Annulment

As the rain threatened his day off, Noah looked out the window once more, gently clenching the stem of his glass. His happy place would be invaded very soon; Noah’s cousin Bernard had been pestering him to talk. He figured meeting in a coffee shop half drunk and underdressed for any occasion was, quite literally, the least that he could do.

After an exhausting debut, providing security for the safest condo in the city, Noah had been thinking about this wine all week. New jobs are stressful, especially when you sincerely don’t know what you’d do if an actual threat barged in. In his spare time, which was often, he became exceptional at conjuring up robbery and rescue scenarios in the condo lobby. In his mind, Noah devised over 30 ways to safely break a man’s neck.

Noah snapped back, as the bell atop the cafe door clanked away. He wondered if that contraption had a name, and decided to never bother finding out. He leered at the bodies entering. An attractive young couple, who would hold eye contact with Noah for a slightly unreasonable amount of time.

Noah looked away from them, and considered his reflection in the shop window. A white t-shirt, blue jeans, an old army surplus jacket, all tucked underneath a trapper hat.

What really tied it all together though, was the sight of a man parked by a cafe window with a bottle of wine and one glass. Noah looked like an anxiety hangover, and it was as if he wanted the world to know. He requested the second glass to be presented upon his cousin’s arrival - this was to prevent anyone from thinking he had been stood up.

Noah pulled out his notebook from his pocket and retrieved a pencil from the back of his ear. Though the appointments with his shrink were well gone, he continued the practice of listing and completing reasonable goals throughout his day. This was today’s list:

• Go outside

• Do not forget about laundry

• Remember the Alamo

Noah crossed off the first task on his list in an act of generosity, counting his walk to the cafe as an outside activity. Otherwise, his clothes were stained, and he had completely forgotten about the Alamo.

And with that, he closed his little black notebook that his shrink gifted him earlier that year. While life continued to knock him down, Noah could rely on this small routine as a document of survival.

The still life of his wine bottle was really coming together on the back of his coaster, when a familiar voice clamoured its way into the cafe.

“Another broken umbrella!” Bernard proclaimed, to no one in particular.

The entirety of the cafe collectively fixated on Bernard in a silent, uniform plea to adjust his volume and demeanour to the nuances of the room. A fine gesture of passive aggression that would go completely unnoticed by a seasoned lummox.

Noah looked to the server for a second glass, though her attention was already with Bernard, who promptly ordered a beer, waited until it was handed to him, and walked over to his mystified cousin. Noah was now considering the remainder of his wine, and the very different afternoon ahead of him.

“Cuz! How the fuck are ya?” Bernard wailed in their embrace.

“Any better I couldn’t stand it.” Noah softly replied, hoping his decibel levels would be matched. As they sat down, Bernard had all but finished his beer.

“Long day?”

“Just playing catch up!” Bernard said, gesturing to the wine.

“I really wouldn’t mind a bit of help -”

“ - Don’t touch the stuff. That was Deirdre’s poison.” Bernard shot back, waving his empty glass.

And with that, the niceties were over. Bernard was anxious to get into the cause for their assembly; Bern’s wife had asked for a divorce.

Noah looked across to his rotund kin. Bernard looked like botched taxidermy: Stained blue overalls atop a stained polo shirt, and a beanie, that was somehow also stained. He smelled exactly how he looked.

Bernard was only thirty five but the bottle tacked on another fifteen years, and his partner leaving wasn’t particularly kind on his body. Noah wondered if they would ever know each other, were they not blood.

Noah knew his role. He was meant to listen to Bernard blather on and never raise a single contradiction. He was meant to sit there and curse Deirdre up and down until they were eventually asked to leave. It was his time to be a good cousin, but Noah was in no mood to perform. It was his only day off.

He decided that being physically present was quite enough, and Bernard’s flood of diatribes were going to happen whether he showed interest or not.

As Bernard yapped, Noah took the time to conjure more rescue scenarios. This time it was Noah being saved from the plight of forced empathy.

“Pure hokum!” Bernard proclaimed, as Noah snapped back into the cafe.

“What?”

“She changed after lockdown. I’m very perceptive about this kinda thing. It's all the unemployment. It’s got people thinking too much.”

“It’s not like she was working before.” Noah remarked, looking back at his wine.

“Well, she had nowhere to go. How long’s it been since Fiona left?”

Bernard was now devouring a charcuterie board with an abandon he reserved exclusively for food. Noah wasn’t even sure when he had ordered it.

“It’s been about a year. I went and talked to someone for a while about it. It helped. You should try it.”

“That’s what I’m doin’ right now. Feel better already. But payin’ someone to take up my time? Fuck that. No offence, Noah.” Bernard continued to shovel cured meats into his head.

He was an ugly man, Noah thought, by any standards. He wondered how Deirdre might cope with the same sight every evening.

“Remember what you said on my wedding day?” Bernard asked.

“Congrats on your first marriage.” Noah replied.

“You put a hex on me, you know that?”

“It was a joke! Besides, with divorce rates, it is a 50/50 shot. You knew that going into it!”

“Yeah but I waited long enough, didn’t I? Who remarries after they’re thirty?”

“A lot of people. It’s a survival tactic.”

“Y’know why people get divorced? The illusion of choice. How am I supposed to compete with everyone else? Look at me.”

Noah did just that. For the first time in their meeting, he began dissecting Bernard’s tragedy.

At first, like most marriages, it was a beautiful arrangement. Apart from stable income for the first time in her life, Bernard gave Deirdre the one thing her bohemian exes couldn’t: Peace of mind. Deirdre, who was riddled with the great affliction of imposter syndrome, could now wake every morning to a working class bore, never comparing her artistic successes to that of her spouse. Meanwhile, Bernard was easily fulfilled by providing for his beautiful, talented missus.

That was all before time stopped and Bernard was laid off, left to collect unemployment and forced to spend more time with his wife than she had ever anticipated. During this time, both of them turned to their favourite shared hobby - drinking. It was during these listless times that Bernie’s loving ways became tiresome, and septic to her creative process. Poor Bernie was just happy to be around her, and that was the problem.

“When I finally started working again, she was happy to be rid of me and was malicious by the time I got home.”

“Well, if that’s in her nature, maybe it’s best you’re rid of her anyway.” Noah remarked, hoping to make sense of a dialogue that hinged entirely on ventilation.

Though, for the first time since they met, they shared a moment of silence.

“Did I tell you she’d been hiding her phone?”

Noah considered his cousin’s paranoia and audibly sighed. It was painful, talking to a man who was gathering the pieces this late in the game.

“I’m positive she had unfinished business with that actor she used to see. I swear to fuck, if they fucked in our bed -!”

“Jesus, Bern, keep it down! Don’t let your mind go there. What does it matter anyway? It’s done now.” Though Noah knew all too well, it made a difference. The question of his value would be plaguing Bernard for months.

“Fuck it. Nothing was ever enough. Not worth talking about!” Bernard said, ordering his last shot.

Noah called for the cheque, though Bernard insisted on paying. He hugged his cousin goodbye as Noah walked him to the door.

“I guess we’re supposed to just fail over and over until we exhaust ourselves and settle. You know, I wish someone warned me. I don’t think I would’ve bothered.”

Noah called Bernard a taxi and watched them drive away, wondering what might be next for either of them. It’d been over a year and Noah still hadn’t been on so much as a date. He sighed and skulled the last of his wine.

As Noah started putting on his jacket, their server approached him.

“Excuse me Sir, was that man a relation of yours?” She asked.

“My cousin, yeah.”

“Okay...I think I may have over-served him -”

“- I called him a cab, he’ll be fine.” Noah felt the gravity of his drunk as he stood up.

“It’s not that, I think he made a mistake.” She said, gesturing to the bill.

Bernard had left a tip of twenty thousand dollars.

“The uhh, zero on the machine tends to stick sometimes.”

Over the next forty minutes, Noah and the manager had a dialogue regarding the incident. Bern wasn't there to be reimbursed, and he couldn’t be reached as his phone was dead. After some identification and brainstorming, it was agreed that the manager would e-transfer Noah the twenty thousand and he would pass it along to his cousin.

Noah left the cafe and set course for his cousin’s house. He watched intently as they passed the charming architecture that led to Bernard’s neighbourhood. He admired the awkward youths, walking their dogs, and the young mothers with strollers stopping to chat with each other. Despite all his pessimism, he had found himself living here many times in his mind. Noah smiled with purpose. This was more than survival.

As they pulled closer to their destination, the small talk with the driver was cut short, and a ball of dread grew inside of him. The neighbourhood had quietly gathered around a common household.

Time stopped around the yellow tape. Between the ambulances and cruisers, a sea of stares formed around the scene. Noah staggered to the closest man in uniform, and demanded answers.

Noah caught his breath, studying the first body bag that was hauled from his cousin’s home. Then a second. By this point, Noah's wine from earlier had evacuated.

When a third body bag was carried out, Noah had finally put it together. Bernard was right. Deirdre had been hiding her phone.

Noah sat in the back of the cruiser, left to gather the pieces as the surrounding residents peered from a distance.

He hated them all, and the pity on their faces. But Noah still wished he could be them, to turn this fresh hell into nothing more than neighbourhood gossip. And just like them, he could shut his blinds and be with his family.

As they left for the station, Noah imagined himself in his very own home. In this fantasy, he was coming home from a job he could stand, to a wife that he loved. Two and a half beautiful children, and neighbours with a cottage he could visit.

Noah then thought of his cousin’s parting gift that rested in his bank account; reparations for a shame he was left to carry. Twenty thousand dollars. It was close to a downpayment for a dream he knew he deserved. He could think of one house that had recently diminished in value.