“Why now though?” Ximena asked. “Right before your big return to Broadway? I mean, I pity the woman who decides to beyourgroupie of all people, but you need to be worried about people who just want to get close to Boyd.”
Tom nearly snorted at the idea of Rosie as a groupie. Or of Tom as close to Boyd in anything other than the very short-term sense that yes, he could smell what the other actor had eaten for breakfast. More fish.
“That’s not Rosie at all,” he said. “She’s a normal person with an actual, normal life. And anyway, I’m the one who messed things up. This is only happening because I asked her for a second chance.”
Ximena’s expression softened, though Tom would have liked to see at least a little supportive skepticism of the idea that Tom had been the one who messed up.
The photographer cleared her throat again, and Tom was glad for an end to that line of questioning. For another few minutes, he obediently struck a variety of alluring poses over Boyd’s trunk-like thighs. As soon as he was released, he bounced up onto his toes and shook out his muscles. Boyd sprawled out on his seat, waving at his fans.
Ximena stood up more slowly, rubbing her lower back and making a face like she needed to pee. But instead of taking care of that important function, she turned back to Tom to continue the interrogation.
“So, what did you do to this poor girl, then?”
Tom swallowed, freezing mid-bounce as Boyd tuned in to the question as well. But Tom still didn’t have a ready answer. He’d been blindsided at the time. Rosie hadn’t exactly given him an itemized return receipt, more a shouted list of emotions she was feeling as she tossed his clothes into the hallway.
Other people had confided their own theories:
His best friend had thought Tom was a bad roommate.
You don’t clean anything until I yell at you, the last time you bought groceries you came home with nothing but lychees and cocktail shrimp, and every sock you own is on my living room floor, Adrian had yelled.It’s like living with a raccoon.
Tom’s parents thought he was a financial drain.
You shouldn’t have gotten married until you could support a family, his stolid, responsible father had told him.It shouldn’t have all been up to her.
But Rosie never expected me to make any money, Tom had replied.That’s why she took this dumb finance job in the first place.
How much of the rent can you cover if you get a second job?his thoughtful, patient mother had asked.
I don’t actually know how much our rent is?Tom had admitted, and his parents moaned.
Their mutual acquaintances seemed to think Tom had never deserved Rosie in the first place.
Rose’s such a sweetheart, Conner Lynch had said. Tom had known him in college, and he was the only one of Rosie’s coworkers Tom had known well enough to call and ask whether anything different was going on at her job.Our VP is screaming at us all day long, but you still have her scheduling your callbacks while she’s eating her little homemade lunch? She’s wasted on you.
You sound like you’re just waiting to ask her out, Tom had accused him.
I mean. You’re still technically married, right?Conner said after a hesitation.So, like, not until she’s ready to date again.
Oh my God, fuck you, Tom had said, hanging up the phone.
Tom knew that people with anxiety often worried that everyone secretly hated them. He’d never suffered that intrusive thought himself. He’d felt great about his life at twenty-two. He was married to his soulmate, he had his Equity card in hand, he was living the dream…and then he discovered over the course of one awful week that everyone he loved did, in fact, think he was a bit of a shithead.
“We moved here after graduation,” Tom explained to Ximena and Boyd. “And right away, I got cast as a swing in a revival ofJesus Christ Superstarwhen someone fractured histibia. And I met a ton of people that way. So things were going great for me, but Rosie—okay, so it took me a long time to realize this. She was having a hard time at her job, and she missed her family and our friends in Boston. She was lonely, and we hadn’t even been married a year, and I—”
“You what?” Boyd asked when Tom simply trailed off.
“I—nothing.” Tom swallowed hard. That was really the extent of it. He’d done nothing about it. “I nothinged.”
Tom hazarded another look at Ximena, who appeared to be waiting for more. But there wasn’t. He hadn’t done any of the specific terrible things that typically wrecked marriages; he just hadn’t acted like much of a husband at all.
“But it’s going to be different this time,” he added. “Look, I know I fucked up. But things are different now.I’mdifferent now.”
Ximena and Boyd shared a pitying glance, one Tom caught as being about him.
“What’s that look about, oh wise married lady?” he asked.
“She’s your age, right? Thirty-four? And she never remarried, no kids?” Ximena asked.
