Page 407 of The Sinner: James

My smile fades as I dip my gaze to my plate.

“I always thought I had a perfect life,” I say quietly.

He catches the nuance right away.

“Are you talking about writing or life in general?”

I press my napkin against my lips before swallowing a morsel of food.

“Writing, life... Everything,” I say, trying to evade his eyes and hide my feelings.

He lifts his glass of wine to his lips and tips it back, slowly taking a drink.

“Do you have any regrets?” he asks.

My eyes flick up from his fingers.

This is an unexpected question. I ponder and also try to read his eyes but have no luck.

“Regrets? No. I wish I had the power to change things. That’s all.”

He sets his glass on the table, his eyes following the slow motion.

“What would your perfect life look like?”

I suddenly feel nervous and have a hard time putting my thoughts into words.

“What would you change if you had that power?” he rephrases.

I tip my gaze down and stare blankly at my plate before raising my eyes.

“Back in the day, before James, I wanted a life built around my writing career. I never wanted to be a celebrity or anything like that. I’m not chasing that kind of thing now, either. I wouldn’t live like a hermit if I were. Back then, I wanted a small place I could call home and nice surroundings to inspire me.”

“And after James?”

I sigh… And smile.

“After James, I wanted James, and everything else fell to the side. I didn’t plan it to happen that way, but it did. My books and writing were no longer enough. I like writing. I still do, but I can’t stay still long enough to write the way I want to. Or I’m supposed to. And I know it’s wrong.”

“Why do you think it’s wrong?”

Our conversation gets briefly interrupted as the waitress sets the pizza on the table.

The delicious smell of melted cheese and broiled tomatoes seasoned with herbs enters my nostrils, making me forget about his question.

We focus solely on our food for a few good minutes, but once we satiate our hunger, the dialogue begins to gear toward the previous topic.

“You said it was wrong to feel that way,” he says.

“Yes, I did.”

“Why?”

“Because I have a perfect life.”

“By what standards?”

I shrug.

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