Rosaria picked up her phone and took a breath. She closed her eyes, gathered all the strength she could, and started dialing.
There was a ringing in the earpiece, the digital sound letting her know that the phone on the other end was beckoning, calling out to its owner.
“Hello?” a voice said. A nice voice. A deep voice. A kind voice. A voice she liked to hear.
“Hey Barry, how’s it going?”
“Hey babe, not too bad,” Barry said. “Still at work, running late. What’s up?”
Rosaria steeled herself, readied for the fallout: weeks of gathering her things, dividing shared items, the lives that would need to be moved apart, a planet ejecting its moon. She took another breath in, then said, “Not much, just, uhh, wondering what you wanted for dinner tonight.”
“Oh, I was going to pick up a pizza or something on the way home, but if you want to cook something, I’m easy. You can make whatever you feel like.”
That’s the problem, she wanted to say. You’re always so easy, never making a decision. Instead she said, “Well, if it was a choice between chili and chicken, which would you prefer?”
“Either is good, you make them both delicious.”
She sighed, and was about to respond, when Barry said, “How about chili, we haven’t had that in a while.”
“Okay, sounds good.”
“I should be home around eight, babe.”
“Great, see you then.”
Rosaria hung up, and hung her head. Another attempt, failed. She went to the kitchen to see if Barry had used everything in last night’s meal, if she would have to go to the grocery store before she set to cooking.