Pause.
“A friend,” he says simply.
“A girlfriend?” I grit my teeth.
For a long time he doesn’t answer. He looks past me, eyes searching for something. He takes in the messy floor, the empty wine glasses on my desk. I think he’s looking for Reaper. God, I realize, he doesn’t even know Reaper was poisoned.
“Yeah,” Joe says, and I look up, confused for a moment. He straightens his back, but his eyes are scared. “I’ve been seeing someone else.”
I shut my eyes tight. A girlfriend. My husband has a girlfriend. Even though I knew it was coming, I’m still surprised by it. My husband has a girlfriend. Myhusbandhas agirlfriend.
“You fucking asshole,” I say.
Joe steps back, making himself as small as possible. It only pisses me off more. Out the window, the cockatoos are screeching, and even Joe winces.
I lean against the door. “Did you get my voicemail?”
Joe stares at the floorboards. “Yeah.”
I throw up my hands. “And?”
The damn cockatoos keep screeching and screeching. I want to throw something at them. Or him. Yeah, just him.
My husband asks in a tired voice, “You know what, Lizzy?”
“What, Liam?”
He doesn’t even flinch when I say his real name. Instead, he straightens his back, looks me in the eyes and says, “Go fuck yourself.”
Screech. Screech. Screech.
Go fuck yourself.My husband just told me to go fuck myself. Myhusbandwho has agirlfriendjust told me to go fuck myself. Laughter starts bubbling up my throat. I double over, holding my stomach because I’m laughing so hard.
Joe eyes me nervously. “There’s something wrong with you,” he says, stepping back. “Seriously.”
I stop laughing.
It’s dead silent now. Even the cockatoos are quiet.
“You’re right,” I finally tell him. I even shrug. “Thereissomething wrong with me.”
Joe backs away like he just can’t wait to leave me.
“But you know what?” I ask quietly. “There’s somethingreally fuckingwrongwith you too.”
Joe raises both hands like he’s telling me to stop. “I’m moving out, all right? I’m gonna pack up all my things tonight,” he says very slowly. “I’ll be gone by morning.”
My blood heats to boiling point.
Very softly I ask, “What makes you think you’ll be safe here tonight?”
He stares at me in shock. I stare back.
I slam the door shut, feeling completely unhinged. Joe has pulled on the final thread holding my sanity in place. I grip the wine bottle in both hands and gulp it all down. It takes a while. But I’m game. I smack my lips when I’m finished. Cheerily, I grip the pen.
Okay, welcome to my breaking point! So my husband just confessed to cheating on me. I’ve lost my job and my marriage this week. Wooooooo.
I catch a glimpse of myself in the grimy reflection of the vanity mirror. I must’ve spilled wine down my pajama top. It’s bright red and soaked. I look like I’m covered in blood. I wish it was Joe’s blood. The cheating bastard. I built him a good life, and all he saw were the cracks.
