Page 16 of Cruel Lies

That's three windows, every single week, scheduled and recurring, when the coast is reliably, deliciously clear.

That's Paula time.

"That's great, babe," he says. "Therapy's good. It's good you're finally, you know, working on yourself."

I have never in my life wanted to put a chicken cutlet in a man's eye so badly.

"Thank you," I say. "Now, go change," I instruct with a playful swat at his ass with the kitchen towel. "Dinner's almost ready."

He nods and licks his lips, then starts to head toward the stairs to get out of his work clothes.

Then, to my surprise, he stops and turns around.

"You know," he announces, "thisis the Cali I married."

I'm back at the stove, spooning sauce over the cutlets. My face hardens, so I don't dare turn around. "Oh, yeah?"

"Yeah." His hands clamp on my hips from behind. Then they slide forward, splaying across my stomach, and he presses his nose into the curve of my neck and inhales,like I'm one of the chicken cutlets myself. "I missed you in this dress."

For one white-hot second, the Stepford Wife mask I'm wearing cracks. I look down at his hands on me, at the wedding band I picked out, and I feel rage like I've never felt in my life.

How dare he touch me? How dare he praise me? How dare he fawn and gloat and do all this shit, while behind my back, he's beencheatingwith mybest friend,ourson's teacher?!

Every nerve in my body is shrieking at me to elbow him in the solar plexus and tell him I know, I fucking know about the hairs in my brush and the mascara hidden behind his deodorant and the lipstick on my praying mantis mug and the hospital corners on my bed,I know, I have always known, I am not crazy, you made me think I was crazy and I never was.

It's insane how possessed I feel by the anger.

But a layer below that is something I didn't expect.

Grief.

It's a smaller feeling, but it's definitely there.

There was a version of this exact moment that I used to long for. A man who came home and put his hands on me like I was the best part of his whole day. I loved that man. Matter of fact, Imarriedthat man. I built a life with him, two kids and a brownstone and a bed full of throw pillows.

But that man is gone now.

The one breathing down my neck is a stranger.

And this stranger doesn't deserve my anger. He sure as hell doesn't deserve my grief. All he deserves is exactly what I'm going to give him: revenge, served colder than the depths of hell.

So I crank up the wattage on my blank, simple-minded housewife smile and spin around to face him. "Easy there, cowboy." I turn the burner to low and slip out from under hishands, light as you please, twirling the dish towel like everything is sunshine and chicken. "Hands to self."

He follows, predictably. "C'mon. Kids are upstairs."

"And they could come down any second." I plant a hand on his chest and give it a teasing little shove. "Besides. I've got a deal for you."

His eyebrow goes up. "Oh?"

"I want to lose a few more pounds first." I drop my eyes, demure, like I'm shy about my own body in front of this man who's done nothing but belittle it. "I've been working so hard. I want to feelreallygood before we, you know. And then it'll be like a reward. For both of us."

I watch the gears turn. Watch him weigh his appetite against the irresistible prospect of an even thinner wife.

"Sure," he says, magnanimous as a king. "Whatever you need, babe."

"Thank you," I purr.

Don't hold your breath, sweetheart.