The Series Finale – A Drama Short Story by Clare Stroll

I plop onto my couch and rest my fuzzy sock-clad feet on the coffee table, ready to sink into my perfect Friday night. I drape the freshly washed cashmere blanket over my legs and set my phone to Do Not Disturb. My daughter Ella is tucked into her bed for the night, and my husband Justin is holed up in his office upstairs. My first course for the evening, a family-sized bowl of buttered popcorn and a chilled glass of Sancerre, is on the side table and an ice cream sandwich is waiting for me in the freezer. It sounds simple, but thinking of this exact moment is what’s gotten me through the last week. I’ve spent the hours of pointless work meetings all week daydreaming about the moment that I finally got to relax and watch the series finale of my all-time favorite show. I turn on the television with five minutes left until showtime. Truly nothing can ruin this –

I’m interrupted mid-thought by a sneeze so thunderous that it could trigger the San Andreas fault. I close my eyes and start slowly counting to ten in attempt to squash the rage blooming in my chest. It’s never just one sneeze with Justin. I’m up to eight in my count before another sneeze rings out. I keep counting, my anger still hot when I get to 10. Nine structure-shaking sneezes later, he’s finally done. I’ve counted all the way to 88. At least Justin got his sneezes out before my show starts. Now I’ll be able to watch the show in peace.

The promise of peace lasts five seconds before Justin clears his throat so loudly that I wince as if I’ve been hit with shrapnel. I roll my eyes and let out an exasperated groan, this motion of disappointment so engrained in my muscle memory that it’s a reflex, whether he’s there to see it or not.

I know I said in sickness and in health in my vows, but he’s really testing my limits. I never knew that such a healthy man could sound so sick. Every day, there’s a sneezing fit, coughing attack, snot rocket or throat clearing that sends my body into fight or flight mode. It wouldn’t be quite as maddening if my anger didn’t so clearly amuse him. He grins at me in between sneezes, happy to sacrifice his sinuses if it means getting under my skin.

I swear I wasn’t always so angry. The woman who could hear her husband sneeze without getting triggered lived within me at a point, but I’ve strayed so far from her that it's impossible to imagine finding my way back. At the beginning of our relationship, Justin and I were deliriously happy together, enjoying each other’s company so much that we could barely stand to separate from each other for our morning showers. Memories from those happy years no longer feel like a real part of my past, but more like I'm picturing the love interests in an old movie that I can barely remember the plot of. I've tried looking at old photos of us to jog my memory, but it just made me sad to see us with mile-wide smiles that were no longer ours. We lost the smiles somewhere in our adulthood, letting the stressors of careers, parenthood, and the endless pile of responsibilities harden our faces.

I check my phone and see it’s 8:59 – one minute to showtime. As a dedicated viewer since the pilot episode, this show has been appointment television for all 8 seasons. The swell of emotion in my chest at the realization that I will never sit down for a new episode after tonight feels a bit silly, but not unexpected. I am a creature of comfort and do my best to thwart endings or changes that threaten my precious routine.

The show premiered when Justin and I were newly engaged and it offered us an escape into a fantasy world for one hour every week to forget the perils of planning a wedding for 200 guests. The third season premiered the day we moved into this house, before we set our television up. After a sweaty and exhausting day of unpacking, we collapsed onto our mattress and watched it on my laptop that rested between our curled bodies. A rewatch of seasons 1 – 5 got me through my two-month bedrest at the end of my pregnancy with Ella. Justin dipped in for a few episodes during the beginning of the rewatch, one hand rubbing my foot and the other scrolling his phone. He must have lost interest in the show somewhere around season 7 because we haven’t watched it together in over a year. I felt guilty the first time I watched it without him, but our schedules were so hectic, and he never asked about it, so I assumed he didn’t care. He wasn’t one to see things through to the end, so him dropping off as a viewer made sense.

Finally, the music to the opening credits starts and I lean back, ready to soak in the next hour. Three seconds later, I hear the beginning of the opening credits start again. The television doesn’t look like it’s glitching or lagging, but I can hear the theme song coming from somewhere else, echoing on a three second delay. I pause the show to try and troubleshoot, but only one version of the credits stops playing while the delayed version carries on. I get off the couch and follow the sound to the bottom of the stairs. The opening credits continue, getting louder with each step I climb. There, from behind the closed door of Justin’s office, is the culprit of the echoing sound. He is watching my show too? I turn down the stairs and make my way back to the couch, frustration rising with every step. I can still hear the show playing from the television in his office, picking up dialogue from the opening scene. I’m stunned to learn that he still watches the show. I never heard him watch it during this season. He never stopped and paused to look at the screen when he tiptoed through my viewing of the episodes. I hit record on the episode, accepting that my perfect night is ruined. I can’t watch with the delayed sound echoing through the house. I want the viewing to be just right, and Justin has managed to ruin it without even trying.

I sit down to mindlessly scroll my phone when an uninvited question pops into my head. Why did I not knock on his office door and ask if he wanted to watch the show with me? This is the man I share a child, a mortgage and a savings account with. Shouldn’t I want to share a Friday night with him? When I was planning this night in my head all week, I never considered him. It wasn’t an act of malice; I just simply did not think of him as a necessary piece of my perfect night.

I wonder if he considered me when he turned on his television tonight. He must know that I still watch religiously and I would want to watch the finale tonight. Lately, we rarely agree on how we want to spend our precious free time, so spending time apart is nothing new. But, what does it say that even when we want to do the same activity, we would clearly rather do it alone? Suddenly, the dam of denial I’ve worked to build up over the past year has broken, and questions flood my mind. When did our show turn into my show? When did the word “we” leave my lexicon? Do my husband and I even still like each other?

I search my memory for the last time we did anything of enjoyment together – caught a movie, went to a concert, tried a new restaurant, joked, touched, or laughed, but come up empty. This can’t be what a happy marriage is supposed to feel like. When I've heard about other marriages ending, I've always assumed a big blowup or betrayal led to the decision to divorce. For Justin and I, there's been no loud moment to signal defeat. We've just been slowly backing away from each other, quietly untangling our once-intertwined souls. We used to move through life completely in sync, like we both knew the same choreography. Somewhere along the way, we fell out of step and ended up off balance, one of us always three seconds behind the other.

The realization that I was in a loveless marriage roared in my ears like I’d just stuck my head in a beehive. The discomfort burrowed under my skin, and I felt sick at the thought of staying in this marriage for one second longer. I wrapped the blanket around me, cloaking myself in the cashmere for courage, and started up the stairs. Looking him in the eyes while asking for a divorce seemed like the polite thing to do, I think. I make it up three stairs before I realize that I don’t care about being polite. Our eyes have barely met, lovingly or otherwise, in the past few months so there was no need to start now.

I scurry back down the stairs to the couch and grab my phone, convincing myself that it’s fine to hide behind my keyboard. I want to act fast, before I overthink the logistical nightmare of divorce and lose my sense of urgency. I toggle my thumb over my text and email apps, debating which one is better for delivering such a weighty message. Would Justin prefer to open a text asking for a divorce or would he like the warning of seeing a subject line in his email that says, “We Need to Talk – re: our loveless marriage” ?

I settle on text and open our desolate text thread that reads more like a project manager communicating with their employee than a married couple. I start and delete at least 12 different drafts. Should I open with a formal address? Do I add an emoji to soften the blow? What emoji is appropriate when ending a marriage? I finally compose a message and hit send before I have time to think. I stare at the message and wait to feel anxiety over what I’ve just done, but it doesn’t come. Instead, I feel a knot loosen in my chest that I didn’t even know was there.

“We should get a divorce. I’ll contact a lawyer tomorrow.”

I hold my breath and listen for any indication that he’s read the message. I’m not sure what to expect. Maybe he'll yell or come clomping down the stairs. Perhaps there will be a gasp or the muttering of a few choice curse words. A silent, tense minute goes by before my phone vibrates in my clutched grip.

“Justin has liked your message.”

I open my phone and stare at the thumbs up Justin placed on my request for divorce. A single thumbs up to end a 10-year marriage. Surely, he has something to actually say, so I wait to see the three dots to signal his typing appear. After a few minutes pass with no dots, I've accepted that the thumbs up says all he wants to say. In the past, his indifference and apathy would make me see red. But tonight, his disinterest in putting up a fight leaves me feeling unbridled relief.

I've always dreaded endings, no matter how big or small. The cold and empty feeling of a chapter closing left me bereft and paralyzed by the fear of change. But tonight, I'm not paralyzed. I'm nervous, of course, but the overriding feeling is freedom.

I look at myself in the hallway mirror on my way to grab my ice cream sandwich, and I'm shocked to see my reflection smiling back at me. I was prepared for an ending of some kind tonight, but I never anticipated that it would feel this good.

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