Divorce Papers Signed Over a Spicy Meal

Julian Hayes got home while I was adding slices of meat to the pot.

The base was one Mom had mailed from Sorrin—beef chili, extra hot.

For the past seven years, because Julian wouldn't eat spice, I'd kept those packs at the back of my cabinet.

I always left them until they expired, then threw them out.

That day, I suddenly found myself craving a taste.

As soon as Julian pushed the door open and smelled the spice, his expression darkened.

"Didn't I say I don't eat spice? Dump it. The smell makes me sick," he complained.

In our seven years of marriage, he always said that chili turned his stomach.

When Mom sent me ribs from home, he would glance at them and say that there was chili on them. Then, he'd drop them in the trash.

I made a spicy fish stew once. He smelled it. That night, every pot and plate in the house was replaced.

I thought he hated chili through and through.

And so, I bent to his taste for seven years.

It was only that day, when I happened to see him at the stew shop with another woman, that I understood.

He didn't hate spice. He just hated eating it with me.

I picked up a slice of meat and put it on my plate, as if I hadn't heard him.

Julian frowned.

"Nina, did you hear me?" he asked.

I didn't look up.

"Today's my birthday," I said simply.

Last year, when I blew out the candles, I made a wish.

"I hope next year on my birthday, Julian will let me eat a spicy stew at home."

He looked disgusted, but he still agreed.

Later I made it easier on him and changed the wish.

"I hope that next year on my birthday, Julian will spend the whole day with me."

That day was the day that wish was supposed to come true.

But he didn't stay. He wouldn't even let me have any of the spicy stew.

The thought of last year made me laugh.

Then the chili stung, and tears ran.

Julian seemed to remember what happened last year, too. The anger had faded from his face, replaced by guilt.

That was when the phone rang.

A young woman's voice came through.

"Jules, I saw an extra-spicy barbecue place that looks good. Let's go now, okay?"

The woman sounded sweet and confident. She didn't sound afraid of being refused.

Julian didn't refuse her.

He didn't even hesitate, turning at once.

"Wait for me. I'm on my way," he told her.

At the door, he looked back and urged me, "Clean up when you're done, and spray some extra air freshener."

In our seven years of marriage, this was the first time he'd allowed me to eat spicy food at home.

It was only so he could run off to another woman.

The last bit of warmth in me went cold, bit by bit.

I watched him leave, then I picked up my phone and called the lawyer.

My voice was so calm that it sounded strange even to me.

"You can start the divorce papers I mentioned tonight."

I ate the stew until midnight.

Julian still wasn't back.

He updated his feed with a photo.

"When I eat with you, even the night wind feels warm."

The picture was of a woman feeding him a skewer.

Under it, a mutual friend commented, "Jules, I thought you didn't eat spice. Did Nina finally change your mind?"

Julian replied, "A man has to switch up his tastes sometimes."

"Switch up his tastes." I read the words aloud and found them funny.

We had dated for three years. I crossed half the country from Sorrin to Capin for him, yet he never once thought about changing his tastes.