Now, Geneva had her head back in pleasure. Graham wore that helpless look he had right before he was about to climax; he kind of lifted his eyebrows a little, lids closed the way violin players did sometimes when they were rapt in their music. Selena realized she was clutching the arms of her chair so tightly that her hands ached.
She was distantly aware of another feeling, one she deeply pressed down for a good long time, long before this. At some point after the birth of their second child, Selena had started to dislike her husband. Not all the time. But with shocking intensity—the way he interrupted her when she was talking, hovered over her in the kitchen micromanaging, the way he claimed to share the housework when he didn’t. At all. Surely it was true of all couples who had been together for a long time. Then he lost his job—sort of gleefully, it must be said.
Oh, well, I was looking for a change. And you said you were missing work.
Had she said that? She didn’t think so, since she hadn’t been missing work.
At some point after that, when she’d come home to find him in the same athletic pants two days in a row, or when she checked the browser history on the computer and couldn’t find a shred of evidence that he’d been looking for a job at all, she started to hate him a little. Then more. That svelte and charming man in the tux, the one who made her laugh and shiver with pleasure, he seemed like someone from a dream she could barely remember.
Now, as she leaned in to turn up the volume again and heard him moan beneath Geneva, the depth and scope of her hatred was primal. She understood for the first time in her life how people might kill each other—married people who once loved with passion and devotion, who once cried happy tears at the altar, and went on a magnificent honeymoon, conceived beautiful children, built a lovely life.
That thing lurking inside her, it was pounding to get out. She could hear it. But she couldn’t quite feel it.
She’d been on autopilot with Graham, going through the motions, rebuffing his advances. If he’d noticed her distance, he hadn’t said anything. The truth was, it wasn’t the first time he’d cheated. But she thought they’d moved past it. There’d been counseling, tearful promises. She’d—foolishly it seemed—forgiven him and allowed herself to trust him again.
“Graham.”
The voice startled Selena, snapped her back to the present moment.
Geneva had climbed off Selena’s husband, already pulled her skirt down. Both times there had been hasty dressing afterward, averted eyes and frowning faces. At least they had the decency not to lie around after sex, not to luxuriate on the playroom floor.
“This has to stop,” said Geneva. Selena heard the notes of shame, regret. Good. Good for you, Geneva!
Graham had pulled up his pants, sat on the couch and dropped his head into his hands.
“I know,” he said, voice muffled.
“You have a nice family. A beautiful life. And this is—fucked,” Geneva said, her face flushed.
Oh, Geneva, thought Selena crazily, please don’t quit.
“I think I should give notice,” said Geneva.
Graham looked up, stricken. “God, no,” he said. “Don’t do that.”
Selena laughed out loud. No, it wasn’t love. He wasn’t afraid of losing the lovely young Geneva. He was terrified that he would have to be the primary caregiver for Stephen and Oliver while he “looked for another job.”
“Selena relies on you,” he said. “She appreciates you so much.”
Geneva let out a little laugh, which made Selena smile, too, before she caught herself. How could Selena still like the woman who she’d just watched fuck her husband? She must be losing her grip. That’s what working motherhood did to you; it robbed you of your sanity.
“I doubt very much that she’d appreciate this,” Geneva said.
“No,” said Graham. He was pale with shame, rubbing at his jaw. He looked up and, with a strange rush of relief, for a second Selena saw him—her husband, her best friend, the father of her children. He was still there. He wasn’t a fiction she’d created.
“Then, look,” said Geneva. She wrapped her arms around her middle, started moving toward the door. “You need to be around less. You need to find a job.”
“Okay,” he said. His hair was wild; it looked like he hadn’t shaved in days.
What did Geneva see in him? Truly? At least he and Selena had a history; their love affair had been epic, their travels full of adventure, their home life quite lovely. His infidelities, prior to this one, had been relatively minor. That’s what she’d told herself anyway—not affairs exactly. He’d been a decent husband until recently, a provider. He was her best friend, the person she wanted to share everything with first. Funny. Charming. Smart. Even now, in this ugly moment, she wished she could call him to talk about her monstrous husband who was fucking the nanny. He’d certainly know what to do.
“It’s not a good idea for men to be home,” Geneva went on. “I’ve seen it a lot in recent years. It’s just—a bad idea usually.”
“Yeah,” he said again, sounding ever more dejected. Poor Geneva. She didn’t know she would have to be Graham’s nanny, too.
Selena slammed the lid on her laptop closed with more force than she’d intended, slipped it into the case, stuffed the case into her bag. She shouldered on her dark wool jacket, feeling a churning in her stomach.
She was angry, hurt, betrayed—she knew that. But it was dormant, lava churning in a deep chasm within her, pressure building. She’d always been this way, the surface calm, the depths rumbling. She pressed things down, away—until she couldn’t. The eruptions were epic.
By the time she’d reached the street, a pall had settled over her again. The gray numbness. The city was a crush. She pushed her way through the crowded streets to the subway, then through the bustling station to the platform, just catching her commuter train home.
She walked through the cars as the train hissed, seemed about to pull from the station, then stopped.
There. A seat beside a young woman, who, for a moment, looked almost familiar. She had straight black hair, mocha eyes, a slight smile on red lips. Svelte, stylish—even from a distance Selena instantly liked her. Seeing Selena move toward her, the other woman lifted her tote to make room. And Selena sank into the space beside her issuing what must have been a telling sigh. She clutched her People magazine in her hand. All she wanted to do was lose herself in those fluffy, glossy pages for the next forty minutes, a blessed escape from her problems.
“Rough day?” asked the stranger. Her expression—a half smile on full lips, a glint in her dark eyes—said that she knew it all. That she had been there. That she was in on the joke, whatever it was.
Selena half laughed. “You have no idea.”
TWO
Anne
It had been a mistake from the beginning and Anne certainly knew that. You don’t sleep with your boss. It’s really one of the things mothers should teach their daughters. Chew your food carefully. Look both ways before you cross the street. Don’t fuck your direct supervisor no matter how hot, rich, or charming he may happen to be. Not that Anne’s mother had taught her a single useful thing.