Janet and Bob had stopped sharing meals when Josh started college. Bob began emailing from the office in the later afternoons: "huge lunch with clients. Not hungry. don't wait for me" or " home late. See you at breakfast."
Janet had worked part-time as an employment lawyer for the nearly twenty years since the birth of her son who had a slight autistic disorder. Bob, was a Litigation partner in a large law firm in Silicon Valley. He'd never managed to take Josh to the office and had always begged off from taking him to sports events claiming extra work. Bob, a Midwestern college athlete, had always wanted a son. A perfect one. A blond one. A strong one. Josh was dark-haired with long spidery limbs and a fast runner, even as a toddler.
Bob fell in love with Janet in law school under the towering pines in Palo Alto. She was a tall and blonde from a Minnesota Swedish clan, with clear gray eyes. He had risen to the top of his class, an Italian kid from Chicago.
On a Wednesday, bright and hot in September, instead of emptying the dishwasher by placing the plates and silver out on the eat-in kitchen table in their remodeled faux colonial house, Janet put them away and called for a takeout of Vietnamese Pho, which she ate in the study in front of the TV. Bob stopped texting her around 4:15 pm everyday with his plans.
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Another sad and lovely one from you. I'm always amazed at the way you can tell the story of an entire life or an entire marriage in a few very well-chosen details. And here you do it again. I love 'long spidery limbs.' There's something about that detail that makes me fall in love with that kid. You write prose like a poet!
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