He knows I’m lying.
CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR
LUCY
I drive Ben back to his hotel and make an excuse for why I can’t stay. I’ve slept over nearly every night for the past week, but he doesn’t argue when I claim I’m exhausted and I’m going back to my parents’ house. He probably wants to edit everything into an episode anyway. He seemed pretty thrilled by today’s turn of events.
I drive across town to my old house. To Matt’s house. He opens the door and steps out onto the porch as soon as I pull up to the curb, like he was waiting for me.
Dammit. I hate how predictable I am.
I walk up the path. Matt sweeps his arms out toward the house, as if welcoming me back. The shutters are open today, the light inside warm and inviting.
“Good timing,” he says. “I was just about to order us some dinner.”
* * *
A tiny part of me thought that maybe Matt had turned over a new leaf and stopped drinking this week after Julia’s episode aired, but I see the loaded bar cart as soon as I step inside. It’s still on the same side of the living room, to the right of the huge teal couch.
The same teal couch that I bought. The same bar cart that I bought.
I stop, looking left and right. There are a few new pieces of artwork—there’s some abstract art that’s either flowers or just some random blobs of blue and yellow paint that I don’t particularly care for—but everything is mostly the same. Beautiful dark hardwood floors, high ceilings, a sleek white kitchen to my right with a huge island in the middle. I always thought that those enormous kitchen islands were the best thing ever, and it turns out I was right.
But it’s weird how much everything looks exactly the same. If I hadn’t known that Matt remarried, I wouldn’t have guessed it walking in. Julia didn’t leave much of a mark on the house. Or even on him, maybe.
“I need a drink,” I say, even though I know I shouldn’t drink with Matt. I should encourage sobriety with Matt. That would be the mature, responsible thing to do for someone you know has a drinking problem.
“A stiff drink,” I continue.
He laughs. “Me too.”
No one here is mature and responsible.
He doesn’t ask what I want; he just grabs the vodka and cranberry, because he knows what I like when I’ve had a hard day.
I sit on the couch （my couch） as he makes the drinks.
“I’m glad you finally came over,” he says as he shakes the tumbler. He’s making himself a martini.
“Why is everything the same?”
He strains the liquid into his glass. “What do you mean?”
“Julia didn’t want to redecorate?”
“Why would she? You have great taste.”
“Ah.”
He walks across the living room, two glasses in hand, and passes one to me. “What does ah mean?” He sits down next to me.
I take a sip of my drink and then set it on the coffee table. “It means I just realized that you didn’t let her redecorate.”
“I wouldn’t put it like that. I mentioned that I liked the way things were, and she didn’t seem bothered by it.”
That seems unlikely, but I don’t know Julia. Maybe she hates decorating. Maybe she really did think I have great taste.
“Are you going to tell me?” he asks.
I raise an eyebrow like I don’t know what he’s talking about. I do.
“What you remembered when we were outside.” He puts his glass on the coffee table. He’s already finished half of the rather large martini.
I look at the photo over the fireplace. It’s of Julia and Matt’s wedding day, her in a sleeveless mermaid-style wedding dress with shoulders that look like they were perfectly sculpted in a Pilates class. Our wedding picture once hung there.
I think it’s even the same frame. They just took the old one out and stuck the new one in.
Christ, that’s weird.
“I was kissing someone out there,” I say.
I turn my attention back to Matt. His jaw twitches, like it always does when he’s angry. His mouth is set in a hard line.
“Give me a break,” I say.
“I didn’t say anything!”
“I know your angry face. And you have no right to an angry face. You were fucking Nina that night.”
He blows out a breath. “Not that night, but you’re right. I have no room to judge.”
I can’t hide my surprise.
“I’m trying to be more honest,” he says, noticing the look. “With you. About everything. I thought that if I pretended to have a good marriage, I would magically have one. I should have always just been more honest with you. I don’t think you ever would have cheated if I hadn’t done it first.”