Page 28 of The Wives

In that moment, I have the urge to tell her everything. Who I am, what I know about her and Regina. The way he shoved me and never apologized, which made me think he didn’t realize he’d done it. Wouldn’t everything be so clear if we could lay it all out between us? I’d certainly understand more about Seth. Or I could just ask Seth about it, but then he’d know I’d been talking to Hannah.

“What about the bruise beneath your eye?” I swallow the emotion lodged like a hunk of bread in my throat and look her squarely in the eyes.

“No, it’s not like that. I was doing a house project and walked into an open cabinet. Really. He just gets moody, withdrawn... He needs his alone time, you know? Sometimes I think it’s because he was always surrounded by people.” She presses her lips together. I try a new tactic. I came here to get information, after all, although perhaps not of this dark nature.

“Okay, tell me the good things about him, the things you love.” I smile encouragingly as Hannah chews on her lip. “You are having his baby, after all. There are some things you must like...”

“Of course, yeah, of course.” She seems relieved that I’ve changed the subject to something more palatable.

I notice the immediate change in her. When Hannah talks about Seth this way, her eyes take on a glow and her lips soften to the smile of a young girl entirely smitten. I recognize the symptoms, as I’ve so often seen them in myself.

“He’s charming, and he’s kind. He spoils me, always asking if I need anything and if I’m okay. He bought me a baby name book and he likes to hear my ideas...the small things...” I remember Seth telling me about the baby name book saying that Hannah—or Monday, as he called her—wanted a boy.

“He’s fun,” she continues. “Likes to joke around and laugh. I really love that about him.”

Have I ever considered that Seth’s sense of humor is his strong suit? I tend to be the witty one in the relationship, always quipping something or the other while he laughs.

“Right,” I say when she pauses. “Those are all wonderful things.” She nods, encouraged, and I think her eyes fill with tears, but then our server arrives to refill our water.

“Can we change the subject?” she says after he leaves.

“Sure.” I smile. “Where is he tonight?” I don’t know why I ask, except that when people ask me where my husband is, I always falter before making up some lame excuse.

“He’s... He should be home,” she says. “I told him I’d be out for the night.”

“Does he mind that you have friends?”

“He doesn’t know,” she says. “He’s protective of me, of who I spend time with.”

I don’t miss the way her eyes dart left, searching for the right answer...the easiest answer.

I nod, but I can’t help wondering if she’s working things out with him or herself, resigning herself to be the type of woman he wants. She’s so much younger than me, close to my age when I met Seth in that coffee shop. If anyone had tried to warn me back then I would have laughed, brushed off their concern. Seth was a good man, family-focused; if he was occasionally moody, that was fine.

Our food arrives before I can think any more on it. For the rest of our dinner we discuss banal things, and when it’s time for dessert, I stand up to use the restroom. I can feel her eyes on me as I leave the table. I wish I could know what she’s thinking.

SIXTEEN

When I get back from the restroom, Hannah is gone. I stare at the empty table, a sinking feeling in my stomach. Our server is ceremoniously clearing away the last of our glasses when he looks up and sees me. He grins sheepishly, shrugging his shoulders and stepping back.

“Thought you left,” he says. “She ran out in a hurry.”

As I step closer, I see that she’s paid the bill in cash and left a note on the back of my beverage napkin. I pick it up, frowning. Why would she leave so suddenly? Had our conversation spooked her that much? Maybe Seth called and summoned her home. The words are scribbled; her pen tore through the napkin at several spots. Had to run, felt sick. Rain check on movie.

That’s it? I turn it over in my hand, hoping for a more detailed explanation, but there’s only the pink lipstick residue I left earlier when I wiped my mouth.

“Did she look sick?” I ask the server. He’s waiting for me to leave so he can get his money and get the table ready for the next round of guests.

“Not really.” He shrugs.

I take out my phone to text.

What’s up? Why did you leave without saying goodbye?

Didn’t feel well. Had to run.

I consider asking her more, but then think better of it. I’ve already scared her enough with all of my questions. Things are probably better left alone. It could be the baby, I remind myself. She’s still in her first trimester. I was sick as a dog for the first five months of my pregnancy; the bathroom floor had become a hangout. I push the memories from my mind, their resurgence a cold knife against my thin control. If I thought on that too much, I’d—

I consider going to the movie by myself, but the more I think about it, the more I realize how tired I am—I realize that all I want is to drive back to the hotel instead.

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