the unspoken, spoken

we were sitting around the table in my grandmother's old kitchen. there was Chantal and some other woman who had also suffered a recent and bitter divorce - possibly my uncle Tony's former neurotic cleaning lady Gabrielle. but it's impossible to tell. there were also some strangers standing around, preparing food and occasionally chiming into the conversation, which was about marriage. and yet my overwhelming focus was to ensure that Chantal talk to this mystery woman to see what both had in common. turns out they did. somewhere in the subtext of the ensuing back and forth was the notion of guilt; guilt for the person any separation leaves behind. (in this case, my cousin Joe) because it is rare that separation affects both people equally, the same way love is rarely distributed equally to begin with. "but the worst part about it is that the person doesn't realize how long you have been planning to leave until it's too late," i blurted out, surprising everyone in the room. "and only then does that person start going through the past, piecing words and events together and realizing you had actually already made up your mind a long time." the table went silent. the agreement weighed heavily in the air even if no one explicitly said so. words were unnecessary. i recognized the cold truth of my statement even as the words were coming out of my mouth.