The gaps just get longer.

I lost, for about a year, the ability to go to the Wegmans on Ridge, because it is his mother’s Wegmans and his aunt’s Wegmans and I could not do it.

And there were the conversations.

God, the conversations.

A woman I had known since our children were in preschool together told me, over coffee, that men “have a season” around thirty-six and that if you get them through it they come back.

She was not being cruel.