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She nods, and reaches for the oatmeal.
We’re quiet as we eat, my gaze drifting around the restaurant, hers on her oatmeal. I’d give anything to know what she’s thinking right now. I think back to everything she’s said over the last month, and what led us here. Me working all the time, my lack of presence in a life we created together, the house I didn’t finish….
My eyes raise to hers, lost in her beauty as she moves her hair off her shoulders. “I’m going to finish the house when I get back,” I tell her, picking apart the bagel on my plate.
She doesn’t look up from oatmeal but her lashes flutter. “Why now?”
“Because it needs to be finished. And if you decide this”—I wave my hand around, barely able to say the word—“divorce is what you want, you can have it.”
She stiffens, her eyes raising to mine, then dropping just as suddenly. She takes another spoonful of her oatmeal and then raises her fork to her mouth. “You don’t have to finish for me.”
I blow out a breath. My voice is soft and strained, begging her to understand it was never my intention to forget about the house. “I know, but I saw your face when your mom asked about it. You’re mad I didn’t finish it. Besides, I started it for you, I’ll finish itfor you.”
Thoughtfully, she leans back in her chair. “I know you didn’t mean to put it aside.” Her voice is soft, and I know she believes me.
I don’t believe in regret. I think it’s a dumb word because if you live your life and do the things you want, you shouldn’t have regret, right?
I’m not sure, but I think this is what regret feels like. That aching pit in my stomach wishing I could go back and change the last year, stop this before it happened. Stop this look I’m receiving, the one where she’s staring at me like she knows I’m trying to fix this and it might not be worth saving to her.
And then she makes a face, swallowing hard. “I’ll be right back. I’m not feeling so good.”
She disappears and I don’t think anything of it. Believe me, this comes back to bite me in the ass too. Just wait.
Returning from the bathroom, she glances down at her phone. “You okay?”
She nods. “Yeah, I’m fine. I get shitty reception here. What time is the counseling session?”
“Noon.”
She looks at her phone. “I should be done just in time.”
“Okay.” I nod outside. “I’m going to go for a run.” Believe me, it’s needed. I’m so wound up over all of this, my muscles have literally been on lock down for a month.
Leaning in, Madison kisses me. On the lips. “Sounds good. See you in a couple hours.”
And then I watch her ass as she walks away. Madison has the best ass and I’m immediately thinking of my dick pressed between her ass cheeks.
Don’t look at me like that. Every man thinks that. If they tell you they don’t, divorce him. He’s lying.
I’m totally kidding. Don’t divorce him. It’s a disaster and he’s probably a good guy. Maybe. I don’t like anyone so you shouldn’t listen to me.
I GOFOR a run but let’s just fast forward to about noon. You remember what happens at noon, right?
Principal’s office. Controlled arguments.
Guess who’s sitting in the neutral-colored room with the cracked mosaic tiles, alone?
Me. By myself.
You know how I feel about tardiness and my wife’s being late is no exception. If she tells me she’s going to be somewhere at a certain time, I believe her. I’ve never had any reason to. Until now. Patience is a virtue but it’s certainly not mine.
“She knows about the appointment, right?” The lady across from me asks. She’s the therapist apparently. Doesn’t she look like Judge Judy?
I thought so too.
“Yeah, she had a massage this morning, but it was over an hour ago.” I clench my jaw shut, the muscles in my body annoyed and protesting from tensing for so long.
“Are you happy, Mr. Cooper?”