Stitches

“No, you’re calling my wife a bitch,” he says, distinctly.

My eyebrows rise. “Yeah, your wife who cheated on you. More than once, apparently. Would you like me to bring up the footage? You can see for yourself.”

“Don’t be a fucking asshole,” he says.

“I’m not trying to be an asshole.”

“Just comes naturally to you, doesn’t it?” he mutters, standing.

I frown and watch him turn his back and head for the door. “Where are you going?”

“I don’t know.”

“Griff… come on.”

“You’re the last person I want to talk to about this,” he states.

That’s cold. He’s angry, though. I should have known. No one likes the asshole who has to play messenger in a situation like this. I should’ve made someone else tell him. I just didn’t want to embarrass him. I figured the fewer people who knew, the better.

He’ll come around. He just needs some time to process.

I don’t see Griff for the rest of the day. I texted Moira after he stormed out to let her know he might be stopping by the house, but I guess he never did. I didn’t explain why, even though she asked. I figured that was his story to tell, not mine.

Moira’s a good listener, so it’s where he should have gone.

He probably went home to talk to Ashley. Hopefully to burn all her fucking clothes and toss her out on her ass. Poor guy. He has a lot to deal with.

When I walk in the front door tonight, I’m even more grateful than usual that I have Moira to come home to. I have a great wife, and I wish Griff did, too.

“So, why did you think Griff might stop by?” she asks me, cutting up her grilled chicken as we sit together at the dinner table.

I tried to get in touch with him all day, but he ignored every text, declined every phone call. “He and Ashley are having problems,” I say, as vaguely as I can.

“Oh no, again?”

I glance up at her, surprised.

She shrugs one shoulder. “Well, Ashley said they were a few months ago, but then she didn’t say much else; I figured it got better.” She pauses, taking a sip of her water. “She seems difficult. I wouldn’t want to be married to her. I feel sorry for him, to be honest.”

“Yeah, so do I,” I murmur.

Moira goes on. “She just seems so mean to him sometimes. Griff is such a sweetheart. I don’t get it.”

“She’s a stupid whore.”

“Whoa,” Moira says, frowning at me. “That’s a little—no, a lot harsh. What did she do?”

I stab a piece of broccoli. “Who did she do, you mean. And I don’t know his name.”

Now her face falls, like I’ve just devastated her. “She didn’t.”

I nod, her dread making my own grow.

Her fork clatters as it hits the plate. “Oh, my God, how could she? Poor Griff.” Heaving a sigh, she throws her napkin, like she can’t even enjoy her meal now. “I can’t believe this. How is he? Is he with her? Are they… trying to work through it?”

“I fucking hope not. If they are, I’ll kick his ass.”

“Well… Sebastian, they’re married. Maybe that means something.”