Lying on the sofa, I check my phone for the hundredth time, pulling up Ellis’s name, gazing at her number as though it might reveal some terrible truth about her. What I find odd, aside from our meeting in the first place, is that she was so switched on, so fired up, only to then ghost me.
She seemed very confident, in control, doing whatever it is that she does. I’ve looked up Mobile PT and she’s a personal trainer. Officially. The unofficial bit seems very murky. Maybe she decided that I was too flaky, unsure. I didn’t sound sure when I met her and I certainly didn’t sound sure when I left that fumbling message. I’m not even sure what I want now, other than to end my marriage without losing everything else.
Maybe I’m selling my family short, coming at this the wrong way. I could sit Will and Alice down, tell them I don’t love their dad anymore. Then do something similar for Len and Monique.
Surely, I could manage it. What was it Ellis said? If they’re so amazing, they’ll understand.
Parts of our conversation stand out like sea glass in the sunshine, or splinters, the sort I get when I walk barefoot along the boards to the beach. And other parts are gone, and even though I know they’re gone, I can sense that I don’t have the full picture.
It’s those gaps that are scaring me the most. That and the silence that has fallen since we met. Somehow, I know she’s not going to contact me, no matter how long I wait.
My hand hovers over her name and then I press Delete. Sitting back on the sofa, relaxing my shoulders, I exhale, feeling lighter. That wasn’t so difficult. What could she have done to help anyway? She was lying, surely. I’m not sure that I believe she isn’t some kind of sex worker, even if she does only offer occasional blow jobs. Why even tell me that? I didn’t need to know.
Out in the hallway, there’s a rhythmic pattering as Fred runs up the stairs from the basement. “All right, my love?” His head appears around the door.
He still calls me my love. A habit.
“Just a bit tired. Been a long day.”
“Coastal report due?”
I smile stiffly. “Yep.”
He knows my schedule, just like I know his—or thought I did. And I realize then that yesterday, when he took a gamble by flirting with Paige so near to my office, he thought I’d be doing my usual Monday paperwork. My trip to the eco center threw things off-kilter.
“Your mom’s invited us over Saturday for our anniversary,” I say, not completely without malice.
He nods, two red circles forming on his cheeks. At least he has the decency to blush. “I know.” He hesitates and it’s what is said in these silences that is so important, to both of us. “Are you okay with going?”
Even though I’m sniffing around a thirty-year-old? Again?
“Yes,” I reply. “I don’t think it’s worth upsetting your mom.”
“And Dad,” he adds protectively.
They’re close, father and son. And mother and son. There are no weak points in the family chain anywhere. Only between him and I. This rusty link that has finally fallen apart, breaking the circuit.
A tear escapes and I’m glad it does because somehow years ago I was designated the role of strong one. I had to be strong through all the hospital runs with fevers, rashes, broken limbs, while Fred paced the floor, mumbling to himself, as if that’s ever helped anyone.
He was loved too much by his parents. That’s a thing. I’ve seen it first-hand with him.
Sighing heavily, he sits in the armchair opposite, removing his glasses to rub his eyes. He wears them more often than contact lenses lately; I like them, their boyish charm. He’s the sort of man who can wear a knitted cardigan and look Beatle-esque. He’s handsome, still. But none of this passes my lips. Not now.
“The thing is, Gabby…”
I straighten my back, holding my breath. This is it. We’re going to have the talk.
“…I love you.”
That wasn’t what he was supposed to say. A hot wave of agitation washes over me, as I sense him trying to lure me back in. Maybe if I hadn’t been pretending for so long, I could have hung on in there for a while longer. But I can’t do it anymore.
I’m going to have to be the one to pull the emergency cord. He’s never going to do it.
“Cut the crap, Fred. I saw you with Paige.”
He has the cheek to attempt a confused frown. He’s not very good at it, never was. When I accused him of sleeping with Daisy, he denied it for a month every night, like a witch on a dunking chair, refusing to drown.
“Don’t play games. I saw you with her yesterday at the deli.” My voice trembles and I lower my head so I don’t betray how much of a big deal this is to me. “I deserve honesty, if nothing else.”
He stands up, knees clicking, and that little noise of aging saddens me. I’m not rejecting him because of what nature’s doing to him, but that’s exactly what he’s doing to me. My body doesn’t excite him now, no matter how many miles I clock on the beach (three daily, to his zero). He’s not going for women my age, but younger women. It’s a flat-out rejection of my years, an embracement of their youth.
Sitting down beside me, he sets his hand loosely on my knee and I stare at his flesh, the bones protruding, the dull metal of his wedding ring.
“Nothing’s happened, I swear,” he says.
“You swear?” I push his hand away, shifting as far along the sofa from him as I can get. “As if that means anything.” I fold my arms tightly. “So, is it just her or have there been others? They always say the wife’s the last to know.”
“Don’t be daft, Gabby. There’s no one else. And she doesn’t mean anything.”
“That makes it worse. The fact that you’re willing to throw everything away for some trashy piece of skirt.”
I stop short of calling Paige a slut or whore, but even so, I hate the way I feel about her, about myself—the way my insides are shrinking. This is what this does to a person in middle age, or any age, but it’s worse now that time and the mirror aren’t on my side. I don’t want to shrivel up, wither away.
So I do something that a year ago, last week or even four days ago, I wouldn’t have been capable of doing.
“I want a divorce.”
He stares at me. “What?”
“Oh, don’t act surprised!”
“It’s not an act. It’s real. You want a divorce? Why?” He has the balls to let his mouth fall open, as though stunned.
This agitates me so much I jump to my feet, hands on hips. “Are you playing some kind of game—trying to push me to do this so you don’t look bad in front of your parents? Or the kids? Because that’s not fair, Fred!” I stamp my foot.
“What?” he says, gazing up at me. “I don’t even want a divorce, Gabby! This is all you!”
“Exactly!” I yell. “You’re pushing me to this. Well, that’s fine by me. Because I don’t care what your parents think anymore. And the kids will stand by me, when they hear about Paige and Daisy and—”
“There is no Paige. I told her it wasn’t going to happen. That’s what I was doing yesterday.”
His calm silences me. I stare at him, the carpet wobbling beneath me. Reaching for the mantelpiece, I hold it, weighing his words. Could it have been a breakup I was witnessing? I hadn’t considered that—was too caught up in the fact that it was happening at all.
“But you admit you were having an affair?”
He says nothing, looks away, lips pursed.
I shake my head. “If you think I’m going to stand by while you run around chasing girls, then you’re deluded. That’s not happening, Fred. I’m worth more than that and I won’t stand for it, not after everything that happened with—”
I close my jaw with a snap of my teeth; I didn’t mean to say that.
It’s his way out, his alibi, and he knows it. He looks at me slyly, as though a light has come on. Standing up, he almost smiles. I take a step backward, bumping into the mantelpiece. “This is about your mom,” he says.
“It has nothing to do with her. I want a divorce, plain and simple.”
He rocks on his feet, hands in pockets, more sure of himself now. He’s on safe territory. I should never have mentioned my mother.
“I’ll move out to the spare room tonight then, if that’s what you want…” He trails off, fixing his eyes on me and I know what he’s saying: that he’s going to let me have what I’m asking for. And he’ll let everyone know that I asked for it too.
“It is, yes.” I’m gripping the mantelpiece as though it’s the only thing propping me up. The other day, I was on my way to work when the pavement turned upside down. I had to sit down on the curb, wait until it passed. Since then, I’ve been mistrustful of the ground beneath me, wondering when it’s going to flip.
Vertigo, hot flashes, palpitations, headaches, yet somehow I’m still running every day, working full-time, managing a team of people.
I mustn’t let him shrink me. I still matter.
I can’t believe I’m even having to tell myself that.
“Have you thought this through?” he asks.
“Of course.”
“Really?” He hesitates, the long pause making my mind whirl. When he finally speaks, it’s so soft I think I’m imagining it. “What about the house, Gabby?”
I look up at him, biting my lip to stop it from quivering. “What about it?”
“Well, you don’t think I’m going to just walk away and let you have it, do you?”
I study his face for a sign of misinterpretation—a playful smile. Yet, his face is blank, aside from a firmness, a microaggression around his mouth that I’ve never seen before. “But…” I begin.
“But what?”
“I…” It’s like I’ve been muted. How is this happening? I said I wasn’t going to shrink and now I can’t even speak. Instead, my past flashes in front of me, reflected in the bright lights of his spectacles as we stand underneath the fancy chandelier that we chose together when we first moved in.
All those times I stood in this same spot, wondering whether to go to bed or wait up for him, wondering what I’d done wrong. All the mistrust and paranoia, wondering whether he really was playing golf or working late. All the times he swore undying love and loyalty.
“I want a divorce as soon as possible,” I say, walking from the room, closing the door quietly behind me in an effort to maintain some dignity.
As I climb the stairs, he pulls open the door, shouting up at me. “You’re going to lose the house, Gabby!”
In the bedroom, I pace the carpet, contemplating tipping his wardrobe onto the lawn or, better still, into the pool. But I have to be cleverer, less predictable than that.
Getting into bed, I draw my knees to my chest, going through everything in my mind until it’s a carousel of thoughts, fears. Things have shifted a gear, becoming sharper, bare facts floating to the surface.
Len and Monique will take his side. Nothing I say will change that.
Will and Alice… They’re my everything. All I can do is try to protect them and consider their needs as best I can. There are no guarantees.
Closing my eyes, I feel sick, his voice bumping around my head. You’re going to lose the house, Gabby.
I can’t lose it.
I can’t.