There was a pause. “No,” he said. “She’s not.”
“And in another universe, we never met.”
Brian shook his head, and a blush rushed over his skin like the tide. “But inthisuniverse,” he said, “I’d really like to take you out to dinner.”
—
WHENICOMEout of the shower, Brian’s overnight bag is sitting on the bed. I hear the water start again in the bathroom and stare at it. With a groan I turn away and pull on underwear, a pair of shorts, a tank top.
I run a comb through my hair and twist it into a braid and there’s no reason anymore for me to be in the bedroom, except that I can’t leave.
The shower is still running.
I move toward the duffel and tug the zipper open. Brian’s Dopp kit and shoes are on top. I set them aside and pull out a cotton sweater and sniff it. There’s something floral there—is it roses, again? Or am I imagining it?
“Dawn?”
He stands behind me, a towel wrapped around his waist. My hands go numb, body freezes. Caught in the act. I am a thief, a spy. I am Daisy, wallowing in Gatsby’s clothing.
“I thought…we were okay,” Brian says.
“Because we had sex?” I reply. “I’m pretty sure you were the one who told me that doesn’t mean anything.”
“I didn’t have sex with her.” Brian sits on the bed and pulls the sweater out of my arms.
“No. You justthoughtabout it.”
I am being spiteful and nasty and unforgiving. I am licking my wounds with poison. Brian has apologized; I should forgive him. Shouldn’t I?
But he was withherthe day of Meret’s birthday. He missed dinner. He came home wrapped in the scent of roses—on his clothes, in his hair, strewn across our marriage.
“Do you like her?” I force myself to ask. The words feel like knives in my throat.
“Well…I mean,” Brian stumbles. “I hired her.”
“Wrong answer,” I snap, and I get off the bed. I am halfway out the door when he grabs my wrist and spins me around.
“I have never loved anyone but you.”
Once, there was an earthquake in Boston. I was driving Meret home from preschool and along the route, a few trees had fallen. It was a tiny earthquake compared to the ones on the San Andreas Fault, but for people who are not used to having the ground shudder beneath their feet, it was shocking.
I went about the day, making mac and cheese for Meret for lunch, taking her to the park to push her on the swings, turning her over to the babysitter so that I could check in on a hospice patient. The woman was wide-eyed, chattering about how the bed had shimmied across the floor with her in it; how her pill bottles had tumbled from the shelf like they had been pushed by the hand of a ghost.Did you feel it?she asked me, but I shook my head. Because I had been in the car, the tires rumbling just as the earth did, I didn’t even know something had happened until she told me. A catastrophe had subtly changed the world, and I hadn’t even noticed.
Brian will not let go of my hand. He traces my knuckles with his thumb. “Please, Dawn. I know I can’t undo it. But it will never happen again.”
I believe him. I just don’t trust him.
“I fucking hate roses,” I say, and I walk out of the bedroom.
—
HERE’S THE INSANEthing about resuming your old life when it’s nearly ended: it is business as usual. Your heart may be broken, your nerves may be shattered, but the trash needs to be taken out. Groceries must be bought. You have to fill your car with gas. People still depend on you.
On the way to the home of a new potential client, I call my brother. As a neurosurgery resident, he rarely picks up, so it’s startling when I get him instead of voicemail.
“Kieran?”
“Dawn?”
