Here I Am by Jonathan Safran Foer(109)
“Not a word I would ever use.”
“It wasn’t planned. It wasn’t even enjoyable. It simply happened. I am sorry that it happened. I have asked your father to accept my apology, and he has. Your father is a very good man—”
“We get the picture.”
“Really, though,” Jacob said, “how are we going to explain our reasoning?”
“Reasoning?”
They never used the word divorce. Jacob could bring himself to say it, because it wasn’t going to happen. But he didn’t want it aboveground. Julia couldn’t say it, because she wasn’t so sure. She didn’t know where to put it.
If Julia were to be fully honest, she couldn’t easily say her reasons for doing what they couldn’t say. She was unhappy, although unconvinced that her unhappiness wouldn’t be someone else’s happiness. She felt unfulfilled desire—profound amounts of it—but presumably so did every other married and unmarried person. She wanted more, but didn’t know if there was more to be found. Not knowing used to feel inspiring. It felt like faith. Now it felt agnostic. Like not knowing.
“What if they want to know if we’re going to get remarried?” Julia asked.
“I don’t know. Are you?”
“Definitely not,” she said. “No chance.”
“You’re awfully sure.”
“There is nothing I’m more sure of.”
“You used to be so unsure of everything, in the best way.”
“I suppose I used to have less evidence.”
“The only thing you have evidence of is that our specific way of doing things didn’t work for the specific person you are.”
“I’m ready for the next chapter.”
“Spinsterhood?”
“Maybe.”
“What about Mark?”
“What about him?”
“He’s nice. Handsome. Why not give that a try?”
“How can you be so ready to give me away?”
“No. No, it’s just you seem to have a connection with him, and—”
“You don’t need to worry about me, Jacob. I’ll be fine.”
“I’m not worried about you.”
That didn’t sound right.
He tried again: “I’m not any more worried about you than you are about me.”
Also not right.
“Mark is a mensch,” Billie said at the edge of the room. Do they spontaneously generate from the upholstery, like maggots from rotting meat?
“Billie?”
“Hello,” she said, extending her hand to Jacob. “We haven’t actually met, although I’ve heard a lot about you.”
Precisely what? Jacob wanted to ask, but instead took her hand and said, “And I’ve heard a lot about you.” A lie. “All good things, by the way.” The truth.
“I was upstairs helping Sam with his bar mitzvah apology, and it occurred to us that we don’t know what, exactly, qualifies as an apology. Does an apology require an explicit disavowal?”
Jacob shot Julia a look of check out the vocabulary on this one.
“Could he simply describe what happened and explain? Are the words I’m sorry strictly necessary?”
“Why isn’t Sam asking?”
“He’s walking Argus. And he asked me to.”
“I’ll come up in a bit and help out,” Jacob said.
“I’m not sure that’s necessary or, really, wanted. We just kind of need to know what’s meant by apology.”
“I think an explicit disavowal is required,” Julia said, “but no need for the words I’m sorry.”
“That was my instinct,” Billie said. “OK. Well, thanks.”
She turned to leave the room, and Julia called her back: “Billie.”
“Yes?”
“Did you hear any of the conversation we were having? Or just that Mark is nice?”
“I don’t know.”
“You don’t know if you heard anything? Or you don’t know if you feel comfortable answering?”
“The latter.”
“It’s just that—”
“I understand.”
“We haven’t yet spoken with the boys—”
“I really understand.”
“And there’s a lot of context,” Jacob chimed in.
“My parents are divorced. I get it.”
“We’re just finding our way,” Jacob said, “just figuring things out.”
“Your parents are divorced?” Julia asked.
“Yes.”
“When?”
“Two years ago.”
“I’m sorry.”
“I don’t blame myself for their divorce, and neither should you.”
“You’re funny,” Julia said.
“Thank you.”
“The divorce obviously didn’t get in the way of you becoming an amazing person.”
“Well, we’ll never know what I could have been otherwise.”
“You’re really funny.”
“I really thank you.”
“We know this puts you in an awkward position,” Jacob added.