Robert spoke over me. “Chef’s special. Medium rare. Garlic potatoes.” When he realized I was talking, he said kindly to the waiter, “My apologies. I guess we need another moment.”
The young man relaxed, charmed by my husband’s smile. “Of course. Take your time. Would you like another scotch while you wait?”
Robert nodded, and the server disappeared.
Robert returned his focus to me, agitation on his face.
I wanted to ask him why he was so kind to everyone around us but so rude to me. The question would only start an argument, though, and I already had a topic sure to start that fire tonight.
Tension coiled in my throat at the thought.
The constant tiptoeing around him and preplanning everything I said was exhausting. Marriage shouldn’t be like this. My life shouldn’t be like this. I hadn’t even told him my mother wasn’t getting any better for fear he’d be furious about the cost of her care. It was ridiculous, and I knew it, but I couldn’t make the nonsense stop.
Robert eyed me, as if reading my thoughts. “What’s the problem?” He sucked his teeth, staring hard into my eyes until I looked away.
The server set my wine and Robert’s glass of scotch onto our table, then hastened away. He probably felt the force field of tension around us.
Robert lifted his drink immediately.
“My mom’s still ill,” I said, taking the leap to get ahead of his simmering anger. If I wasn’t direct, we’d wind up arguing about something completely different, and I’d have to wait for another week to ask him for money to help my mother. “She needs round-the-clock care, and her insurance doesn’t cover that until it’s considered end-of-life care.” I paused to swallow the lump in my throat. “I’m her only child, and I can’t exactly move in with her. I don’t know what else to do.” Robert didn’t even like me to visit. “We have to figure this out.”
His red face contorted into disgust. “You want me to spend my money on your mother because she drank her way through her trust?”
The couple at the table beside us cast sideways glances in our direction, and I flushed.
I lowered my voice, hoping Robert would follow suit. “I’m not asking for more than we have readily to give, and I’m willing to spend time over there helping, if I won’t have to argue with you about it every time I come home. She’s in liver failure, Robert,” I pleaded. “It’s been weeks without improvement.”
He wiggled his short glass, rolling a giant sphere of ice inside. “And when she dies, we inherit her debts,” he said dryly. “Seems to me like this is a lose-lose for us.” He sloshed the amber liquid into his mouth, then set the glass on the table with a muted thud. “You don’t need to spend more time there. That’s not going to heal her. You can’t control this like you try to control everything else with your lists and endless fussing.”
I bit back my rage at his callousness and shoved it into a pit with all the other emotions I’d swallowed for years. I took a long drink of my wine before meeting Robert’s eyes again. “I make lists and fuss so you have less to complain about,” I said. “It’s a countertactic.”
Heat flashed in his eyes. Nothing was ever Robert’s fault, and I knew I’d crossed a line by suggesting as much. “Is that right?”
“Yes.”
My phone rang, interrupting our quiet standoff.
He muttered apologies to the neighboring tables as I pulled my phone from my handbag. I’d clearly embarrassed him.
“It’s the nurse,” I said, loudly enough for everyone listening to hear. “Hello?”
I rose and moved toward the exit, hoping for good news. Maybe Mom had finally spoken again. Maybe she’d told her nurse to fuck off and go home, and the woman was letting me know.
I had my clutch already tucked beneath one arm, ready to race across town to her.
“Mrs. Bianco, this is Rebecca.”
“Where are you going?” Robert barked as I reached the clubhouse foyer.
“Hi, Becca,” I said. “What’s up?”
She sniffled, and I froze.
“Becca? Where are you?”
“We’re at the hospital. Your mom ... EMTs worked on her all the way to the ER, but—”
My world tilted and tunneled.
