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“Kerissa?”
Meghan kicks my shoe under the table. “Your wife, dum-dum.”
“It’s not that simple,” I answer.
“It never is,” she counters. “Now tell me, do you like her?”
I think about Natalie.
Think about the first time I saw her lying on that weight bench.
Think about the first time she made me laugh.
About the way her lashes glistened as we floated in the ocean together.
And the way we can’t keep our hands off each other when we’re near.
And I sigh. Because yeah, I like my wife.
Like I do every night when I’m lying in bed, I scroll through all the major sports sites.
Sports are my life, so it’s what I do.
I’m ready to see stuff about the Biters, but I’m not ready to see Natalie’s pretty face on my feed.
I click on the link to read the article.
It’s short. Just a mention of the new owner, the company he runs, the daughter set to take over for him, and the recent addition of a son-in-law.
My chest aches as I zoom in on the picture.
It’s taken from inside the stadium, the camera aimed up at the box where she and her dad are standing and clapping.
The smile on her face looks forced, and that ache inside me turns into a burn.
What excuse did she make for me not being there?
What does she tell her dad when she sees him at work?
Where is she sleeping at night?
That last one hurts.
I don’t know why. She’s not destitute. She can afford any hotel.
Then another thought hits me.
She can afford any home.
What if she decides to buy something now?
Her dad made that comment about her moving in with me, and that’s why she didn’t buy something. But you don’t have money like that and throw it away renting when you could be investing.
I set my phone down on my chest and just breathe.
I should’ve been there with her tonight.
I hated what she said to me that day in her office. Hated the wayshe twisted it to her benefit. But now I get it. I understand she was right.
