Page 7 of The Arrangement

There was nothing light about his tone then. He was angry. Bitter. I could sense it, but I wouldn’t respond. The clock on the stove showed it was after six, which meant I needed to leave the house within the next few minutes to make it to the restaurant by seven.

“Thank you,” I said. “I’ve told the kids I’m heading out, let them know it was a work thing and that I’ll see them either late tonight or in the morning. Homework’s done, Maisy has a FaceTime thing for one of her assignments here soon, so you won’t want to disturb her. Riley needs to eat more than potato chips for dinner, so if you don’t cook—”

“I’m going to cook,” he affirmed.

“Well, if you don’t—”

“I’m going to,” he said again, more firmly this time.

“Okay,” I nodded. “Fine. Okay. Good.” I sighed. “I’ll see you when I get home then.” I started to walk away, but he stopped me, grabbing my arm.

“Do you—” He let me go when I glanced down at his grip. “Sorry. Do you want to send me his name, or the address of the restaurant, or the name of where you’re going in case…I don’t know, in case he ends up being some sort of wacko? I know it’s against the rules, but…”

I twisted my lips in thought. “I guess it’s not the worst idea. How about this: do we have any envelopes?”

“What? Are you going to write me a letter?”

“I’m going to write down his name and the place he’s taking me for dinner and seal it in an envelope. Then, when I get home, we can shred it and I’ll know if you tampered with it. But if I don’t come home or if you don’t hear from me, you can open it.”

He didn’t look happy about the plan. “You don’t trust me not to look?”

“It’s not about trust. It’s about temptation. Knowing you can’t look takes away the temptation, and then neither of us has to worry about it.”

He sighed. “Fine. Whatever. I’ll get an envelope.”

I removed a piece of paper from a drawer and scribbled the words down as he sulked out of the room, and when he returned, I slid the paper inside the envelope and sealed it tight. I pulled a piece of tape from the drawer and placed it over the seal. Then, I signed my name to the tape. “There, now it’s sealed for sure.” It was an old trick we used at the bank to protect the combinations we kept sealed in our keybox from the prying eyes of other employees. The safeguard worked just as well in this situation. If he removed the tape, I’d know it. And he couldn’t forge my signature well enough to replace it.

Peter looked at it as if it was the most ridiculous thing in the world, but he didn't say anything.

“Put it on top of the refrigerator so none of the kids find it. I don’t want them asking questions.”

He did as he was told. “Well, have a good night, I guess.”

I nodded, pressing my lips to his cheek awkwardly. “This feels weird,” I admitted as I turned away from him.

“So weird,” he agreed with a huff of relieved breath.

“I’ll text you when I get there. Let you know I made it okay.”

“Be careful,” he said, the anger disappearing from his eyes, replaced by sadness. “There are a lot of crazy people out there.”

“I will be. Promise.”

With that, I walked out of the room, then out of the house, refusing to let myself question if I was making the biggest mistake of my life.

Chapter Four

PETER

I had signed myself up for a specific kind of torture when I brought up the idea of writing down who my wife was currently on a date with. Of course, I hadn’t expected her to seal it. I should’ve, I guess. My wife was nothing if not thorough. Somehow, though, I hadn’t seen it coming.

As the evening progressed, I found myself staring at the top of the refrigerator more and more, so much so that Maisy and Riley had both asked me if something was wrong, and even Dylan seemed to have noticed something definitely wasn’t right. I’d managed to whip up a quick dinner despite my distraction and carry on a halfhearted conversation throughout the meal, but as soon as it was over and the kids had retired back to their bedrooms, I knew it was going to be a long night of worrying.

I glanced at the doorway to the kitchen again, my throat dry. She texted me around an hour after she left to say that she’d arrived. She was safe. He seemed normal. It was all she’d said. I felt like a girlfriend she’d texted when her date had gone to the bathroom.

I couldn’t help wondering what type of man my wife would date. Would she want someone like me? Or someone my opposite? Would she choose someone better looking than me? Someone with better hair? A better build? I couldn’t deny that I’d let myself go over the years. Once, I’d had hours a day to spend at the gym, but now, I couldn’t remember the last time I’d stepped foot inside one. Things got busy, you know? Between life and work and the kids, there was no time for myself anymore. Not in that way. When you were building an architecture firm from the ground up and raising three children, everything else tended to fall by the wayside. Including my marriage.

Our marriage was good once. I remembered it well. The time when we were inseparable. When all we wanted to do was spend time together. I could’ve spent hours holding her hand on the couch. We spent entire days at various theaters and restaurants because we had nowhere else to be. And then there were the hours spent rolling around in bed, soaked in sweat, never tiring, never running out of desire for one another. What had become of those people? Why had we let them go?

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