She turned to leave, but then she remembered his bewildered expression when she didn’t like his tattoo and gathered the nerve to open the door. She could’ve been kinder...
“Cliff?” she said, poking her head into the entry. Fortunately, he hadn’t locked it. Although she had her key, it would’ve been harder to go that far.
He stood about ten feet away, wearing a sullen expression and holding a beer in one hand. She thought he might tell her to get out. But he didn’t. He seemed okay with the intrusion, so she let herself in and closed the door behind her. “I’m sorry.”
“You don’t seem sorry,” he said.
She could see why. Just talking about it was tempting her to start laughing again. What was wrong with her?
She lowered her eyes, hoping that would help her maintain control. “Can I... can I go ahead and get my mail?”
He walked into the kitchen and returned with a bag full of what appeared to be mainly adverts.
“Isn’t most of this for you?” she asked as she reached in and flipped through it.
He shrugged. “You were always the one who dealt with it.”
That essentially released it to her, so there couldn’t be anything important for him in there—or he was relying on her to get it back to him if there was. “Okay,” she said and turned to go.
“Is that all you came for?” he asked petulantly.
Hope flared within her as she faced him again. “Isn’t that why you messaged me? Because you wanted me to pick it up?”
“I also wanted to see what the hell’s going on with you.”
Bewildered, she shook her head. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“That dude you were with last night. You’re already seeing someone else?”
The irony—and the fact that he didn’t recognize the irony or care about it even if he did—flabbergasted her.Hecould see someone else, but she couldn’t? That was so egocentric; it made her want to applaud Julian for insisting they go out last night. “I was just with a... a friend,” she stammered. If he’d ever shownanyinterest in the people she cared about, she would’ve given him Julian’s name, but there was no point, since he wouldn’t recognize it.
“Yeah, that’s what it looked like!” he said sarcastically. “Almost everyone I know has been blowing up my phone, telling me my wife’s already fucking another dude.”
He’d always used profanity; she’d grown used to it. But today the harshness of his language grated on her. He could’ve shown her alittlemore respect. “I’m confused,” she said. “Youkickedmeout. You said you wanted a divorce, remember? And you’re seeing someone else yourself—a model.”
“There’s nothing going on with Marija. We just... went out one night.”
“Went out,” she repeated. “But... that’s exactly what I did.”
“Look, a split is going to be hard enough. Just... don’t embarrass me, okay?”
“You mean by moving on with my life?”
“I mean... can’t you lie low for a while? Give it some time, for God’s sake, before you’re all over the next guy?”
Nothing he was saying made sense. He could be seen with other women, but she couldn’t be seen with other men? “Are you listening to yourself?” she asked.
He seemed frustrated—teetering on anger. “Work with me here, Char. Our breakup isn’t like other breakups. You should know that.”
“Because you’re special?”
“Yes, if you want to put it that way! Fame changes everything. You knew that before we were ever married. I’m under a microscope all the time.”
“You don’t care how our divorce affectsme.”
“Of course I do! It’s just thatyoucan slink off into anonymity. I don’t have that luxury.”
Neither would he want it. He was addicted to the upside of fame—the attention, praise and money. But he didn’t think he should have to tolerate any of the negatives, and he expected her to mitigate what she could, even though he was cutting her out of his life. In other words, he expected her to continue to protect him as she always had—to have empathy for his situation when he had none for hers.
