His brow creases, and before I can react, he scoots his chair around the corner of the table and drags my chair toward him so we’re sitting knee-to-knee and face-to-face.
“Why’d you do that?” I ask.
“You were thinking of throwing that cup at me.”
“Well, you’re an even easier target now.”
That surprises a chuckle out of him. “You know, you’re nothing like I thought you were,” he says. “How were we married so long, and I didn’t know who you were?”
“Same question, back at you.”
“You know me.”
I shake my head. “I was totally wrong about you.”
“You saw me how you wanted me to be.”
“Same.” We’re staring into each other’s eyes now.
Once, when I was inpatient at Bellamy Cross, Mrs. Flowers took me to the zoo on a day pass. I sat for the longest time on a bench, eating a snowball and staring at an Amur leopard named Sofiya while she lazed on her side and stared back at me. The way her eyes were shaped, she looked unbearably sad, like she saw the world as it truly was and despaired. I knew it wasn’t real, but for a little while, I felt like there was someone else who knew what I did.
This moment isn’t entirely unlike that one.
“You want me to pretend that I’m happy with you?” I ask. “I’m not that good of a faker. You should give it up.”
“How can you love me and then stop just like that?” He snaps his fingers. “You never did. You pretended. So pretend again.”
“For the good of the kids?”
“Sure. For the kids. For yourself.”
“For you?”
“Yes. For me.”
“You want me to pretend that I love you?” I still have one leg tucked under my butt, but I do hot yoga twice a week. I’m flexible. I lean forward and brace my hands on his knees. “Soyoucan have an easy life?”
He doesn’t move an inch. His right forearm rests on the table. His left hand rests on his outer thigh. His hard cocktents his zipper. I glance down at it and make it very obvious. He shifts in his seat.
“Wouldn’t that be better than this?” he asks.
“For you, maybe. Why do you want to make up with me so bad? I can’t leave you. You said it yourself—we can have a traditional marriage. You can fuck your secretary, and I can take up tennis. Sign up for lessons down at the club and get myself one of those tennis pros. Or I wonder if Drake Chambers plays tennis . . . think he’d charge hourly to play with me?”
His teeth clench almost imperceptibly. My heart beats a little faster.
“I made a mistake,” he says, his voice low. “I miscalculated.”
“Yeah, you did,” I agree.
“It doesn’t need to ruin the rest of our lives.”
“My life’s not ruined. The circumstances have just changed.”
“See? You didn’t love me. I was your plan A.” He’s not whining or arguing. He’s just saying.
I lean closer until I’m right in his face. Our eyes are still locked. I can see the tiny band of gold around his pupils that always reminded me of the Eye of Sauron.
“So you wanted me to love you?” I ask quietly, my lips an inch from his. He’s so carefully still. Like I’m a bear he’s met on a trail.
