Every time, she turned me down. Too crowded. Too noisy.
So I stopped asking.
Turns out she didn't hate amusement parks.
She just didn't want to go with me.
Another photo was taken at Sal's Noodle Bar.
A bowl of noodles sat in front of her, another in front of Peter, both of them holding up their chopsticks for the camera.
I remembered clearly.
She didn't like noodles.
But Peter did.
Someone had commented under the photo: Boyfriend??
She'd replied with a blushing emoji.
In our past life, we were married for fifty years. Our son and daughter grew up, and every holiday the whole family sat around the same table for dinner.
It looked picture-perfect.
But on her social media, there was never a single photo of me.
Not one.
I turned off my phone and lay on the bed, staring at the ceiling.
Memories flooded in again, one after another.
She'd washed my clothes, cooked my meals, carried our children.
When I got sick, she took care of me too. Brought me water, handed me pills, sat by the bed until I fell asleep.
She was a good wife. The kind no one could find fault with.
But I understood now. She didn't do any of it because she loved me.
She did it because she felt she owed me.
So she paid me back.
Spent a lifetime paying me back.
My phone buzzed.
I picked it up. A message from Peter.
"Marlin, Kirsten and I are doing engagement photos next month. We need a best man."
"You're my closest buddy. You've gotta show up for this one, right?"
I stared at the screen for a long time. Then I said no.
After that, I called my boss.
"Mr. Lambert, that overseas aid project you mentioned before. Is the offer still open?"
He paused for a second, then laughed. "Of course it is. Why, what's going on?"
"Count me in."
"Great. I'll have someone get the paperwork started tomorrow. Dickerson, I gotta say, that's some real initiative."
I thanked him and hung up.
Outside the window, the sky was almost dark. I didn't turn on the lights. I sat in the darkness for a long time.
The doorbell rang.
I didn't move.
It rang again, then again, someone pressing it over and over like the building was on fire.
I walked over and opened the door. Peter and Kirsten stood outside.
"Marlin, what the hell is going on with you?"
"Is this because Kirsten and I are together now? Is that why you've been acting like this?"
His tone softened halfway through, half-probing, like he was trying to play it off as a joke.