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“You’re drinking too much.”
“Oh, be quiet.”
“Honestly, Anna. You look exhausted.”
“I am.” I rub my hands over my eyes. They feel tender and swollen. He pulls out a chair and sits down heavily.
“Where are the kids?” I ask.
“In their rooms.” He scrubs a hand over his face. “The police wanted to see me this afternoon.”
I set the glass down with a bang. “What?”
“They wanted to ask me about you.”
“Aboutme?”
After a pause he says, “I need to tell you something.”
He takes my hand, holds it, and I watch his face slowly become distorted with sadness. “Babe, I’m so sorry. I’m so very sorry.”
I am on feet so fast I almost knock my chair over. “Don’t say it,” I urge.Don’t say it, Luis, if you do it will be real, please, Luis. Don’t say things we can’t come back from. It’s me, only me, remember? Remember how you would do anything to keep me forever? Remember? You love me so much, and I’m still here, baby. It’s you and me, against the world.
But I’m too slow. He says it.
“I’ve been having an affair.”
And there it is. The confession, in all its pathetic, self-serving glory. I reach for another bottle of wine, having finished the first one. When I sit back down I’m shaking and I spill some on the table. Luis pretends not to notice. I think he’s grateful for the distraction as he tells me thatitstarted, months ago, around April. I don’t tell him, yes, I know all aboutit, you can stop now. Spare me the sorry details. I already have them anyway. I’ve been chewing on them relentlessly for some time now. And what did she do to deserve such a pretty necklace? Was it a gift in celebration of the happy news, perhaps? A baby! Everybody loves a baby!
No. I don’t tell him any of that. I just listen to his story, from which all the sharp edges have been smoothed down and rounded. So it’s not so bad, really.
He was working on the show with Isabelle, he says, planning the pieces; they worked late one night, had a drink, one thing led to another.
“Well, that’s original,” I quip.
“I don’t want to make excuses,” he says, before proceeding to make excuses. “She was so…she loved my work, Anna…She looked up to me. I know it’s stupid but it felt good! To be wanted like that.”
I try not to smash my glass into his face as I say all the predictable things.I love your work, too. I look up to you. I want you like that. So what’s wrong with me, why am I not enough?
I’m staring down into my wine when I ask the question that’s been burning my throat all this time. “Were you going to leave us?”
He stops talking then and stares at me, his face aflame.
“Oh my god! You were?” Suddenly I’m standing.
“No! Okay, yes, fine. I was tempted, yes—I had a moment there where for a second I thought I could have another kind of life. One when I wasn’t at your beck and call all the time.”
I blink, raise a hand, palm out. I’ve managed to keep it together so far, but even I have my limits.
“My beck and call?” I say, still blinking.
“Anna! Come on!”
“This ismyfault?”
“I didn’t say—”
“I’m sorry, but I’m missing something here. Are you sayingIdrove you to have an affair? Because of what, exactly? I ask that you walk the dog occasionally? Is that it?”
