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Back Life Events Save as PDF
Chapters (49)
  1. Title Page
  2. Copyright Notice
  3. Dedication
  4. Epigraph
  5. 1.
  6. 2.
  7. 3.
  8. 4.
  9. 5.
  10. 6.
  11. 7.
  12. 8.
  13. 9.
  14. 10.
  15. 11.
  16. 12.
  17. 13.
  18. 14.
  19. 15.
  20. 16.
  21. 17.
  22. 18.
  23. 19.
  24. 20.
  25. 21.
  26. 22.
  27. 23.
  28. 24.
  29. 25.
  30. 26.
  31. 27.
  32. 28.
  33. 29.
  34. 30.
  35. 31.
  36. 32.
  37. 33.
  38. 34.
  39. 35.
  40. 36.
  41. 37.
  42. 38.
  43. 39.
  44. 40.
  45. ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
  46. Also by Karolina Waclawiak
  47. Praise for Life Events
  48. A NOTE ABOUT THE AUTHOR
  49. Newsletter Sign-up

“It’s a bad bet.”

I did what I could to push him further away, but I knew I would have to be the one to cleave us in two.

When one person in a marriage is unsure who to be, both people become unmoored, losing any sense of rhythm. You have no idea how to exist around one another, much less fuck. How do you tell a person that you want to be hurt by someone else?

Bobby was waiting for me to snap out of it—to stop being crazy, even—so he could come home. If I wanted something to change I would have to be the one to do it. Though I myself had actually taken the step to go see an apartment, I could not get over the fact that he admitted he had been looking for an apartment, too. Unable to talk to each other about our mutual unmet needs, we instead idly scrolled through pictures of empty rooms in apartments available for rent.

My googling always took me back to desert homes. When we first got married, we did the thing that married couples do: we looked for a house. But we couldn’t agree on anything or really afford anything, which was confusing: it felt like a natural next step after getting married. How were we to start building a life if our home still felt like a transient space? So we considered the desert, where land was cheap and we could daydream about fixing up a homesteader cabin that had good bones. We drove out to the desert and stayed in weekend rentals and looked at small homes with stairs that led to a closed-off ceiling, and homes with woodstoves, and homes with yards that had washed out during a flash flood. Back then, we stood in the middle of unincorporated dirt roads and stared at the vast expanse and smiled at each other. We could be settlers; we could really start our life together. Out there, it would be the two of us against nature. And we were excited by the prospect of working on something together. About having a plan. But, as with everything, we couldn’t take action. We were trapped in indecision—each taking turns being the naysayer, or finding tiny things wrong with each house. No one had taught either of us how to be an adult who bought a house, so we floundered in our one-bedroom apartment.

Now, without any more plans, I imagined escaping to that hopeful desert feeling again. When I grew tired of looking at run-down apartments I could scarcely afford, I took to looking for houses in the desert, places to rent that were too far away for a daily drive to and from the city. The listings were full of newly renovated homes, and I thought I recognized one that Bobby and I had looked at together. Someone else was living the life we wanted.

20.