Love the one youre with

might have been the case even if I hadn't seen Leo. After all, it was a short, intense trip. I had serious work to do. I was spending quality time with my sister. I met and photographed Drake Watters, for goodness' sake. Under these circumstances, not pining away for your spouse seems fairly normal, even predictable. I reassure myself that the one left behind in the same, everyday surroundings always misses the other more. To this point, I definitely feel a bit lonely when Andy is away on business trips.

'You hungry?' Andy asks.

I nod, thinking that this, too, is predictable when you stay up all night and eat only a pack of peanuts.

'Here. Eat this,' he says, gesturing toward his waffle.

'No. That's yours,' I say adamantly. Because after all, it's one thing to hold an ex-boyfriend's hand during a romantic, middle of the night, transcontinental flight-it's another to steal an Eggo from your hungry husband.

'No, you take this one,' he says, drizzling syrup in a cursive E across the face of the waffle.

I think of how I took Leo's bills in the back of the cab, and decide that I can't very well accept his money and turn down this offer from Andy.

'Okay, thanks,' I say, selecting a fork from our utensil drawer, then leaning against the counter to take a bite.

Andy watches me chew. 'Is it good?' he asks earnestly, as if he were a chef, and this a taste test for his latest culinary innovation. I relax and smile my first real, happy smile of the morning, thinking of how Andy can make the smallest domestic occurrence feel special, imbued with affection.

'Superb,' I finally say. 'Best toaster waffle I've ever had…'

He smiles proudly, then sets about making himself another and pouring two tall glasses of milk.

'Now, c'mon. Tell me about the shoot,' he says, gesturing toward our kitchen table.

I sit down and eat my waffle, telling him all about the trip but carefully stripping Leo from the experience. I talk about the hotel, my sister, the diner, how thrilling it was to meet Drake, how pleased I am with my photos.

'I can't wait to see your shots,' Andy says.

'I think you're going to love them,' I say.

Much more than the article.

'When can I see them?' he asks.

'Tonight,' I say, wondering if I can power through the day without a nap. 'I want to go in and work on them today…'

Andy rubs his hands together and says, 'Awesome… And my autograph? I'm sure you got my autograph?'

I make an apologetic face, thinking that if I had known Leo would appear on my flight, I definitely would have made the embarrassing request. Anything to mitigate the guilt I feel now.

'I'm sorry, honey,' I say sincerely. 'There just wasn't… an opportunity.'

He sighs melodramatically, then takes his last swallow of milk. A white mustache appears in the corners of his mouth, and remains there for a poignant second before he wipes it off with a paper towel. 'It's okay,' he says, winking. 'I won't question your loyalty this time.'

Although he is clearly being facetious, his words are like a dagger to my heart. There are no two ways about it-I suck. I am a bad, bad wife. Maybe not scarlet-letter bad, but certainly deserving-of- the-doghouse bad. For one second, I consider confessing everything, down to the final, unfaithful, wholly unnecessary detour to Astoria. But the opening quickly dissolves when Andy pushes his plate away, cracks his knuckles, and breaks into a grin that is giddy even by his standards. 'Okay… Wanna hear about my day yesterday?'

'Sure,' I say, picturing him at FAO Schwarz, playing hooky from work and sampling different toys like Tom Hanks did in the movie Big.

'I got a last-minute flight and went on a little day trip of my own,' he says.

My heart races. I know exactly what is coming and feel suddenly propelled into a state of high alert. 'You did?'

'Yup,' he says, as I hear a drumroll in my head. 'To Atlanta… To see our house.'

I look at him, feeling a forced smile stretch across my face, as I think, Our house.

Andy nods. 'It's awesome, Ellie. I love it. Margot loves it. My mom loves it. You're going to love it. It's seriously perfect… Even better in person.'

I muster enough breath to ask a question. 'Did you… buy it?'

I brace myself, almost wanting the answer to be yes so that I won't have to make a decision. And, more important, so that I can feel wronged. I picture my eyes welling with indignant tears as I softly rant, You should have talked to me first! Who buys a house without consulting his wife? Whether Andy ever knows it or not, the score will be even. One marital misstep for another.

But, of course, he shakes his head and says, 'No, I didn't buy it. I would never do that without talking to you first… Although,' he says excitedly, 'I do have an offer right here, ready to fax when- if-you say the word.' He pats a manila envelope on the table. 'I think it's going to go fast. It's way better than anything else we looked at… Charming, solid construction, all the bells and whistles. Totally perfect… and so freaking close to Margot… Do you want to fly down this week and see it? Maybe look around a bit more?'

He looks at me expectantly, innocently, as I think to myself, You are so damn happy. It feels like both praise and criticism. It is one of the things I dearly love about him, yet in this moment it is also what I wish I could change about him. Not to make him unhappy, of course, but to make him just a little less… simple. Doesn't he see this decision as at all nuanced? Doesn't he have any reservations about living so close to family? Working for his father? Leaving the city we love?

My heart suddenly floods with resentment, and although I try to pin some of this on Andy's fervor, I know that my emotion is emanating from one source, one place, one internal conflict.

Leo.

As Andy awaits my response, I remind myself that no matter what the decision on this particular house, or whether we move to Atlanta at all, my life will go on without Leo in it. So I need to remove him from the equation and decide what is right for Andy and me.

But as I stare into my husband's eyes, the wall between the two worlds crumbles-the world on the plane last night and all that could have been, and my life with Andy, moving forward, in our home in Atlanta. A home with two, maybe three, cars in the garage. And a slobbering golden retriever chasing fuzzy yellow tennis balls across a lush, green lawn. And Margot, right down the street, ready to swap recipes and neighborhood gossip. And Andy heading out every morning to get the newspaper in his plaid flannel robe and old-man slippers. And chubby, chirpy, blue-eyed children with neon orange water wings splashing in their backyard pool. And me, standing at the kitchen window, peeling an apple as I wistfully recall my former life, the kind of jobs I used to get. The time I photographed Drake Watters out in L.A. The last morning I saw Leo.

I look down at the table, wondering how much time will pass before I no longer think of his touch on the plane. Before that final moment in the back of the cab is no longer burned in my mind like a haunting black-and- white still frame. And the fear that it could be forever grips my heart and makes me open my mouth and say, Let's do it.

On the face of things, I am only giving my spouse permission to send a fax. I am only agreeing to a change of venue, the purchase of some real estate in Atlanta. But, deep down, it feels like much more. Deep down, I am also repenting. I am proving my love. I am renewing my vows. I am safeguarding my marriage. I am choosing Andy.

'You don't want to go down and see it for yourself?' he asks again, gently resting his fingertips in the crook of my elbow.

It is my final out, the last loophole. All I would have to do is go see the house and come up with something,