The Perfect Blue: A Restless Bird, a Good Dog, and The End of a Marriage — The Manifest-Station

By Wendy Cohan

I drive too fast from Missoula, west through Spokane and the scablands of Eastern Washington, through the industrial maze of the Tri-Cities, along the other-worldly beauty of the Columbia Gorge and on into Portland. I drive up to our family home-painted a color that we worked so hard to choose: the perfect blue. Now, my husband and I face the task of going through our remaining belongings, separating his life from mine, over the next five days.

I’m staying at my friend’s empty house, just up the street, to limit any awkwardness and to give myself some private time and space. I play it cool: I’m helpful, generous, and not too inquisitive about his new life and new love. Although it’s difficult, I avoid playing “Do you remember?” too much.

It’s all going as planned, and it isn’t too awkward. After all, we’ve known each other for most of our lives. Each morning, we walk to the market café near our house, eat off each other’s plates, and talk about our kids, like always. I just can’t touch him, or be close enough to want to. It’s not like I want to make out with him, or, God forbid, sleep with him. That door has been closed for a while. But there are moments when I feel the urge to run my hand across his back, or reach out…