“What?”
“You’ve been staring at your whiskey for the last five minutes.”
“Sorry. Long day.”
It wasn’t entirely a lie. It had been a long day. Right after my best friend Jack Specter told me about Claudette.
“You say that every time we have dinner.” She set down her wine glass. “You know, you always look like you’re attending your own funeral when we do this.”
“I’m sorry.”
“We used to get along well, but ever since the engagement, you act like having dinner with me is some form of punishment you’re enduring for the sake of family peace.” She smiled, but there was something sad in it. “Which, to be fair, it kind of is. For both of us.”
That was the thing about Hannah. She was sharp enough to see through every polite lie, and kind enough not to call them out unless absolutely necessary. We’d been engaged for two months, but it was nothing more than a business arrangement.
“We should talk,” I said.
“Thank god.” She leaned back in her chair, relief washing over her face. “I was wondering how long you’d make us keep pretending this was working.”
“You’ve been thinking the same thing?”
“Michael, I’ve been thinking about nothing else since we got engaged.” She picked up her wine again, took a sip. “Your grandfather wants you married before he rewrites his will and donates your inheritance to charity—which is hilarious, by the way.”
“He’s serious about it.”
“And my parents want me to settle down after everything. We’re friends. But we’re not in love, and pretending we are is exhausting.”
I should have felt relieved. Instead I felt guilty.
“I need to tell you something,” she said before I could respond. “And I need you to just listen.”
Something in her voice made me pay attention.
“I had some medical appointments a few months ago. Routine stuff, annual checkups.” She paused. “They found something. Well, theydidn’tfind something. That’s the problem.”
I waited.
“It’s genetic. From my mother’s side.” She looked down at her wine glass and for some seconds, something sad and painful crossed her features. “I’m not having biological children. That’s the bottom line.”
“I’m sorry,” I said, meaning it. Hannah and I had visited some orphanages and children's foundations, even though it was for charity work that improves both our companies images, I’d seen the compassion in her eyes when she was with children. She loved kids, I imagined how much she might actually want her own children some day. “That’s so tragic, I’m really sorry, Hannah.”
She looked up trying to smile, but it wobbled off. “Most men would already be planning their escape.”
“I’m not most men.”
“No, you’re really not.” She studied me for a moment. “You’re not disappointed.”
“About us? No.” I shook my head. “We both know what this is, but I do empathize with you.”
She laughed, genuine and surprised. “So if you’re not upset about us, why do you look absolutely miserable? You’ve been distracted for weeks. What’s going on?”
This was the opening. I took it.
“There’s someone else,” I said.
Her eyes lit up. “Finally. Who? When did you meet her?”
“She’s my best friend’s sister,” I said. As for when I met her, it felt like a lifetime ago.
