Flower

Bradley Wales grew accustomed to the state of his marriage and, in doing so, grew comfortable with mundanity in his work as a call center agent for ScoopCo Spoons. Every morning, Bradley and Jessica, his wife of seven years, found themselves on a quiet twenty-minute drive to the ScoopCo headquarters. 

Each went through simple routines on their drive. Bradley, an introvert, spent the drive in silence, rehearsing his cadence in hopes of feeling relatable to coworkers or potential customers — though in 2023, calls were a thing of the past. Jessica, a Senior Manager of Distribution, would email her affiliate partners in Paris at alarming speed, who would be returning from lunch as the two were beginning their day.

Bradley once held close the importance of the little things during this drive to work. As Jessica advanced in her career from a line worker to a leader, he acknowledged that their paths would never align and found solace in that, despite its inconsistency.

The demands and nature of her career meant that Jessica would no longer comment on the weather as much, point out unique license plate signs, or hold his right hand as he drove and playfully criticize him for not moisturizing enough. Bradley could still contemplate the weather while driving; if he saw a unique license plate, he could still find joy in it. He understood that Jessica needed both hands to type an email, and he knew that even though they shared a car ride, Jessica still needed her space to succeed.

It did not occur to Bradley, however, what would happen if he no longer felt that his verbal affirmations—words of support or awe in his wife’s capabilities—were noticed.

Bradley’s instinct to withdraw during their commute, not wanting to disturb her, was further eroding their ten-year partnership. This partnership gave them a free-spirited daughter, a 1,434 square-foot home in Barrington, Rhode Island, and a dwindling sex life that kept their plush king-sized bed in pristine condition for many, many years.

Their minds worked differently, sending them both through different journeys of blame. Having lost the ability to express himself, Bradley took to stealing glances at Jessica in her busiest moments.

He could not verbally express his admiration of her more than he could work up the courage to ask her if she, too, internalized the feeling that love was on hold for her professional pursuits. Having grown accustomed to the state of their marriage, Bradley blamed himself for not being honest.

Sitting just 24 inches away from Bradley, Jessica wasn’t deep in work on this drive. She hadn’t lied about it, nor was it her intention to mislead. Instead, she took the opportunity before work to check in on the status of a new car — a luxury electric car from Hyundai — one she dreamt of pursuing if and when she achieved a higher position at work.

It was an equal part status symbol and necessity. She believed a senior manager should not be chauffeured to work by her husband in a 2002 Toyota Corolla passed down after the death of her husband’s mother. A new vehicle meant opportunities to show up to business luncheons in style, an opportunity for her to at least feign interest in environmental causes to potential wholesale partners of ScoopCo.

Above all, a nice car felt like a success. It seemed like a step into the future she’d been seeking since the birth of her daughter. And it meant that, for an extra twenty minutes a day, Jessica could have some time to herself to collect her thoughts and not bubble with the similar feeling that she’d pursued her career more than she’d pursued her decade-long marriage.

Jessica blamed Bradley for his complacency. On this particular day, that sense of blame drove her to finalize the purchase of a shiny new Hyundai electric car.

It was so freeing to pursue an expensive purchase without taking exceptional time to explore the family finances and question whether it was the right day, week, month, or year to finally purchase something new and not make do with something old.

Sharing a lack of knowledge in the world of automotive care, Bradley and Jessica went through five transmissions, two engines, three gas cans, and a passenger’s seat to maintain, up to this day, the family’s only form of transportation. For as long as they’d owned it, it was their rationale that maintaining the Corolla was a safer investment than investing in a new car, let alone a newer used car. It was the most significant difference in perspective for Bradley and Jessica.

Bradley grew accustomed to making do. If a car was insufficient, then at least they owned a vehicle. If a floor was squeaky, then at least they were housed. If a job was unsatisfactory, then at least they had a paycheck.

Jessica was hungry for more. If a car was insufficient, she wanted a new one. If a floor was squeaky, she wanted it fixed (and the rest of the room modernized). If a job wasn’t satisfactory, she would find the right people in a company to move upwards.

With a new salary, Jessica established herself as the clear breadwinner and provider of the family. And with that status, she was prepared to take the lead and make the changes that she wanted to see. In her mind, it was up to Bradley to match her pace and face the changes head-on. And if he didn’t, it would be up to him to deal with the fact that change was coming anyway.

It was the largest rush of power for Jessica to secure a new car that day, and with the floodgates open, her potential felt limitless. It would be freeing, if not for the restraints brought upon by a kind but dwindling man sitting just 24 inches from her.

Like every day, Bradley intended to extend an act of courtesy by dropping Jessica off at the ScoopCo main entrance — a large glass door dwarfed by thirty-foot tall marble tablespoons. Jessica was aware of this cycle and, knowing her days of commuting with Bradley were numbered, looked to continue her cycle of trying something new.

As Bradley unlocked the door, Jessica looked at him for the first time since leaving the house.

“I’d like to go in through the side doors today.”

Bradley was more taken aback by hearing Jessica’s voice than her request to use the Executive Entrance; a space that hourly workers referred to only as the “side doors.” The side doors were twice the size of the regular entrance, letting in a great deal of the eastern sunrise that would illuminate the Executive Entrance’s pièce de résistance: a thirty-foot glass spoon whose tip would erupt with rainbow light every time the sun hit it.

Despite her confidence, Jessica was just months into her role on executive team and did not receive her access pass yet. It wasn’t that the extra thirty-second drive would be an inconvenience to Bradley — if anything, it would be nice to sit next to Jessica for thirty seconds longer. Rather, he was concerned at how she would enter through the executive door, and how it would look for her to be even minutes late to her new position.

“How will you get in without an access pass?”

“Kevin will let me in. He’s here at 8:57 every day, and he’ll be able to let me in with his access pass.”

Kevin.

It was not long ago that Bradley and Kevin shared a cubicle in the sales department. Beneath the buzz of the office lights, the pair experienced vastly different trajectories:

While Kevin was making sales, Bradley was making quota.

As Kevin mingled in the break room and strengthened relationships with the management team, Bradley kept to himself, often half-finishing a sudoku puzzle while finishing his lunch.

As Kevin advanced from Salesman to Marketing Manager to Advertising Executive, Bradley remained a Salesman in a two-person cubicle that, following a lean strategy under Kevin’s leadership, became a one-person cubicle at one-quarter the size.

A smaller sales team, Kevin queried, would be pivotal to the long-term success of the ScoopCo sales team and, combined with stricter time monitoring, would lead to less variation and unpredictability in the sales process. Smaller working spaces for the workers left room for fewer distractions — and it would be just emasculating enough for Bradley that Jessica would take notice of his inferiority.

In time, she did.

Bradley chose not to take Jessica’s mention of Kevin as a threat. After all, the proximity of their offices was bound to lead to shared meetings, conversations, and synergy in their departments. They had their differences, but they were committed to each other and their daughter.

Bradley pulled up to the side door at exactly 8:57 and locked eyes with Kevin, whose gleeful smile bordered inauthenticity.

“See?” Jessica stated. “All set.”

As Jessica collected her belongings and made her way to the entrance with Kevin, Bradley’s inferiority set in. He’d worked to be less proactive — less needy — and withheld saying “I love you” to Jessica when they parted ways for the morning. Not because he didn’t love her, but rather to see what it would take for her to say it unprompted by Bradley.

On this morning, like many other recent mornings, it didn’t happen. She gave a polite wave and made her way to the entrance with a coworker who was a little too close for Bradley’s comfort.

An expression of love was, it seemed, more of a reflex than willful affection. With minutes to park and get to his desk, the best that Bradley could do was shake it off and hope for a better morning tomorrow.

Every morning, that hope distilled reality. Underneath a calm demeanor was a man disappointed in himself for not being more emotionally available to his wife, or at the very least, a man who could express his love the way he did when they first met. They’d distanced, and he knew that Jessica was leaving it to him to make a change.

If he wasn’t going to advance in his career, he could at least provide more emotionally as a partner. Instead, he was retreating, observing every inconvenience as an opportunity to give Jessica more space.

That space would leave an opportunity for gaps to be filled. He despised Kevin for filling those emotional gaps — and himself for not filling them in sooner.

What made their rides to work unique was gone. What could be salvaged was up to Kevin. Jessica needed to see his effort, and she didn’t want to hold his hand through the process of being more honest, as she begged him to do many times before, in the years before their marriage went on autopilot.

It was a vicious cycle: as the couple distanced, Jessica threw herself more and more into her work, and Bradley retreated more and more into himself. Jessica thrived as Bradley stagnated. Jessica found fulfillment as Bradley struggled with questions of his uniqueness.

Without action — something much easier said than done for Bradley — he worried what he’d be remembered for. For now, that meant being remembered as the man who did little to change, and nothing to stand out.