“She’s a clipboard girl?”
“She’s an intern.”
“Ian, that is not better.”
“I know,” he says quietly.
“So then what? She asked if you wanted to fuck her to save the rainforest?”
He grimaces, like I’m torturing him.
“I told her I worked at the EPA. She wanted to know more about my job, whether I thought she’d be qualified forourinternship program…”
He pauses, hoping I’ve heard enough. I refuse to let him off the hook.
“I don’t know what else to tell you, we just kind of hit it off.” He’s back to staring at the floor. “I wasn’t thinking. I wasn’t myself. Things have just been so stressful lately, with all the house stuff, and all the baby stuff…”
He has got to be fucking kidding. The incinerator hits full blast, I feel like I could breathe fucking fire.
“Things have been stressful foryou?” My voice trembles. I am losing control. “I’m sorry, I didn’t realize your life has been so hard.” I begin to pace again, like a caged animal. “I must’ve forgotten—are you the one who had a needle jabbed into your vagina and your eggs suctioned out? And is ityouwho drops whatever you’re doing the second a halfway decent listing hits the market?” I let my eyes sear into the top of his head. “Have I just been hallucinating this whole time that it’s been me doing these things, killing myself to build a real life for us while you fuck around?” I’m not sure when I began shouting. “Can you at least fucking look at me, Ian?”
He does as he’s told.
“I’m sorry,” he whispers. “I… that came out wrong… I… I know this has all been harder on you. But it’s been hard for me, too.” He clears his throat, working up some courage. “And sometimes, I feel like you don’t see that.”
“So you decided to fuck an EPA groupie?” I scream it at him,not giving a shit if the neighbors hear. But Ian refuses to match my rage. He just looks defeated.
“Tell me what to do, babe.” His voice quivers. “How do I fix this?”
The gravity of the question knocks some of the wind out of me. We will never be the same again. I know that. We’ll be a broken vase that’s been glued back together. Forever damaged—but still intact. Still mostly passable as a very nice vase (especially from behind the right Instagram filter).
Certainly still better than no vase at all.
Perfect house. Perfect baby. Perfect dog. Shitty husband.
Still an almost-perfect life.
“I don’t think you can ever fix it. Not entirely,” I say, my voice back to a normal volume. A fresh batch of tears emerges along Ian’s lower lashes. “But you can start by helping me get us the fuck out of this apartment. It’s killing us.”
He nods.
“We need a fresh start. A reset.”
More nodding.
“I’m calling the lender tomorrow to make sure our financing is in order. And on Thursday, you’re going to sign your name on that offer, and we’re going to cross our fingers and hope for a goddamn miracle.”
“Okay,” he agrees. “Let’s do it.”
26
The countdown is over. My future starts today.
The listing appears at exactly nine o’clock. I’ve been at my desk in front of the floor-to-ceiling window for the last half hour, refreshing and refreshing Redfin, and now here it is:
5423 Stonebrook Ave., Bethesda, MD 20816
4 beds. 2.5 baths. 3,100 sq. ft.
