the spark we lost

21

When we got home, I slipped off my heels and collapsed on the couch. You sat down next to me and took my foot in your hands, massaging the pain of eight hours in stilettos.

"Oh, God," I moaned. "Chris, this might be better than sex."

You didn't laugh, though, the way I was expecting you to.

"Lana." you said, your fingers still kneading the arch of my left foot," we have to talk."

I sat up and pulled my feet from your hands, tucked them under me.

"What is it?" I asked. "Are you okay? Are we okay? I thought things were great, but if there's anything—-"

"Lana," you said, my whole name. "Stop." Then you took a deep breath. " I don't know how to say this, so I'm going to say it straight out. I got offered a job with the Associated Press. They want me to go to Iraq, embed with troops there for a feature piece, to start. With the possibility of a salaried position after that. Pete made a few calls, pulled a few strings. He knew I wanted to go abroad."

For a moment I couldn't breathe.

"When?" I whispered. "For who's long?"

"They want me to leave in three weeks. The job is for two months at least. Maybe a lot longer. "

"When do you have to give them an answer? " I asked. I was thinking: We could handle two months. Maybe even longer. We could make it work.

"I already gave it," you said, looking down at your fingers. "I told them yes."

"You what?" I asked. I felt like someone had pulled the plug in a bathroom drain, like our life together was rushing away in a twirling tornado. My mind flashed to Kate, to what she said about the probability of you leaving and breaking my heart.

You weren't even looking at me.

"It's been in the weeks for a while," you said, " but today all the paperwork went through. I didn't know if it would. It seemed so tenuous. I didn't want to say anything unless it was definite. I didn't want to hurt you if I didn't have to."

I felt every beat of my heart, every pulse of blood as it moved through my body. I opened my mouth, but I couldn't, for the life or me, figured out what to say.

"A few months ago, when I saw that first article on Abu Ghraib that the AP put out, I just knew I had to go. Images can shift perspectives. They can change opinions and minds. I cant stand back and trust that other people will do this work, not when I think it's so important. I told you I was going to leave, Lana. You knew that was my plan eventually."

And I did. But i don't think i understood you meant forever. That it wasn't negotiable. That we wouldn't work to figure it out together. And even more than that. I wasn't prepared. On that night especially. It was supposed to be a night of celebration, of happiness, of success. I was flying higher than I ever had in my life. The work I'd done had won an Emmy. And I'd let down my guard. I'd allowed myself to be completely happy.

How could you not have told me what Pete was trying to do? The phone calls you must've had? The plans you must have been making? How could you have made that decision without me? It still makes me angry, Chris, that you didn't include me . We were a binary star. We orbited around each other. When you decided not to tell me, you changed that, you weren't orbiting around me anymore, you were circling someone else, something else. As soon as you started keeping secrets, we had no chance.

All at once, tears rushed to my eyes— tears of anger and sadness and confusion and hurt. "Chris, Chris," I said over and over "How could you?" I finally managed. "How could you not tell me? How could you tell me tonight?"