Do you perhaps mean one season?
I don’t watch reality TV.
Uh-huh.
You can go back to doing whatever fancy city people do now.
Grinning, I sent him a few emojis—laughing, waving—and tucked my phone in my clutch. I’d memorized the menu and waved away the waiter twice before Jeremy reappeared at the table.
Inching my chair closer when he’d been gone made it easier to touch his thigh. “I hope everything’s okay,” I said.
Distracted, Jeremy mumbled, “Sorry?” before he put his phone on the table—face down.
“With your patient,” I added.
“Oh… Yes. I’m sure she’ll be fine.”
She.
“Did you settle on a wine?” I grabbed the menu. It didn’t matter if I knew every word on it. I needed something to hide behind. My fake smile was no protection. “Any thoughts on what you want to order? I read some reviews in the taxi on the way over—”
“Erin.”
“—and everyone recommends the confit chicken.”
“Who gives a shit about the chicken?”
I shrank in the chair. “They say the beef is good, too.”
Jeremy exhaled a long sigh. “What the hell is this? Are we talking aboutbeef?I can’t—I’m not—” He raked his hand through a tumble of dark hair. He’d taken to styling it messier when too many strands had started thinning on top. “Erin, I need more than this.”
My body was as heavy as stone, but my eyebrow crept up.More?“I love you,” I said. “I do what I can to take the pressure off so you can focus on your practice. I raise our daughter. I cook—”
“Here comes your laundry list of shit you supposedly do.”
“I’m not keeping a scorecard.”
Jeremy grunted a sour laugh. “You keep a scorecard. Up here.” He tapped his temple. “Well, guess what? Me too. I bust my ass putting food on ourtable—thistable”—he knocked his fist on the white tablecloth—“and you’re either flitting around Melbourne socializing or sitting around the house—”
“I don’t just sit around the house.”
“You don’t work anymore.”
“That was a joint decision. We couldn’t balance the hours we were working once Til came along. You never liked me running around solving the problems of a bunch of uptight lawyers anyway.”
“Human resources is hardly a career. It’s a step above herding cats. You should do something more valuable with your time.”
I reached out to take his hand. “I am.” What could be more valuable than caring for our family?
“Such as? You didn’t bother following my lead on a healthy eating plan.”
I loved butter too much to agree to Jeremy’s latest fad diet. Carbs, too. “Well, no…”
“You sure as hell aren’t making time for the gym.”
“No…”
When was I supposed to waste time working out? Between the endless rounds of picking up toys? After Matilda’s swimming classes? If Jeremy was suggesting the perfect slot for a workout was skipping the one adult conversation I had each week with the playgroup mums, he was fresh out of luck. A coffee here and there shouldn’t derail our marriage.
