“Let’s start with this one: What the hell is going on?”
Skip glances at his phone, then tucks it away. “Fair enough. I’ll just lay it out: I’m the one who sent Marissa to see you.”
I ran through a lot of outlandish premises in my mind on the drive here, but this isn’t one I considered.
“That article about you in the Post magazine. I emailed it to Marissa and suggested she make an appointment.”
A friend forwarded it to me a while back. It’s the reason I sought you out, Marissa had told me in our second session. So Marissa, who seemed so innocent at first, had lured her husband to the counselor her lover had suggested. For a woman who claims she has no more secrets, she sure conceals a lot.
“When?”
“About a month ago, maybe a little longer.”
“So right after you two slept together.” I stare straight into his eyes as I deliver the words.
“She told you about us?”
I cut him off; I’m the one asking questions now. “I’m not saying I don’t believe you, but this doesn’t make sense. Why in the world would you want the Bishops to come see me and try to fix their marriage when you’re obviously in love with Marissa?”
Skip’s eyes look hollow. “I didn’t expect Marissa would bring Matthew. I figured she’d go to the sessions alone.”
It still isn’t computing. “And then what would happen?”
“You’d make her realize she needs to leave Matthew.”
I want to laugh, but Skip’s expression is so bleak I don’t.
“Skip, Marissa loves Matthew. She wants to repair things with him. I can’t make her realize anything she doesn’t believe. That’s not how this works.”
Skip opens his mouth, but before he can reply, the waiter moves to our end of the counter and tells Skip his order will be ready soon. “Sorry for the delay, the kitchen’s really backed up tonight.”
When the waiter moves away, Skip leans closer to me. “Look, you were asking about the summer when Matthew said he fell in love with Marissa. But I loved her first. I was her first kiss—did she ever tell you that?”
I shake my head. I’m beginning to feel sorry for him.
“There’s always been something between me and Marissa.”
That makes me sit up straighter. “So that wasn’t the first time you slept together?”
“No, no, it was. Just that once. I meant that—”
“That you’ve always loved her.” Skip, the man who has never married and may have difficulties with intimacy, given that I don’t know of any long-term relationships he has had. He only went out with Natalie once, and even though I felt a connection to him and thought it might turn into something more, it was fleeting.
“I just want what’s best for her. And Matthew isn’t it.”
“You need to let this go, Skip. Don’t send Marissa flowers or call her again. And for God’s sake, don’t leave her anonymous notes.”
“I don’t—”
Skip cuts himself off as the waiter comes over again, this time holding four to-go bowls. He sets them on the counter in front of Skip, then begins stacking them in a paper bag with Gabe’s logo on the front. “Want saltines?”
Skip thinks for a second, then nods. “Please.”
The waiter sticks several little packets into the bag.
“Actually, do you have any extra?”
“Sure.” The waiter adds another handful. “Anything else?”
“That’ll do it, thanks.”
“Careful, the soup’s pretty hot.”
I look at the bag. “Four bowls of soup?”
Skip nods. “Yeah. Marissa doesn’t feel well. I’m bringing them back for her.”
The roses, the note, the phone calls, and now this? Skip isn’t in love. He’s obsessed. He glances at the bill the waiter has left on the counter and pulls out two twenties, leaving them beneath his water glass.
“Skip, don’t you think Matthew is capable of taking care of his wife? He doesn’t need you to be the delivery boy.”
Skip flinches. He doesn’t react with anger, though. He looks at me levelly: “Did you notice how tired Marissa looked? Matthew didn’t even care that she was going to carry that heavy water pitcher or go upstairs without dinner. She can’t skip meals like that.”
His demeanor is at odds with his words; Skip is acting as if it were perfectly natural for him to be the primary person looking out for Marissa’s well-being.