Thirty-two.
Tuesday night is traditionally adultery night, but on this particular evening Anne was determined to save her marriage. She’d chosen clothes she hadn’t worn in years, clothes from when she and Charlie were first married. Now that everything fit her again she had yards of clothes to choose from, although if she kept not eating they would all be too big. She waited for Charlie at the restaurant, fiddling with the cutlery and sipping her wine a little too fast. She’d been early. He was late. Eventually he arrived, bringing the scent of the almost-frosty air in with him. He’d clearly been in court; his suit was impeccable. Anne felt anxious around him, as if they’d only recently met. She knew every inch of his skin, but the expression on his face was of very recent vintage. He’d never looked at her like that before.
Anne tried to make conversation. “Who’s got the kids?”
“Shirley.”
“The wonderful Shirley.”
“Yup. She’s awesome. Super reliable.” Unlike some people.
“Yup.” Unlike me.
“Are you hungry?” Charlie picked up the menu, and Anne noticed his fingers curling around the edges of it, the nails bitten for the first time since they’d met. You did that, she thought to herself. You made this man unhappy enough to revert to a childhood soothing behavior.
“A bit,” she replied, picking up her own menu. “Maybe just a salad.”
“You look like shit, maybe you should eat something more substantial.” He lowered his menu and looked at her. “Or are you working off more calories than you’re taking in?”
She paused. “With Richard?”
“Is that his name?”
“You know it is. You spoke to him more recently than I have. I haven’t seen Richard since you threw me out.”
Charlie lifted the menu again. “Poor sod,” he said, from behind it. “You really are coldhearted, Anne.”
“No,” she said, evenly. “I’m brokenhearted. I destroyed my marriage, my family, and I’m doing everything I can to fix it. I won’t ever see him again. I will wait every day of my life for you to forgive me.”
“Well, don’t hold your breath.” The waitress came over, and Charlie smiled at her, his full wattage, judge-persuading smile. The waitress blushed. “Hi there, I’m going to get the steak frites, and the lady across the table will have a small salad and a glass of water.”
The waitress looked over at Anne, who raised her eyebrows. “No, I’ll have the steak frites, too, thanks. No salad. And another glass of Cabernet, please.”
The waitress looked back at Charlie. “Wine for you, sir?”
“No thanks,” he said. “I’m driving.”
The waitress stepped away, wondering what the fuck was going on there. Handsome guy, pretty woman, but tension for days.
They sat in silence for a moment. A busboy brought bread and butter, and Charlie tore into a roll. Taking it out on the baked goods, apparently.
“How are the kids?” Anne tried to keep her voice neutral.
“What the fuck do you care?”
“Charlie . . .”
“They’re shitty. Kate has been wetting the bed. Theo got into a fight at school that he won’t tell me about, but I can imagine it felt pretty good to smack the shit out of someone when you’re so angry with your parents you can barely look them in the eye.”
“He’s still mad?”
“He hasn’t smiled at me in nearly three weeks.”
“What are you doing about Kate?”
“Changing the sheets. I dug out the plastic bed thingies we had when they were toddlers. I double sheet with the plastic thingies, just like we used to. It’s fine. She’ll get over it. We’ll all survive.”
“I miss you all so much.”
He popped bread into his mouth, and spoke around it. “Should have thought about that before you sucked someone else’s dick.”
“I’m so sorry, Charlie. I fucked up so badly, but I really . . .”
“Shut up, Anne. We’re here to talk about how to end our marriage, not rehash it.”
“Can’t we try and work it out? I love you . . .”
“Not enough to stay faithful. Wasn’t I good enough for you, Anne? Not enough fucking, was that the problem? I tried. You never wanted to.”
“It wasn’t that.”
“I’d ask what it was, but I don’t care. I can barely sit across the table from you, Anne, without wanting to punch you. I’ve never felt physically violent in my life, but I would happily beat you to death for what you’ve done to our kids.” The waitress had come back during this speech, and was pretending not to have heard it.
“Your wine,” she said, placing it in front of Anne.
Anne’s hand trembled as she picked up the glass. “I’m so sorry, Charlie.”
“Fuck off, Anne.”
He watched her drink, suddenly wanting to cry. He was angry, he was furious, but he was also so lonely and sad it was all he could do not to beg her to come home. He wanted to stay angry, though, so he looked away, not wanting to watch her large gray eyes fill with tears.
“I’ve never stopped loving you, Charlie. I really think I’ve been having a nervous breakdown, some kind of mental illness.”
“I don’t care about this, Anne. Let’s just work out a schedule for the kids.”
“No, Charlie. Please listen. I’ve been seeing a psychiatrist. I’ve started medication. I’ve found us a marriage therapist— Will you go with me? Please, please can we try and work this out? I don’t want to divorce you, I want to make it right, I want to come home and be there forever. I made a mistake, a terrible mistake, but I was sick, Charlie.” Her hands were shaking. She put down her wineglass before she spilled it.
“Then why didn’t you ask me for help, Anne? Why didn’t you go see a psychiatrist months ago? Why did you sleep with another man instead? Why did you creep around for months behind my back, behind the kids’ backs, cheating on all of us instead of doing something about your supposed misery? I don’t think you’re sick at all. I think you’re a selfish, narcissistic bitch who wanted to fuck a younger, good-looking guy who thought you were special. I hate you, Anne, I really fucking hate you.” For all the fury in his words, his tone of voice was cool and detached. Anne felt herself eviscerated.
He held up his hand, and the waitress came over. “I lost my appetite. Can I get the check, please?”
Anne protested. “But we haven’t worked out . . .”
Charlie shook his head. “Look, Anne, I’m not ready to do this, clearly. Did you drive here?” The waitress brought the check, and he threw his credit card down.
“No, I took an Uber.”
“I’ll drive you home, we’ll talk in the car, and then that’s it. I can’t sit with you for an hour and make small talk.” His voice was tight and she could hear the tears in it. Suddenly she remembered that same tone one night years before, when baby Kate had run a sudden fever of 104, and Charlie had rushed her to the ER. He’d called Anne to let her know—as she sat at home with toddler Theo—that they’d had to do a lumbar puncture, that they wouldn’t let him stay in the room, that he could hear his little girl crying. She knew this man so well, had loved him so long, and now she had ruined it all.
They walked silently to the valet, waited silently for the car, sat silently as they drove back to the apartment building where she was living. Anne tried several times to speak, but Charlie said nothing. She turned to him in the car as they sat outside her building.
“What about the kids?”
“Did you sign that release thing?”
“Yes, it’s inside. I’m sorry, I forgot . . .”
“Go get it. I need it to change my name to primary parent, otherwise the school will call you first for everything, and you’re just not reliable, Anne. Who knows where you’ll be if the kids need you?”
“Charlie.” For the first time Anne felt a little flare of anger. “Charlie, I know you’re angry with me, but for God’s sake I made a mistake that thousands of married people make all the time. I’m incredibly sorry, but I never let anything get in the way of taking care of the kids. You’re pissed, but even you have to admit that.”
Charlie shut off the engine and stepped out of the car. “Whatever, Anne, let’s just get this piece of fucking paper and sort out a schedule.”
They went inside to Anne’s apartment. There was a pile of paper on the desk, and she sorted through it. “It’s here somewhere. I signed it earlier.” She looked at him. “They’ll still notify me about everything, right? They’ll just call you first if there’s an emergency?”
He was right behind her, impatient. “Yes, it’s just a legal thing, I guess.”
She handed it to him, and impulsively touched his arm. “Charlie . . .”
He looked at his wife, the angles and planes of her face as beautiful at that moment as they had been at the altar so many years earlier. He felt himself get hard and hated himself for his weakness. It was such a physical habit to want this woman, his brain apparently had very little say. Look at her now, tipping her beautiful face up to his, wanting him to give in.
Suddenly he pulled her closer, kissed her roughly, twisting her long hair in his hands as he had done hundreds of times before. Anne lost her mind for a moment, swooning with relief as the familiar edges of his mouth roamed over her throat, her arms going around him, pulling him tightly against her, making it clear that she wanted this, wanted him, wanted to make it better if she could. He turned, still holding her, and they stumbled to the bed, half falling onto it. His hands were at her waist, tugging her shirt off, her hands were at his waist, tugging his belt off, and then suddenly he pulled back.
“Anne . . .”
“Please, Charlie . . . I miss you so much.” Her words were mixed with kisses as she tried to pull him back down to her, her hands undoing the buttons on his shirt. “I’m your wife, please be with me . . .” She touched him where he liked it, she knew him so well. Come on, baby, her body said, I know you want me because I know what you feel like when you want me.
“I hate you.” His voice broke. There were tears on his face, and she lifted her head to lick them off, still overcome by optimism and desire. “I hate you.” He sighed, his voice soft.
“I’m so sorry . . .” Anne pulled his face down to her breast, arching her back to press herself against him. “Please forgive me.”
He paused, his hands still in her hair. Something inside him gave way, and he bent his head to kiss her again. Twenty minutes of oblivion, God, that’s all I ask.
Afterward he turned away from her. She lay silently, curled into a ball next to him.
He cleared his throat. “I’m sorry, Anne. That was a mistake.” His voice was dry as dust again, the lawyer back in control.
She turned to him, trying to twine herself around his body. He stiffened, but she pressed against him. “It wasn’t a mistake. We’re married. Please forgive me and let me come home. I promise things will be different.”
He turned sharply. “It was fine before, Anne, as far as I knew. I had no idea there was a problem, and that’s why you can’t come home. How can I ever be sure you’re happy? How can I ever trust you again?”
Anne reached for him, but he evaded her. “I miss the kids so much. I miss you.”
Charlie sat up, turning to sit on the edge of the bed. She wanted to touch his back, unwind the stiff muscles around his neck and shoulders, but she knew she wasn’t allowed to. That moment had passed. “They miss you, too, Anne, and so do I. But you’re not the same person we thought you were. They don’t know that you chose fucking some other guy over protecting their happiness. They don’t know that you pretended to still love me . . .”
“I do love you. I never stopped loving you. I was just so . . . lonely. My therapist says I was depressed.”
“Could you not have seen a therapist before you got into bed with someone else? Could you not have chosen what other people choose? Medication and a thorough and almost certainly ineffective rehashing of your childhood?” He stood and started hunting about for his clothes, scattered on the floor. She’d seen him do this so many times, in many houses, many hotels, over years and years, she could predict the order in which he’d dress himself, the point where he’d sit down, the point where he’d no longer be tempted to get back into bed. “And why were you lonely? I was there, the kids were there, you have friends. What the fuck, Anne? Are you like the kids, requiring constant entertainment?”
He was disgusted with her—and with himself for sleeping with her. He had sunk to her level, maybe even lower. He felt nauseous; this whole thing was killing him from the inside out. He suddenly stopped dressing and flared at her. “Do you know I’ve lost ten pounds in the last two weeks? I’ve had to leave meetings and go cry in the car. I can’t cry in the bathrooms at work in case someone hears me and thinks I’m losing it. Yesterday I told them I had to leave early to pick up the kids and one of the other partners asked if maybe it was time to get a babysitter. I told him to fuck off, which maybe wasn’t the best choice, so maybe I’ll lose my job and then we’ll all be homeless and your destruction of our family will be complete. Maybe then you and your boyfriend can move back into our house and take the kids from me and then I’ll just wander the fucking streets like the total loser I am!” His voice had risen so much that by the end he was screaming, his face red and wet with tears.
Someone banged on the apartment wall, and Charlie banged back, furious, his vehemence knocking a picture down and breaking it. “We can’t go back, Anne, there’s no back to go to. See that picture?” He pointed. “We can no more fix our marriage than we can fix that glass. It’s fucked. We’re fucked. It’s done. And it’s your fault.”
She was still curled on the bed, sobbing, when he slammed the door. The breeze moved her hair across her cheek like a kiss.