven words summed up their whole problem, compressed into an option for Victoriasomething she could switch off if it got in the way.
You know, he stood, shaking dust from his jeans, maybe youre right.
Right about what?
That nothing is really holding me down.
They stared at each other through piles of tiles, bags of grout, and the remnants of what used to be a kitchen. Both understood the argument wasnt about renovations; it was about lives that had drifted apart long ago, intersecting only at a postal address.
The divorce was finalised in three months, surprisingly amicable. There was nothing to split.
Ethan wandered through his new flatsmall, tidy, and free of cement bagsand couldnt believe the silence. No drilling. No pounding. No frantic messages demanding sealant because the old stock ran out.
He could plan. For the first time in three years he actually knew what his evening would look like. Yet something was missing, a hollow space in his chest that no schedule could fill.
Almost two years later.
Heard the gossip? Dave, an old mate, called on a Friday night. About your ex?
Ethan tensed. Since the split hed avoided any news about Victoria.
Whats the news?
Shes married again. Just recently.
That was fast.
Yeah. Guess who she wed? Dave paused dramatically. A tiler. Can you imagine?
Ethan snorted.
Hows that working out?
They say theyre glowing. Jumping from site to site together, a twoperson crew. Perfect partnership.
Ethan thought about how Victoria had found someone who spoke the same languagesomeone for whom a oneandahalfmillimetre discrepancy was a tragedy, someone who understood the difference between epoxy and cement grout not because hed been taught, but because he lived it.
What had once grated on Ethans nerves now formed the foundation of someone elses relationship. Ironic, isnt it?
He ran into them three months later in a supermarket, completely by chance. Hed popped in after work, grabbed a basket, and headed for the dairy aisle when he froze.
Victoria was browsing yogurts, a broadshouldered man about her agehands clearly accustomed to heavy workstanding beside her. They were picking, debating quietly, laughing. She nudged him with her shoulder; he flicked her arm playfully, she squealed and jumped back.
They looked like teenagers in love, oblivious to the world around them, as if the whole universe had shrunk to the space between them.
Victoria seemeddifferent. Not exhausted, not holloweyed, not the woman whod spent eight straight hours hammering walls. She looked alive, just as Ethan remembered her on the day they first met.
Ethan hesitated, set his basket down, and left the store emptyhanded.
In his car he smiled. They just werent meant for each other. Their divorce had been inevitable.
He turned the key.
If Victoria found her perfect match, Ill find mine too.
The thick fog that had settled over Ethans life after the split finally lifted.
