Page 11 of The Wives

“I’m sorry,” I say. “Would you like one more drink before we leave?”

Seth orders two more drinks, and after they arrive, he looks at me with what can only be described as solemn guilt.

“What? I know that look. Spit it out.”

He laughs a little and leans over to kiss me on the lips. “You know me so well.” He grins.

I lean back against the firm leather of the booth, waiting for the bad news.

“Actually, I really need to talk to you about something.”

“Okay...”

I watch as he takes another sip of his bourbon, stalling for time, arranging the words in his mind. I imagine that if he had something bad to tell me all along, he’s already rehearsed what he’s going to say. It makes me prickly to think he invited me all the way here just to butter me up for bad news.

“It’s about Monday,” he says.

Something in my belly twists and I feel a wave of panic. He found out I’ve been to see Hannah. My lips are dry. I lick them, already composing the words—the excuses I’m going to give him.

“Monday?”

“Everything with the baby is fine. So far. But I was thinking that it’s a bad idea for you and me to take our vacation this year with the baby due...”

His words drop between us and all I can do is stare at him, dumbfounded. It’s not as bad as I thought, but also just as bad.

“Why?” I blurt. “What difference does it make? We can go before she has it.”

“That’s just it,” Seth says. The waiter comes by and Seth passes him his credit card without looking at the bill. “I’ll need the time off when the baby gets here. I can’t take a vacation. On top of that, things are busy at work. I need to be there.”

I fold my arms across my chest and stare out the window, suddenly not feeling as special and loved as I had hours ago. I feel cast off, abandoned. I am not the one having his baby—she is—and so my needs matter less. Oh my God, he invited me to Portland to soften the blow. This wasn’t a stolen romantic getaway, it was a manipulation: the soft words, the flirting, the nice dinner—the realization stings.

“I’ve sacrificed a lot, Seth...” I want to cringe at the bitterness I hear in my voice. I don’t want to act like a child, but being robbed of my time with him is unbearable.

“I know you have. It hurts me to ask you to do this,” he says.

I balk at his tone. It’s like he’s speaking to a child, one he’s about to discipline.

I look at him in alarm, weighing my urge to lash out and say something that will hurt him. “Ask me? It sounds more like you’re telling me.”

It begins to rain, and a couple dashes from the restaurant and across the street toward the parking garage. I watch their progress and wonder what it’s like to be with a man who wants only you. I didn’t date much before Seth. I was one of those serious students who avoided relationships to focus on my studies. If I had more experience under my belt, maybe I wouldn’t have agreed to the life Seth offered me so easily.

“You know that’s not true.” He reaches out to touch my hand and I pull it away, placing it under the table on my lap. Tears sting my eyes.

“I’d like to leave,” I say.

Seth actually has the audacity to frown at me. “You can’t run away from this. We have to talk about things. That’s how it works in a relationship. You knew when I married her what that would entail. You agreed.”

I am so enraged I stand up, knocking over my empty water glass as I push out of the half-moon booth and rush toward the door. I hear him call my name, but nothing he says could make me stop. I need to be alone, to think about all of this. How dare he lecture me on marriage? His path is the easy one.

SIX

The next morning I’m woken by the sound of the door opening. In my haste to climb into bed, I’d forgotten to hang the Do Not Disturb sign. I hear a tentative “Housekeeping...” and I call out a muffled “Later!” I wait until the door closes again before I roll over in bed and see that I have seven text messages and five missed calls from Seth. If I were to call this much when I didn’t hear from him, I’d look needy and insecure. I turn my phone off without reading the texts and jump out of bed to pack the few things I brought with me. I want to be home. It was a mistake coming here. I am craving the familiarity of my condo, the cold Coke that waits in the fridge. I plan on climbing under the covers and staying there until I have to go back to work. I want to call my mother or Anna and tell them what happened, but then I’d have to tell them the whole truth, and I’m not ready for that. I’m on my way down to the lobby when I think of Hannah and have the sudden urge to see her again. She’s the only one who knows what this is like, the torture of sharing your spouse. I send her a text as I march toward the parking garage, the straps of my duffel digging into my arm. I’d been so distracted last night I don’t remember where I parked my car. I walk up and down the rows of cars, switching my bag back and forth on my arm when it becomes too heavy. When I finally find it and unlock the door, I see a bouquet of lavender roses propped on the front seat, a card propped against the steering wheel. I move them to the passenger side without opening the card and climb in, gunning the engine. I didn’t want his flowers or his Hallmark apologies. I wanted him: his attention, his time, his favor. I am almost to the freeway, having momentarily forgotten about the text I sent to Hannah, when my phone chimes to tell me I have a text. I’d asked her if she was free to grab a late breakfast before I headed out of town. Her response causes my heart to beat wildly.

I’d love to! Meet you at Orson’s in ten? Here’s the address.

I type the address into my phone and make a U-turn. I barely glanced at myself in the mirror before I left this morning. As I wait for a light to change, I pull down the car’s visor and, flipping open the mirror, I study my face. I look pale and washed out, and my eyes are puffy from last night’s crying. I dig in my bag for a lipstick and quickly mop it across my lips.

Orson’s is a hole-in-the-wall breakfast spot with a block-letter sign above the door. There is a golf-ball-size hole in the O with a series of spiderweb cracks around it. I walk inside, the smell of eggs and coffee thick in the air, and look around for an empty table.

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