Marissa’s head snaps up in time to catch a smile playing on the edge of Avery’s lips. “I want you to tell me about the greatest sex you had with another woman.”
“Are you serious?” Matthew asks.
“Yes. Your mind is being flooded with ugly images right now. You’re imagining your wife with another man. So let’s have her think about you with another woman.”
Matthew is doing it; Marissa can tell by the way his gaze grows unfocused. She bets she knows exactly whom Matthew is thinking about: Natalie, the woman he dated for a year during college and still maintains a friendship with. Natalie’s young daughter attends the same private school as Bennett, and Natalie is the cochair of the auction committee; she is impossible for Marissa to avoid.
However, when Matthew speaks, he shares a different memory. “Okay, fine. I was a first-year law student and this hot TA approached me in the library. I was in the stacks and she snuck up behind me and slid her arms around my waist, under my sweatshirt. We ended up in her apartment.… We did it three times that night. It’s still my record.” Matthew pauses. “Do you really want me to go on?”
Naturally Matthew would boil it down to numbers, to a record. He is highly competitive.
And for a moment, so is she. She feels like the runner-up.
She’s never heard this story before. So she and Matthew both kept secrets, she thinks.
Avery taps her pen on her pad and seems to make a decision. “Marissa, would you step out for a few minutes? There’s a chair just outside the door where you can sit.”
Marissa hesitates, then rises. This appointment is nothing like what she expected. Leaving the two of them alone feels dangerous.
As Marissa exits Avery’s office, she glances back at her husband, but he isn’t looking her way.
The wide, wood-planked hallway contains a single upholstered chair, next to a table holding a Mission-style lamp and vase of red tulips. Marissa is too agitated to sit. She moves closer to the door. She can hear the low rumble of Matthew’s voice, but she can’t make out a single word.
Avery could be asking him anything. Nothing seems out of bounds for her. Losing my license was the best thing to ever happen to me—and to my clients, Avery was quoted as saying in the Post article. Marissa stares at the door. If she pressed her ear against it, just for a minute …
Then a thought strikes her: there could be a video camera somewhere. It would be humiliating to be caught.
Finally, she pulls out her phone and taps a message to Bennett’s babysitter: All okay? If Bennett wants a brownie, he can have one. I snuck black beans into them so they’re secretly healthy.:-）
Just as she finishes, the door to Avery’s office opens. Marissa quickly tucks her phone into her bag.
“The sitter.” Marissa’s unsure why she feels the need to explain her actions.
“Come back in.”
Marissa studies Matthew’s face as she reenters the room. It reveals nothing.
“A lot of times people confess an infidelity because they can’t stand the guilt.” Avery’s tone isn’t judgmental or forgiving; she’s matter-of-fact. “They do it to ease their own conscience. Is that why you brought your husband here?”
Marissa thinks carefully about her answer, making sure it is truthful: “I wanted to tell Matthew because it was the right thing to do.”
Avery raises an eyebrow. “You two are going to have to put in a lot of work.”
Marissa nods eagerly. “I’ll do anything.” Beside her on the couch, Matthew is as still as a stone. Marissa wonders if Avery thinks they need more fixing than the average couple with an infidelity issue.
Avery asks a few more questions about major stresses they’ve experienced. Marissa describes the two miscarriages she suffered before having Bennett, and the failed fertility treatments they endured afterward. Matthew talks about the death of his mother to leukemia five years earlier. Marissa debates mentioning the deep rift between Matthew and his father—a successful D.C. lobbyist—but she decides not to risk bringing up another upsetting topic.
Avery rises. “Thursday, same time?”
Matthew pulls out his iPhone and frowns at the screen. “I’ve got a client dinner. Getting here will be a pain in—”
“No problem,” Avery says smoothly. “Where do you live?”
“Chevy Chase,” Marissa replies. “Just over the D.C. line.”
“I’ll come to you. Nine P.M.?”
Matthew blinks in surprise. “Fine.”