Page 26 of Wall

You know what?

Screw him.

He could have been eating my meatloaf this whole time if he’d kept his dick in his pants.

Or maybe that’s all he missed. My cooking. Only thing worth coming back for is some Jolly Green Giant and ninety-nine cent store-brand rolls.

My eyes tickle, and I fan them, but it’s too late. Hot, fat tears dribble down my cheeks. God damn it.

John blinks drowsily, and then his eyes fly wide open.

“What’s wrong?” His whole body primes for action, and he scans behind him, as if he’s looking for the enemy. As if it isn’t him.

“Everything.” It comes out a snotty, high-pitched snarl.

“What can I do?”

Now? Four years later? Screw himself. That’s what he can do.

“You can put your dishes in the sink before you get the hell out of my house!”

His jaw tightens, every perfectly, overly-defined muscle he’s got swells and hardens until he looks like an 80s action figure, the kind that wears a loincloth and rides tigers.

I tense. It’s pure instinct. Is he going to yell back? Lose his cool?Finally?

I hope he yells. I dare him. I’m gonna kick his ass out the front door.

He places his hands flat on the table and cracks his neck. “I ain’t leaving.”

“Why not? You’re good at that, making a mess and leaving. Right?”

He doesn’t even pretend not to know what I’m talking about. His brow knits, like he’s thinking hard, but otherwise, he’s unruffled, utterly unfazed that I’m losing my mind at the foot of the table.

“Mona—” His forehead furrows deeper, a crease appearing on the bridge of his nose. “I thought I was doing the right thing by staying away.”

My fists clench so tight my knuckles burn. “The right thing? The right thing is don’tfuckanother woman when you’re married!”

I’m so mad that I choke on my own spit. I chug the rest of my wine to stop the hacking.

“For heaven’s sake, you don’t even need to file the paperwork or anything. If you wanted out to screw other women, you just had to tell me. How hard would that have been? Didn’t seem hard for you walk away after the fact!”

“It was hard,” he says, his voice even. Hard.

I roll my eyes. “You wanted out. You were tired of your sad-sack wife and your sad life, and you figured you’d fuck a random Stephanie, and it’d be your Get Out of Jail Free card.”

“That’s what you think?” He sounds genuinely surprised.

“That’s what Iknow. Lorraine told me. She saysStephaniekept after you once we split, and you turned her down. You didn’t have to have to cheat, John. You could’ve just said you were done with me.”

“I wasn’t done with you.”

“Bullshit, John. You wouldn’t touch me. Not for months after we lost—” I sputter, choking on my words.

“You didn’t want to be touched,” John says, infuriatingly calm. “You were sleeping on the sofa.”

My temper blazes. “You were working double shifts.Volunteeringfor double shifts.”

His gaze drifts off to the living room. I bet he wishes he could bail. Why is he even still sitting at this table? Heck, why am I?

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