Page 40 of The New Couple in 5B

Paul is so different from my lover. Fair instead of dark, thin instead of muscular. How can two men be so different and yet still attract the same woman?

Anyway, I havestoppedseeing him. I have. I have quit my lover for good. I am determined to be the wife my husband deserves. I tighten my arm around Paul’s waist, look up into his kind eyes.

“I’m the luckiest man alive,” he says.

When I look back to the street in front of us, crowded even at this late hour, that’s when I see him. Tall and elegantly dressed, striding toward us purposely.

He won’t leave me alone, though I’ve told him that our affair must end. Paul and I plan to sell our apartment and move to the country—where it’s better, safer. My career—if you can call it that—is not going anywhere. The city—it’s changing. Violent crimes are up and some of the glitz and glamour is fading, grand places gone to seed, the subway ever more dangerous. This November there was a terrible blackout. We’re both ready. At least that’s what I tell people. Paul needs more quiet; and I don’t know what I need. Fewer distractions, temptations, I think.

I keep my eyes on the man coming closer, nudge Paul to the side.

He’s been following us. I’ve seen him lurking in doorways, dining alone at restaurants we visit. The other day he was waiting for me as I left the building.

“I can’t live without you,” he told me.

“You must,” I said. “I’m sorry.”

He grabbed my wrist as I tried to walk away. “I’ll tell him,” he threatened. “I’ll tell him that I made love to you in his bed.”

The anger in his eyes, the strength of his grip. It terrified me. “You wouldn’t,” I whispered. “If you love me, let me go.”

He softened, apologized. But he followed all the way to the market, lingering at a distance behind me.

Now he moves toward us quickly.

“Paul,” I start. But at the last second, he veers past us, our eyes locking. As if to say,I’m this close.I can ruin you anytime.

“Yes, darling.”

“I’m freezing.”

“Let’s get you home.”

I’m shaken to the core when, back at home, Paul takes my coat, hangs it on the rack. I wish I could come clean, beg his forgiveness, start again. But no. Paul is so fragile, so prone to dark patches and despair. It would kill him. How could I have been so careless, such a fool? My mother was right about me. Never satisfied. Always looking for the new shiny thing like a crow.

“What’s troubling you?” Paul asks. He builds a fire, comes to sit beside me on the sofa. It’s warmer now.

“You seem skittish, distracted,” he goes on when I don’t answer. “Worried.”

“It’s time you knew,” I say, looking up into the clear pools of his eyes. They crinkle at the corners with concern.

“Paul,” I start, look down shyly.

“What is it, my love?”

“I’m pregnant.”

The moment expands as his expression goes from surprise to joy. He weeps with happiness and gathers me close, and I stare into the flames and pray with all my heart that the child is his.

twelve

As our cab races up the highway, Max is answering emails on his phone, and I’m lost in thought.

The first time it happened, I was three—or so my mother tells the story. In her version, it was an idyllic scene—a bright spring late morning, nearly noon, with the sun shining and a breeze billowing the curtains and bringing in the scent of jasmine. My mother was chopping vegetables, preparing stew for the evening’s dinner, while I sat at the kitchen table eating my lunch.

When she glanced over to check on me, I had gone blank, eyes glassy. At first, she thought I was choking, rushed over in a panic. But when she reached me, I was breathing fine, just looking off into the distance.Like you were watching something that no one else could see.

She shook me a little, gently.Rosie, Rosie, what is it?