Page 10 of The Arrangement

“Did you check the laundry room? Maybe it’s in the dryer.”

“It’s not, I checked!” he grumbled, casting an angry look at his brother. “Riley keeps coming into my room and taking my stuff. That hoodie is my favorite. I have to find it.”

“I haven’t touched your—”

“Okay, boys,” I cut off the impending argument. “We don’t have time for this. I’m sorry, Dylan, but you’ll have to wear a different hoodie today. I’ll find it this afternoon, okay? We have to get going, or we’re all going to be late.”

“Ugh, Mom, I can’t go to school without it!”

“Well, that’s a problem because you’re going to have to,” I said, walking away from the argument before anything else could be said. “Come on. We have ten minutes.”

The boys groaned but separated back toward their rooms as Maisy appeared in the hallway, dressed and ready to go. She had two library books and three school books in her arms. “Morning.”

“Morning, sweetheart. How did last night go? Did you finish your project?”

She nodded. “Yep, all done. How was your work thing?”

“It was fine,” I told her simply. “Have you had breakfast?”

“Oatmeal. Where’s Dad?”

“Oh, he had to get to work early.” She twisted her mouth in deep thought, and it occurred to me then: did the children know something was up? Did they suspect that Peter and I were avoiding each other? Had we done a terrible job acting like things were still normal? Tonight would be a good time to prove them wrong, all of us together as a family. “Did you need something from him?”

“Huh? Oh, no. Nothing. I hadn’t seen him this morning.”

“He wanted to say goodbye, but I think we’re all running a bit behind.” I was always making excuses for him, I realized. Like it was ingrained in me. Not that Peter was an absentee father. He was far from it, in fact. He came home on time, rarely worked overtime, and was with us during the weekend. He was as involved as I was, and yet I felt the need to overcompensate and explain away the few failings he had. Why was that? What had he done to warrant my intense worry that the kids would see him as less than perfect? Did he do the same for me? I doubted it.

“Okay, well, I’m going to make my tea before I head to the car. Do you want anything?”

She shook her head. “I’ll meet you in the garage.”

As I made my way into the kitchen and put the kettle on for my morning tea, I heard the boys coming out of their rooms. I turned around, surprised to see Dylan wearing the green hoodie he’d been looking for.

“You found it, then?”

“It was hanging up by the door,” he mumbled, opening the cabinet and pulling out a small bag of Doritos. I’d argue it wasn’t a good breakfast, but I didn’t have the energy. Instead, I watched him shove it in the front pocket of his hoodie as he stalked out of the room. Within a few minutes, my tea kettle began to squeal, and I placed an English Breakfast Tea bag into my travel mug and poured the hot water into it, sealing the lid and grabbing a protein bar from the cabinet above the refrigerator. As I did it, I remembered the note. It was on my mind when I came home last night, but I didn’t dare check it in front of Peter. I didn’t want him to know I’d been expecting him to open it. I pulled the white envelope down, not surprised but definitely disappointed to realize I was right. The envelope had been torn open; he’d made no effort to seal it back or hide the evidence.

I ripped it in half and tossed it into the trash can, wondering how he must’ve felt when he saw what I’d written.

I sipped the tea, hardly aware of it scalding my mouth as I rushed out of the house. Though I wanted to unpack why my husband hadn’t trusted me, why he’d broken the rules so early into our arrangement, I had to get the kids to school and myself to work before we were all late.

Life wasn’t going to slow down because of our crisis.

I just had to learn to keep up.

Chapter Six

PETER

It felt like getting family portraits, that moment when the photographer tells you to stand still and smile, and all you can think of is: where do I put my hands? Why am I so aware of my breathing? Does this smile look forced?

That was the only way I could think of to explain the way I felt. The way I’d felt from the moment Ainsley made it home from her date. Sleep didn’t make it any better. I tossed and turned all night, waking for the final time two hours before my alarm was set to go off and deciding to get up anyway.

I didn’t know what to say around her, how to act, what to do. Multiple times, I caught myself staring at her in a strange, trance-like state with no idea what I was thinking. It was as if I couldn’t look away. As if she were a celebrity or a car crash, pulling my eyes to her with every move that she made.

There was such mystery to her now. What had she done? What had she said? What had she told him about our lives? Had she liked him? Had she kissed him? Had she done much, much more? So many questions haunted me, begging to be answered. I couldn’t bring myself to move on, but I was not allowed to ask anything.

Was this how she would feel when it was my turn? I didn’t want to think about it. I was embarrassed by all of it. Since I’d matched with Gina, we hadn’t spoken to each other, passing in the halls without a word. Perhaps she was doing it as a test. Perhaps she matched with me as an accident and my matching back with her made it awkward and confusing, as neither of us seemed to know how to approach the subject. I should’ve never done anything so stupid. I felt weak and angry with myself for my lack of control. Why couldn’t I stop myself from acting so impulsively?

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