inerrata

/in-eh-rah-tuh/ · noun

a kind of mistake you wouldn’t take back even if you could; the reluctance to disown a broken relationship or agonizing experience that has since become a part of who you are, and trying to disown it would mean you’re trying to live some other life.


The soft clicks of the door opening and closing punctuated the otherwise mundane drone of the television, turned mindlessly to whatever sitcom was playing on primetime that night. Without saying a word, Jules slipped off his coat and hung it on the coatrack, only letting a light sigh go as he bent down to retrieve the coat that Ari had haphazardly thrown down on the ground. He returned his keys to the bowl, then made his way silently into the living room.

“Dinner’s ready for you in the oven,” Ari’s voice came out of a pile of blankets on the couch.

“Thanks,” Jules replied flatly.

Jules dove into the bedroom, loosening his tie as he stepped over the pile that Ari had created on her side of the room. He clasped the tie into a loose bundle and tossed it into the drawer on the dresser that was already slightly ajar. He gave the drawer a nudge, closing it briefly before the weight of its contents caused it to spill back outward. Jules grumbled lazily before changing into a more comfortable shirt and old sweatpants that were by now developing holes.

As he stepped back out into the living room, Ari called out to him. “While you’re over by the fridge, can you grab me a yogurt?” Jules acquiesced, but not before another grumble to himself. He had already worked all day, why was he already put to work when he had just gotten home?

With that task complete, Jules grabbed the plate out of the oven. It was warm, thankfully, but he was tired of having roasted chicken. That was his own fault; he had bought a big pack of chicken for cheap, but now he was stuck with eating it often, considering that there wasn’t that much space in the freezer. The rice was a little wet, and the veggie-mix vegetables were about as bland as one could imagine them to be, but it was food. Jules wolfed the food down while leaned over the kitchen counter, before sliding the empty plate into the sink.

“Can you please wash the dishes tonight?” Ari asked from the couch.

“I’ll get to it later,” Jules said quietly.

He slid into his spot on the couch with a grunt. “You’re so out of breath,” Ari commented with a light chuckle.

Jules smiled and shook his head. “The drive home was horrible, I had to dodge this really stupid guy who tried to merge in a space that was way too small without even using his signals, and…” Jules trailed off. Ari was on her phone, scrolling.

“I’m listening,” she said.

Jules nodded and paused before continuing. “…And there was someone who turned left at a light clearly after it had already turned red for them. I swear, people here don’t know how to drive.”

The two of them sat quietly on the couch for a while, just watching the TV, before Jules suddenly stood up. “Okay,” he announced, “time to do the dishes.”

“After you’re done with that,” Ari chimed up as Jules strolled over to the kitchen, “we should find that old photobook that we started collecting way back when.”

“Good idea,” Jules said. “Do you know where it is?”

“I can look for it while you do the dishes.”

Jules meandered slowly over to the kitchen sink. He didn’t like doing the dishes—but the relief of having a clean kitchen afterward was enough, at least for a little while, to convince him to get the job done. He quickly rinsed off whatever food particles were left on the plates before carefully stacking them in the dishwasher. Grumbling, he moved a fork from the spoon rack in the dishwasher back to where it belonged. “Ari,” he said, “next time can you please try to put the silverware in the correct spot in the dishwasher?”

No response. She must not have heard him.

Shrugging, he turned his attention back to the dishes. Every day, it was a race against time, trying to get all the dishes in the dishwasher and everything else washed and dried before his motivation faded and he inevitably started scrolling on his phone.

Satisfied with his work, Jules dried his hands on the red towel. He held it in his hands for a while longer, looking at the small hearts embroidered around the edges. The red color was beginning to fade—Jules and Ari had had that towel for almost a year now, having purchased it on a whim during the previous Valentine’s season.

Ari had still not returned from her search, so Jules lowered himself onto the couch with a muffled sigh. It was good to sit down after a long day at work, even if he had already sat all day in his office cubicle.

Finally, soft footsteps drew Jules’ eyes from his phone screen up to where Ari was triumphantly holding a little yellow booklet above her head. “Found it,” she said.

Ari sat down on the couch next to Jules. “Scoot over,” she said to him, annoyed. She pushed him aside. “You’re sinking the couch down.”

The cheapness of the couch notwithstanding, the center where the two were sitting now was one of the least-used parts of the couch. All the same, Jules still slinked back to his customary side of the couch, craning his neck to see the photos printed onto the pages of the book.

“Look at this photo of the two of us together,” Ari remarked, sliding the book over so Jules could get a better look. It was innocuous enough, yet Jules marveled at both his and Ari’s faces. It had been the first spring that the two of them were together, and their cold-reddened faces were pressed up against each other, glowing smiles against the beautiful red-purple sky of a setting sun. But what Jules marveled at was not any of those things. He marveled at the self-assuredness of their expressions, the effortless joy on their faces. The expressions of knowing that everything would turn out alright in the future.

Ari continued to flip the pages. Another photo caught Jules’ eye and he chuckled. Ari paused. “What is it?”

“This is a fun one, remember this is from the first few months after we moved into our first apartment together?” Jules asked. It was the two of them, standing in front of the mirror, contented looks on their faces. They had, after all, just moved in together, and just begun to tackle the trials and tribulations of cohabitation. Yet, the people in the photo seemed proud of themselves. They saw that they were taking their first steps toward a shared life together.

There were photos, not just of the two of them, but all the places that they had been, sights they’d seen. Beautiful landscapes, the surprise of a candid shot, the jesting haughtiness of a fancy dinner. It seemed for a moment that everything that had ever happened in their time together had been documented in the book.

“Look, Jules,” Ari said, beaming. Jules returned his focus to the picture in front of him. “Little Forest!” he exclaimed. As if on cue, Forest climbed down from his slumber on top of the cat tree and meandered over.

“Look at how little he was back when we first got him,” Ari remarked. He certainly was very cute, that wasn’t ever in doubt. But there was a little thought that lingered in the back of Jules’ mind. He saw his elbow just in the corner of the picture, leaning out of the way. Move so I can take this picture, he could hear Ari say.

He kept silent as Ari flipped through the rest of the photos. More photos of Forest, but no more photos of him—

Truth be told, Jules had felt unhappy in his relationship at times. It was natural to not feel that everything was sunshine and roses, he knew that. But more and more frequently, he was beginning to feel that he was no longer happy here. Sure, the two of them had been through thick and thin together, and he knew that Ari would always be there for him if he needed it. But—did he need it? Did he need her?

Life was better with her, Jules thought. Everything was easier with two people to handle it. Meals, cleaning up after the cat. Plus, he knew the dating scene out there was particularly difficult to navigate these days. He had heard horror stories from his friends, complaining about how dating apps were just full of people promoting personal businesses and even the hope of finding someone to settle down with was hidden behind a paywall. So it was certainly better that he had Ari.

All the same, was he staying just because it was convenient? Just because in his relationship, it is safe, and in the outside world, it is uncertain? Was he—or was she, for that matter—just here because they were afraid of being alone? Things were so different now than they were back then—

“Jules?” Ari’s voice cut through his doubts. He looked over at her.

“I said I have work early tomorrow, so I’m going to bed,” she said, annoyed.

Jules nodded. “Night,” he said quickly.


Jules quietly changed into his pajamas to avoid waking the sleeping Ari. She was a light sleeper—often, Jules bumping into something in the dark would be enough to wake her up, eliciting an annoyed, “You woke me up,” from her.

Fortunately, tonight he was successful, or at least successful enough that Ari didn’t feel it necessary to call him out. Nevertheless, when he gently slid into the covers, he couldn’t help but think that he enjoyed the times when they used to snuggle up to each other in bed more. Now, he turned to face away from her. It was what she wanted these days.