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We’re both quiet for a little while.
“How exactly did I end up here?” I ask just as August blurts, “You’re married!”
I must still be drunk and hearing things. Maybe even seeing things. It seems reasonable to think that August isn’t even really here, and I’m just imagining him. Why else would he say something that crazy?
I rub the heels of my hands over my eyes and look up again. August is still here. I guess I’m going to have a talk with my hallucination, then.
“I’m sorry, what?” I ask. “Are you telling me I got married last night? To you? Are we married? How?”
August rolls his eyes.
“We’re not married. You and your wife are.”
I’m still having a hard time catching up when absolutely nothing August is saying makes any sense at all, no matter which way I turn his words in my head.
“I don’t have a wife,” I say.
“Details. Maybe she’s not your wife. It doesn’t really matter. You know, a paper does not a committed relationship make. If you have a child with her and share a home and a life, then cruising for men on the subway is generally frowned upon. Oh my God, you’re the scum of the earth! You should probably go home now.”
“Wait, wait, wait.” I push myself to my feet and wince as the already familiar pain goes through my temples. “I’m not married. I don’t have a wife or a girlfriend. I don’t have a boyfriend, either. Where is this all coming from?”
August stands across the room from me, blinking like an owl, before he narrows his eyes.
“Nice try. I’ll have you know that I saw you the other day.” He crosses his arms over his chest.
“You have to help me out here. Because I’m pretty sure I would remember having breakfast with my wife.”
He rolls his eyes.
“You said you had a breakfast meeting. You left your phone with me, so I ran after you to give it back. And then I saw you with a woman, and you were kissing her on the cheek and holding a child, and you threw your arm over her shoulders, and then you walked away.”
Oh! Well, something makes sense now, at least.
“Can I borrow your phone for a sec?” I ask.
“What?” he snaps.
“Just give me your phone, please. I swear it’ll clear up everything.”
He eyes me with suspicion as he grabs his phone, unlocks it, and hands it over. It takes a few seconds to locate Instagram and log into my own account. After I find the photo, I hand the phone back to August.
“Is that my wife with my child?”
He looks at the screen, then to me, and then back at the screen before he nods once.
“August?” I say. “Can you look at me?”
He licks over his lips and slowly lifts his eyes to me.
“I do have a son. His name is Milo. I wasn’t hiding him from you. I was going to tell you about him.” I point to Madeline. “That’s Madeline. We were seventeen when we had Milo, so it was a real shock. We weren’t the great loves of each other’s lives, more like a prom quickie gone wrong, but she’s really great. She’s married, and we share custody.”
“Wow,” August says slowly, looking a bit shocked, scared, and—I’m hoping like hell I’m not misinterpreting it—also relieved. “That must have been difficult,” he says. “The whole baby-as-a-teenager thing, I mean. I don’t know anything about kids.”
I shrug. “It wasn’t easy, but Madeline and I are lucky. Both our families have been very supportive throughout the years. The thing is, we’ve never really been together. That prom date was pretty much the extent of our… intimate relationship.”
August stares at the phone for a few more seconds before he groans and taps it against his forehead.
“Fuuuuck!” he groans, before he drops his phone on the couch and drags his fingers through his hair. He closes his eyes and hangs his head.
