‘I lost my credit card.’ She sighs as we sit down at one of the sterile Formica tables with our coffee’s. Her clenched jaw shows me how much she hates bringing this up. After our attempts to by-pass any conversation that might make a difference, the reference to our joined bank account is a huge step. Neither of us changed the bank account, I didn’t because it felt like a step closer to a divorce, why she didn’t is still a complete mystery to me. I created a habit of tracking her whereabouts through the bank account, so I had some idea of what she was doing and what kept her busy.

‘And now you need mine I presume?’ Taking out the card from my wallet I start turning it between my fingers and the table, the ticking sound it causes… nerve-racking. The symbolism of the card makes me want to drag this moment. ‘Is that why you asked me for a coffee?’

‘I will give it back to you as soon as my new card arrives, it will arrive at… your address.’ I wasn’t sure if I saw disapproval in her eyes when she saw my car, but now I am completely sure there is dismay in her voice and whole attitude when mentioning my current address. There is no married person who wants to be reminded of the fact that they are not sharing the same address. I didn’t know what to expect when she suggested to have a coffee, but this is not something I am in the mood for. With an attitude I slide the card terribly slow over the smooth surface and cross my arms in front of my chest.

‘Anything else Bette?’

‘Since I am here anyway I thought we can skip communication via mail. The accountant asked for your documents for the tax return.’

‘There is still time.’ I’m fully aware that the careless shrug of my shoulders will annoy her even more. She was always the one taking care of our administration. I wouldn’t be surprised if she has blockers in her agenda for this. Me, on the other side, I could postpone it to the very last moment, preferring to be busy with things at home, such as cooking, which she isn’t very much into. It was the ideal arrangement that worked. Like everything else between us worked, as if we were two halves that needed each other to be complete. Without her I feel only half the person I used to be.