Avery’s voice pulls Marissa into the present. “You need to answer four questions, Marissa. Keep it short. One: Have you ever cheated on Matthew before?”
“No! Never!”
Her whole body is shaking; she’s freezing. Normally Matthew would notice and wrap an arm around her or offer her his suit jacket. She desperately wants to stand up and walk past her husband to get her cape, but it feels perilous to enter his space now. He’s blazing with fury; he’s the heat to her ice.
“Two.” Avery must sit in that chair day after day, absorbing sordid and sad stories. She’s in the epicenter of the rage and pain and disgust ricocheting around the room; it seems impossible that she’s immune to it. Yet she looks utterly calm, and invincible. “Will it ever happen again?”
“No, I promise.”
Avery nods. “Three: Is it truly over with the other man?”
“Yes,” Marissa whispers. The moment carries a solemnity; it has the feel of a vow. Matthew finally turns to look at her. There’s a sheen in his eyes, just as there was on their wedding day when she walked down the aisle, in a cream silk dress with a long train, past two hundred guests.
Avery is studying both of them intently, Marissa realizes. What is she thinking?
The silence stretches out.
“What’s the fourth question?” Marissa finally asks.
“That’s for Matthew to decide. But not right now. Matthew, when you leave here, I’d like you to think about the essential information you need to know in order to move on.”
He nods, just once. But it already feels like progress.
Coming here was a good decision. Avery’s no-nonsense approach suits Matthew’s personality. He likes charts and precise plans; he’s a cut-to-the-chase kind of guy. Back when Bennett was being bullied, Marissa tried talking to the other child’s parents. Matthew hired a boxing coach to teach their then second-grader how to throw an uppercut.
“Let’s go back to happier times.” Avery jots something on her notepad. “Tell me about one of your favorite moments together, Marissa.”
There are so many for Marissa to choose from, whole albums of memories. She selects one of the glossy snapshots: “Just last year, Matthew and I were invited to a black-tie dinner at the Kennedy Center. It was magical. We hired a car and driver and danced all night. He looked so handsome. It was because of his work on behalf of the World Wildlife Fund that we went—”
Avery cuts her off. “That’s an Instagram post. Give me something real.”
Marissa flinches. In those few words, Avery has cut to the core of what their marriage has become: curated moments served up in public, while in private the emptiness between them slowly expands.
Matthew hasn’t seemed bothered that their conversations have become more about to-do lists than ideas or feelings, or that their hands no longer find each other during long drives, entwining atop the gearshift. She can’t even remember how long ago Matthew began getting out of their bed as soon as the alarm sounded in the morning, instead of reaching for her.
“Something real,” Marissa repeats. She feels as if she were about to fail a final exam. Then she closes her eyes and it comes to her.
A snowstorm blanketing the city; her and Matthew at home. Baby Bennett napping. Matthew building a fire, while she makes mugs of hot chocolate spiked with rum. The two of them sitting on a chenille blanket playing Scrabble, then abandoning the game to make love.
“It wasn’t rum. It was Grand Marnier,” Matthew says when she finishes. His voice is still hard, but have its edges softened just a little?
Avery leans closer to Matthew. “Now I want a memory from you. I want you to recall some incredible sex you had. Something really steamy.”
Marissa lowers her eyes, her cheeks flushing, wondering which moment Matthew will pick. He might not play along. But if he does, will he share the same recollection that bloomed in her mind? That trip to St. Barts when they snuck into the outdoor cabana in the middle of the afternoon, their bodies slick with suntan lotion and sweat. The taste of salt and coconut on his skin. They hadn’t had raw, passionate sex like that in a while. Years, truthfully.
Matthew squeezes the crumpled plastic cup in his hand again, making a loud crackling sound. “I can’t think about any good times with Marissa right now.”
Avery stands up and retrieves a trash basket from behind her desk. “Let’s get rid of those cups.” As she returns to her chair, Avery continues, “And I’m not talking about Marissa.”