I decided to worry about my careless comment later as I sneaked into the office relatively unnoticed. It was odd to me how normally my day continued. It seemed, with the uprooting of my life, as if the world should feel differently, as if everyone should look and act differently, but they didn’t, and work continued as usual. Jenny, the office receptionist, remained cheerful. Serena, my assistant, stopped by my office to chat twice before ten in the morning. Lisa, the toxic co-worker, dutifully ignored me when I passed her in the hallway and a curt nod from Beman, my boss, meant that he’d acknowledged my existence and nothing more. I went about my work, nipping, tucking, erasing, marking, removing, adding and writing. A text from David around lunchtime was a very welcome distraction.
Nov 12, 2012 11:31 AM
Swamped. I need an assistant.
Nov 12, 2012 11:33 AM
Want me to come fill in for the day?
Nov 12, 2012 11:34 AM
I’d get nothing done.
Nov 12, 2012 11:36 AM
But I think I’d be a good fit for the job, Mr. Dylan.
Nov 12, 2012 11:36 AM
Qualifications?
I smiled deviously and drew upon my limited knowledge of architecture.
Nov 12, 2012 11:37 AM
I’ve been told I have unequaled
skills in steel erection.
Nov 12, 2012 11:38 AM
In fact, I was cantilevered just this weekend and can be for hours on end.
Nov 12, 2012 11:40 AM
That’s all good, Ms. Germaine, but being an architect’s asst is very physical work. It involves a lot of hammering, mounting & screwing.
Nov 12, 2012 11:42 AM
As it happens, I’m a pro at nailing studs. When can I start?
Nov 12, 2012 11:44 AM
Right away. We’ll begin with any and all cracks that need caulking.
I clasped my hand over my mouth and giggled.
“Something funny?”
I jumped in my chair as my head snapped up. “Jesus, Bill. What are you doing here? How’d you get in?”
“I’m your husband, Olivia, what do you think?”
“Right, sorry. You startled me.”
His nose was swollen and purple bruises rimmed his eyes. My heart squeezed at the sight of him. He looked tired, defeated, and though he was dressed for work, it looked like he’d just rolled out of bed.
“Don’t think you can ignore my calls,” he said.
I restrained myself from pointing out it was he who’d cut off my cell service. I ignored him and said, “Your nose.”
“Broken.” He held up his bandaged right hand. “Sprained.”
“I’m so sorry. Come in. Are you in pain?”
He furrowed his brow at me and finally stepped in the office, closing the door behind him. “We need to talk.”
I nodded. “Saturday night was awful. I’d really like if we could keep this divorce civil.”
Anger crossed his face but was gone in a flash. He slumped into the chair across from me and sighed while scrubbing a hand over his hair. “God. Please, just . . . think about what you’re doing.”
I fidgeted with a pen on my desk and said gently, “I wouldn’t have let things get this far if I hadn’t thought long and hard already.”
“Babe, take a step back and look at the facts here. This guy is using you. As soon as he gets bored, he’s going to dump you like he does the others. You were a challenge, and it won’t take long for that to wear off. For him it’s just . . . sex,” he finished, clearing his throat.
“You don’t know him.”
“I asked around, Livs. I don’t trust him and neither does Andrew. He screws models, never been married, wealthy, charming, all-around player. I don’t know why he bought that house, maybe to show off, maybe because he gets off on it.”
I sighed and picked up my phone to tap out a quick text to David.
Nov 12, 2012 11:50 AM
Can’t make lunch. Something came up. Explain later.
“Look, this is hard for all of us,” I said, switching my phone to silent. “Don’t make it worse. That’s conjecture, gossip. You don’t know him,” I repeated.
“I obviously care about you, and I don’t want to see you get hurt,” he said. “What happens when, six months down the line, he leaves and you’re all alone? I’m not going to be there, babe. I won’t wait for you.”
I looked down at my hands. For the first time since all this began, Bill seemed calm and rational. Not only that, but his words made sense. David had a track record. He wasn’t hiding it, but I suspected I hadn’t even scratched the surface of his past. It occurred to me, as Bill sought my eyes, that I wasn’t even sure if David had ever been in love. He’d explained about Maria. But who had come before her?
I looked back up at Bill. In spite of everything I’d put him through that weekend alone, his eyes were warm. They were warm for maybe the first time in months. Even though he hadn’t always been there in the ways I needed him to be, he always wanted me to be happy. He loved me as much as I let him.
David was rarely challenged when it came to women. For me he’d had to work, probably harder than he ever had. If he were to pick up and leave, as Bill was convinced he would, it would cripple me. But what would it be like for David? And had he done it before?
Bill lived in a world of facts and order; he was logical. Wasn’t that who I was too? There was a chance David only wanted what he couldn’t have. Even I had accused him of that once. He could easily grow bored with the day-to-day of a relationship.
“Look at what you’re giving up for him.” Bill’s quiet voice cut into my thoughts. “Our love. Our future. Our home. Our past. And what has he given up for you?” he asked, suddenly astute, suddenly paying attention in a way he’d never really been.
“I can’t explain what I have with David,” I told him, “and I don’t want to try. What you need is someone who wants what you want, and who can love you in a way I’m not capable of. I never let you in, you told me so yourself.”
“It takes work. Maybe this marriage would benefit from both of us working harder.”
“I never let you in,” I repeated, “and you liked it that way. You didn’t want to deal with my shit.”
“That’s not true, babe,” he insisted. “But if that’s what you need, I will change. I will be better. I will ask questions like you said you wanted me to. We’ll get there, Livs, I know we will.”
I took a breath and looked him in the eyes. “I don’t think I’ll ever get there,” I admitted, and in my head, I added, with you.
“You don’t know that. Look how far we’ve come since we met. We’re different people, better people.”
I cocked my head at him. Were we better people? Didn’t he ever feel me pulling away? Hadn’t I treated him awfully these past months as I recessed into my own depths? Did he mean it, or was he grasping at straws now? “Children,” I blurted.
He looked surprised. “Children?”
“Yes. You want them, I don’t. Could you be happy if we never had them?”
“Look, I know you think you don’t want – ”
“It’s not that,” I said for the millionth time.
“Wait. I know you think you don’t want them, but you will. Some women don’t get the urge for a few more years. I’ve always trusted in what we’re doing here. All I ask is, if I agree to put it off, that you’ll admit there’s some part of you that wants it too.”
“Stop telling me what I want,” I muttered, resting my forehead in my hands. I don’t want children. With you. I don’t want children with you . . . but do I want them with David? Do I want them at all?