I Played the King’s Game Then I Divorced Him Chapter 11

I Played the King’s Game Then I Divorced Him Chapter 11

“At that time, I felt like the sky was falling,” he said. “Looking back now, it was just a stop on the

journey.”

“Which stop?”

“A transfer station.” He thought about it. “Not the end, but a place to change directions.”

I walked him to the subway station and watched him disappear into the crowd.

The rush hour crowd pushed against me, and I suddenly remembered many years ago, on an evening just like this, I was waiting for Sean at the subway exit.

He was working late, and I had bought his favorite roasted peanuts, standing in the cold wind for forty minutes.

When he finally came out, he said “Why didn’t you wait upstairs?” and I said “I wanted to give you a surprise.” He took the peanuts and said “Don’t wait next time; it’s too cold.”

Was that true care, or just habit? I still can’t tell.

Maybe both were true, just to different degrees and with different expiration dates.

My phone vibrated; it was a message from him: “I really enjoyed talking today. Looking forward to our collaboration. Also, the peanuts were good. Next time, it’s my treat.”

I froze for a second before realizing he was referring to the street cart selling roasted peanuts at the subway entrance. He had seen me in line, but didn’t say anything.

So he saw it.

So he remembered.

I stood in the crowd for a long time until the peanut cart closed, until the subway flow thinned, and until the city lights lit up one by one.

Then I called Maya: “Let’s go for a drink.”

“Again? Didn’t we just go last week?”

“This time is different,” I said. “I’ve figured it out.”

“Figured what out?”

“A transfer station,” I said. “He was right. It’s not the end; it’s a place to change directions.”

The sound of a lighter came from the other end of the line, and Maya laughed: “Claire, you’re finally seeing the light.”

“It’s not seeing the light,” I walked toward the parking lot, the night breeze hitting my face with the coolness of early spring. “It’s finally admitting that the road is long, and I can’t stay in the same place forever.”

I opened the car door, sat in the driver’s seat, and looked at myself in the rearview mirror. Forty-two years old, fine lines at the corners of my eyes, a bit of gray at the temples, but my eyes were still bright.

How much longer they will stay bright, I don’t know.

But at least at this moment, I want to try to walk a little further.