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“Did you tell your dad about school?” he asks.
Rivulets of water continue to stream down my arms and legs, leaving tiny puddles on the floor. “We don’t need to do this,” I whisper.
“Do what?”
“I’m sorry I called you on Friday, okay? I shouldn’t have. It was…unprofessional.”
“Unprofessional? What are weworking ontogether, Hannah?”
“Our divorce.”
Oliver snorts.
I glance at the clock, the longer hand ticking the minutes away. “I don’t want to argue. It’s been a long day. My attorney is keeping me updated, so you don’t need to. This will be over…soon.”
That last sentence is harder to say than I thought. Not because I’m suddenly enamored by the institution of marriage or think marrying a stranger in Vegas is a recommended experience. But I associate both with Oliver now, and he’s the component I’ve formed some attachment to. I’ve never put on an act with him, the way I do with most people. Especially men. I wanted to tell him about my acceptance before Rosie, who I’ve known for over a decade.
It feels like a loss to let that go. But I have to. He filed. He was possibly out on a date. There’s nothing to hold on to.
Oliver says nothing. The silence is ominous and uncomfortable, stretching a shorter distance than he knows. I wonder if he’s still at work or whether he’s at home. Work, I’m guessing.
I tighten my towel like armor. “Well, I should go order dinner, so…”
“Dinner? It’s only three thirty there.”
A phone begins ringing in the background.
He’s at the office. But he doesn’t ask me to wait. Doesn’t even acknowledge the sound as it continues blaring four more times before falling silent. He just waits for me to respond.
So I rule out lying, saying I skipped lunch and am eating early. And it’s not just because I somehow sense he’ll know it’s a fib. It’s because it was a secret hope of this trip, seeing him. “I, uh, I’m in New York,” I admit.
“You’re in New York.” Oliver’s voice is flat, and I wish I could see his face. Based on his tone alone, I have no clue what he’s thinking. It’s not indifference; it’s controlled. The way I imagine him lording over deals worth hundreds of millions of dollars. He exposes what he wants to be seen, nothing more, nothing less.
“It’s a work trip.”
Silence.
“An agent I’ve worked with before asked me to come with him, so I…did.” I clear my throat. “Anyway, um—”
“Were you going to tell me?”
Honesty kicks in again. “Maybe. When I called Friday, I was… Maybe.”
More silence. Awkwardness expands in my chest, heavy and uncomfortable, as I try to figure out how to navigate out of this mess.
“I shouldn’t have gone out with her,” he says, quietly.
My chest contracts in response to the confirmation but my voice manages to remain casual. “You don’t have to explain—”
“I wanted a distraction, and it didn’t work.” Oliver exhales. “There’s not going to be a second date. I didn’t—Ihaven’tbeen dating.”
I’m not sure how to respond. He doesn’t need my permission, and he doesn’t owe me any explanation.
“Are you free for dinner?”
The offer is unexpected.Sounexpected, I’m too shocked to speak. Barely able to think. “You don’t have to…”
“I know I don’t have to, Hannah. It was a yes or no question.”
