The Burning Side(41)

I find myself surprisingly defensive of Mom. I think she believed in what she advised, that she didn’t want us to repeat her mistakes, even if I was one of those mistakes. I can’t imagine how I’ll feel when Sadie is a teenager, and this softens me even more toward Mom. When was she supposed to casually tell my black-and-white-thinking teen self that my whole existence was the result of a fling which accidentally formed a life? And…was she even in love with Dad? Or did she look around at other men and think, If not for April…?

Memories envelop me: when Mom and Dad celebrated anniversaries, when they went out, when they fought after they thought we were asleep. And when Dad would look at Mom and say sincerely, “I’d do it all again.”

Josie leaves the table for the restroom, so I lean back and look around, my wineglass at my lips. A breeze blows through, rippling the pool water and blowing hair off my neck.

“So melancholy.”

I startle and look up at a man in a charcoal suit. He looks down at me with intensity. He has an accent I can’t place, dark windswept hair, and blue eyes that seem to read me.

I set my glass down. “Just lost in thought.”

“Deep thoughts.”

I meet his gaze. “I suppose.”

He gestures to Josie’s chair. “Boyfriend?”

I almost laugh at the word. It’s so cute. So many lifetimes ago. But my left hand is in my lap; he cannot see my ring.

I answer, “No. My sister.”

His sky-blue eyes fill with desire as he sits in Josie’s chair and pulls out his phone. “Could I call you sometime? Hear about your deep thoughts?” His eyebrows form two question marks. They’re nice eyebrows; it’s a nice question. For the briefest of flashes, I picture the two of us with drinks. Him staring at me, rapt. Me, with sharp heels and soft curls.

But I hold up my left hand. “Sorry.”

He doesn’t flinch. “I don’t mind.”

I redden. Fidelity is a choice that must be made over and over again.

I repeat my apology as though I’m the one in the wrong.

Josie approaches with some kind of look on her face, so he stands to leave, but not before leaning toward my ear and saying low, “With me, you wouldn’t be so sad.” He reeks of cologne and vodka. His hand is startlingly yet lightly on my forearm, and he waits in case I change my mind. But I stare at the table in front of me, embarrassed by his forwardness. And by the fact that some part of me is flattered. That in the future, I’ll likely be free to say yes, which causes a violent tumble of dread inside me.

Then he’s gone, and Josie is taking her seat, laying her napkin back across her lap. “Gross,” she says. “How can a wedding ring mean so little to some people?” She cuts into her filet.

Gross. I take another sip of wine. And another and another.





APRIL


Earlier 2022

I’M THIRTY-FOUR YEARS OLD TODAY. Leo is gone when I wake up, another early morning at work. I get the kids ready, drop Sadie off at school, and take Otto with me to help students with phonograms. Now that he’s crawling, I limit him to the stroller during my sessions, which makes him pout. Argyle High isn’t on my rotation for today, so I don’t cross paths with Leo.

When I get back home for Otto’s nap, my parents call to sing “Happy Birthday,” and I lie to them. I tell them Leo brought me breakfast in bed and Sadie made me a card. The truth is that I haven’t heard from Leo, and Sadie has no idea what day it is.

After the call, I start tidying the house. When I move a stack of Leo’s stuff, a slip of paper falls to the floor. Thanks for the long talk. It really helped. Grateful for your friendship! —K.

“K” is for Kim, I know that much. And I can’t think of the last time Leo and I had a long talk.

There’s a knock at the front door, and a stupid zing of hope rises in me. Maybe this is birthday related. Maybe it’s my husband. But I open it to find a Prime truck driving away, a package tossed haphazardly onto the porch. I tear into it, half expecting a gift. But it’s the new vacuum filter I ordered. Of course.

I shut the door, shuffle to my room, close the blinds, and crawl under the covers. Sleep when the baby sleeps. Only, instead of sleeping, I find myself opening Instagram, where a wedding photo immediately shines in my face. Someone’s fifth anniversary. My man, the caption boasts, is the best husband in the world!

I click over to Kim’s profile so I can remind myself that she’s younger, thinner, and funnier than I am. I scroll and scroll, a form of self-harm, like I’m cutting myself with the edges of those bright photos. I heart one of the school faculty, and I let my phone slip away.

When Leo brings Sadie home from school, I decide I should just tell him. There’s a lot on his plate, and besides, birthdays aren’t a big deal at our age. But by the time Sadie has shown me school paper after school paper, no chance to get a word in edgewise, Leo is stuffing a snack into his bag, and I realize that his shoes are still on. I frown.

He says, “I have that historical figure day setup to help with at school, remember? I’ll be gone a couple of hours.”

For someone who just convinced myself that my birthday isn’t a big deal, I feel a very big-deal stab of pain as he walks out.

He doesn’t get back home until the kids are going to bed. After kissing them good night, he immediately grabs a stack of papers and mumbles, “Doing some grading in the other room.”