Nobody’s Holding You Back

Ill be late, weve got a massive backlog on the site, Victorias voice came muffled, the angle grinder roaring in the background. Can you hear me at all?
Loud and clear, Ethan shifted the phone to his other ear. Should I be waiting for you for dinner?
Dont bother. Might not even get back, the deadlines are breathing down my neck.
Right.

A couple of short beeps. Thats how it always ends.

Ethan set the phone down on the kitchen bench and glanced at the pot of cooling beef stew. Hed been making a proper dinner for two out of habit, even though it was about time he stopped. Victoria worked as a tiler, and her schedule looked like a heartmonitor trace frantic spikes of activity followed by long, flat lines. For six months shed been hopping from one job to the next, laying pricey porcelain tiles in other peoples flats, pulling in enough money that Ethan quietly envied her. Then came a halfyear lull when the orders dried up and she was stuck at home.

Both extremes were unbearable in their own way.
When Victoria was on the clock she vanished physically, emotionally, mentally completely. Shed leave at seven in the morning and not be back until after midnight, if she returned at all. Sometimes shed spend the night on the site, because whats the point of going home, we start again at six anyway. Ethan ate dinner alone, watched his series solo, and collapsed onto a cold, empty bed. The only reminder that he was still married to someone was the marriage certificate tucked somewhere in a filing drawer.

He tried to count how many evenings theyd actually shared over the past three months. Four. Just four.

The real nightmare started once the workday was over. Victoria would stroll back home and youd think, great, shes here, we can finally spend some time together. Not so. After half a year of hopping between strangers flats shed seen so many design choices that her own place started to drive her nuts. Shed stare at the bathroom tiles the very ones shed laid herself two years ago and her eye would twitch.

Its a disaster, she muttered, running a finger along the grout lines. How could I have let this happen? A misalignment of one and a half millimetres. One and a half millimetres, Ethan!

Ethan, who couldnt tell a millimetre from a centimetre, gave a polite nod.

And then the spiral began.

First shed say, lets just see if we can fix it. Then, Ill pop off one tile, replace it, and were done. Then, if were already at it, we might as well redo the whole wall. Before long Ethan would walk in after a long day to find the bathroom gone just bare walls, a pile of rubble, and Victoria in a respirator, happily mixing tile adhesive.

In three years of marriage theyd survived four bathroom remodels, three kitchens and one hallway.

The job was finally finished on time, and the lull returned. But not for Ethan.

Can you bring me some tile spacers? Victoria called while Ethan was at work. And the grey grout, Ill text you the brand.
Im at the office.
Swing by at lunch. I need to finish that corner before evening.
Fine.

Bring, pick up, order, help Ethan turned into a courier, a mover and a handyman all in one. Victoria barely left the house, only popping out to the builders yard for supplies, sometimes three times a day, because I didnt know the grout wouldnt be enough, what was I supposed to guess?.

She was perpetually exhausted from the very renovations shed started herself. In the evenings Ethan would find her in the kitchen, greasestained, hair coated in tile dust, staring at him with hollow eyes.

Fancy dinner?
Later. No energy.

She had no energy for a chat, for a film, for intimacy nothing. Ethan was only needed to haul a bucket of mortar when she was too lazy to dress, or to fetch a sack of cement from the van, or to hold a spirit level while she lined up a row.

Were married, Victoria would say whenever Ethan raised a complaint. Spouses help each other.

Spouses. A funny word for a relationship where one person exists purely as support staff for the others professional ambitions.

Saturday night, Victoria was fiddling with a backsplash tile that didnt match the shade she wanted. Ethan was perched in the kitchen amid the chaos, trying to sip tea. The kettle sat on a stool in the hallway because the countertop was buried under tiles. He found sugar in the bathroom. No spoon in sight.

Victoria, he began gently, dont you think its enough?
Whats enough? she didnt even turn, fitting another tile to the wall.
All this. The endless renovations. You keep redoing everything.
And then what? I like it. This is my home, I want it perfect.
Itll never be perfect for you. Youll finish one job, go to a new site, get inspired, start over again.

She set the tile down and slowly turned. Something fierce flickered in her eyes.

So what do you suggest? Live like this, with everything driving me mad?
Im saying we live normally. Like normal people. Go to the cinema. Eat together. Talk about something other than grout lines. When was the last time we actually went out as a couple?
I have work.
You dont have work now! You made it up!
Its not madeup work, Ethan. Its called improving living conditions. Some people specialise in that.
And some people just want to live. Not in a construction site, not in dust, not on a fetchandcarry schedule. Live with a wife who remembers she has a husband.

Victoria crossed her arms, as if shielding herself.

You just dont get it. Youre a programmer, stuck behind a screen, tapping keys. Im making something with my hands. Something real you can touch. When I see a chance to make it better, I do it.
At the expense of everything else!
If youre not happy nothing holds you.

She said it almost offhand, like discussing a wobbly chair you could just toss out. Ethan fell silent. Those seven words summed up their whole problem, compressed into an option for Victoria. Not a necessity, not a husband, just an option he could switch off if he became inconvenient.

You know, he said, shaking the dust from his jeans, maybe youre right.
Right about what?
That nothings really keeping me here.

They stared at each other through piles of tiles, bags of glue and the remnants of what used to be a kitchen. Both understood the fight wasnt about the tiles it was about their lives drifting apart, never intersecting again except at the same postal address.

They signed the divorce papers in three months. Surprisingly civil. There was nothing to split.

Ethan roamed his new flat small, tidy, no cement bags in sight and couldnt believe the silence. No drills. No bangs. No urgent calls for sealant because the bottle ran out.

For the first time in three years he could actually plan his evenings. But something was missing, a hollow space in his chest that no quiet could fill.

Almost two years later.

Did you hear the news? Dave, an old mate, rang on a Friday night. About your ex?

Ethan tensed. Hed been steering clear of any mention of Victoria.

What news?
Shes married now. To a bloke named Mark.
Quickly, huh?
Yep. And guess what? Marks a tiler too. Can you imagine?

Ethan snorted.

How are they getting on?
Theyre a perfect pair. Running sites together, a twoman crew. A dream team.

The thought that Victoria had found someone who spoke her language someone whod also lose sleep over a oneandahalfmillimetre shift sat oddly in his mind. The thing that used to grind his teeth now formed the foundation of someone elses relationship. Funny, isnt it?

Three months after that call he ran into them in the supermarket, purely by chance. Hed stopped for a quick shop after work, grabbed a basket and headed for the dairy aisle when he froze.

Victoria was there, comparing yogurts, a broadshouldered man about her age, hands clearly accustomed to hard labour, arguing softly and laughing. She nudged him with her shoulder, he poked her arm in return, she squealed and hopped away.

They looked like teenagers in love, oblivious to anyone else, the whole world narrowed to the person beside them.

Victoria looked different. Not weary, not hollow, not the woman whod spent eight hours pounding walls. She looked alive, just like Ethan remembered her the first time theyd met.

He lingered, quietly set his basket down and left the store emptyhanded.

In his car he smiled. Their lives simply didnt fit together. Their divorce had been inevitable.

He turned the engine on.

If Victoria found her match, Ill find mine too.

The dense fog that had hung over Ethans life after the split finally lifted.