I wiped my hand on a napkin and accepted the video call.
Her face filled the screen, polished but tired, hair pulled into a sleek knot, hotel room lighting washing the color out of her skin. Behind her, a room service tray sat untouched beside a laptop and a black blazer hung over a chair. Chicago, I remembered. Or Boston. No, Chicago had been last week. Tonight was Atlanta.
“Hey,” she said, smiling faintly. “You eating?”
“Trying.”
“What is that?”
“Chicken.”
“It looks sad.”
“It gave up before I did.”
She laughed, soft and familiar. It hit me somewhere uncomfortable because I could remember when making her laugh had been easy. Before calendars had become the third person in our marriage.
“How was the first full day?” she asked.
“Productive. Players are adjusting.”
“That means someone annoyed you.”
“Several people annoy me professionally.”
“Only professionally?”
Tiny chose that moment to heave himself upright and lumber into frame, placing his enormous head on the island beside my plate.
Olivia’s smile widened. “There’s my favorite man.”
I looked at the dog. “You hear that? Betrayal.”
Tiny licked his chops and stared at my chicken.
“He still on the couch?” she asked.
“No.”
“Declan.”
“He is currently not on the couch.”
“So yes.”
I moved the plate out of reach. “He’s having a difficult transition.”
“He has a custom orthopedic bed and no responsibilities.”
“He misses you.”
Her expression softened. “I miss him too.”
Not you.
She didn’t mean it that way. I knew she didn’t. Still, the omission sat there between us for half a second before she looked off-screen at something on her laptop.
“Sorry,” she said. “They just sent the revised deck. I have to present at seven tomorrow.”
