I stand there for a second after she leaves, telling myself—I did nothing wrong. I did nothing wrong.
So why does it feel like I’m about to get my teeth kicked in?
I say goodbye to Ben, thank him for dragging that part of me back to life for an hour. “Next time you’re in town,” I tell him, “drop me a line.”
I’ve had too many beers to drive. No question. I flag down a yellow cab, sink into the back seat, forehead against the glass as the city blurs by.
I expect my BlackBerry to buzz. A missed call. An angry email. Something.
It’s silent.
The T ride home felt longer than usual.
My building was dark when I got there.
I unlocked the door.
The lamp clicked on.
She was sitting there.
In the dark.
Waiting.
“Where were you?”
I froze.
“Out,” I said carefully. “I told you I had plans.”
“No, you told me work was insane. That you’d be there all night. Is leaving for New York a lie, too?”
She stood slowly and walked toward me like she was inspecting evidence.
“At least you don’t smell like perfume,” she said. “Lift your collar.”
“Sage,” I snapped. “Really?”
“Lipstick leaves marks.”
“I spend every night with you,” I said. “You honestly think I’d cheat?”
She smiled. “Not this past week.”
“Jesus, Sage. I’m not doing this tonight.”
I didn’t fall into the trap. Didn’t fight back.
“You were out drinking without me.”
“I was with my buddy. His band’s in town.”
“Why couldn’t I go?”
Because I needed air.
Because I needed space.
