Wife 22

asked her. I wasn’t sure I was capable of having that conversation, at least not face-to-face. So I did something I’m not proud of. I went behind her back. I thought I could get away with not telling her, but now I think I’m going to have to confess.

Do you remember you said that you thought marriage was a sort of Catch-22? The very things that made you fall in love with your spouse became the very things that made you fall out of love with him? I’m afraid I’m finding myself at a similar Catch-22 moment. I did something out of love, in order to save my marriage. But the thing I did might be the very thing that ends it. I know my wife. She’s going to be very upset when she finds out what I’ve done.

So why confess at all?

Because it’s time for me to show up.

“Excuse me, everybody, excuse me,” says Nedra. She’s standing at the front of the room, holding a wireless microphone. “If everybody will please go to their tables now.”

I watch William slide off the bar stool, his phone in his hand. He sees me and waves me over, pointing to the table where Bunny, Caroline, and Jack are already sitting. Unbelievable. He doesn’t look rattled in the least bit.

When I get to the table, he pulls my chair out for me. “How did it go with Nedra?”

“Fine.”

“She’s okay with me giving the toast?”

I shrug.

“Are you okay with me giving the toast?”

“I have to go to the bathroom.”

In the bathroom, I dab my face with cold water and lean over the sink. I look horrible. Under the fluorescent light my suit looks pink, almost cartoonish. I take a few deep breaths. I’m in no rush to get back to the table. I open my Facebook chat.

I’m heartbroken.

Why are you heartbroken, Wife 22?

You did this to me.

That’s not exactly true. We both played a part in this.

I was vulnerable. I was lonely. I was needy. You preyed on me!

I was vulnerable, lonely, and needy too, did you ever think of that?

Look, this is not productive anymore. I think we should stop chatting.

Why do you get to make that decision? You’re just going to leave me hang-

The little green button next to his name turns into a half moon. He’s gone. I’m furious. How dare he log off on me! I walk out of the bathroom and nearly collide with a waiter. “Can I get you anything?” he asks.

I look out into the room and see Nedra approaching our table. She hands the mike to a clearly flustered William, kisses him on the cheek, then returns to her table, where she slides her chair as close as she can to Kate’s.

William stands up and clears his throat. “So, I’ve been asked to give a toast.”

“I don’t want anything, but you see that man with the mike? That’s my husband. He’d like a pina colada,” I whisper to the waiter.

“Of course. I’ll bring it to him after he’s done speaking.”

“No, he’s desperate for one now. He’s parched. So parched. See how he keeps swallowing and gulping? He needs it to get through the toast. Can you put a rush on it?”

“Absolutely,” says the waiter, scurrying to the bar.

“I’ve known Nedra and Kate for-let’s see-thirteen years,” says William. “The first time I met Nedra-”

I hear the whir of the blender. I watch the bartender pour the drink into a glass. I watch him garnish the drink with a piece of pineapple and a cherry.

“And I knew,” says William. “We all knew.”

The waiter crosses the room with William’s drink.

“You know how you just know? When two people are right for each other?”

The waiter begins wending his way through the tables.

“And Kate-Kate, my God, Kate. What can I say about Kate,” blabs William.

The waiter is waylaid by a couple asking for drinks. He takes their order and moves on.

“I mean, come on. Look at the two them. The bride and-well, the bride.”

The waiter arrives at William’s table and slides the drink in front of him. William looks down at the drink, confused. “What is this? I didn’t order this,” he whispers, but everybody can hear him because he’s holding the mike.

“It’s a pina colada, sir. Your throat is parched, sir,” says the waiter.

“You’ve given me somebody else’s order.”

“No, it’s for you,” insists the waiter.

“I’m telling you I didn’t order it.”

“Your wife did,” whispers the waiter, pointing to me.

William looks across the room at me and I give him a little wave. Dozens of micro-expressions flit across his face. I try and catalog them: bewilderment, vulnerability, shock, shame, anger, and then something else, something I’m entirely unprepared for. Relief.

He nods. He nods again, then he takes a sip of the pina colada. “That’s good. Surprisingly good,” he says into the mike and then promptly spills the glass all over his white shirtfront. Bunny and Caroline leap to their feet, their napkins in hand, and begin dabbing at William’s shirt.

“Soda water, please!” yells Bunny. “Quick, before the stain sets.”

I dart into the bathroom hallway. Thirty seconds later, William finds me.

“You know?” he whispers, pressing me up against the wall.

I glare at his wet, stained shirt. “Obviously.”

He saws his jaw back and forth. “ ‘Real life isn’t all it’s cracked up to be’?”

“You toyed with me. For months. Why shouldn’t I toy with you? Just a little.”

He takes a deep breath. “William had a very bad year. William is not trying to make excuses for himself. William should have told his wife about his bad year.”

“Why are you talking about yourself in the third person?”

“I’m trying to speak your language. Facebooking you. To your face. Say something.”

“Give me your phone.”

“Why?”

“Don’t you want to know how I found out?”

William hands me his phone.

“Every time you take a photo, your longitude and latitude is tagged. Your last profile photo-the one of your hand-it was taken at our house. You left me a trail that led right back to you.”

I turn off the location services setting on his phone’s camera. “There. Now nobody can track you.”

“What if I want to be tracked?”

“In that case you should seek professional help.”

“How long have you known?”

“Since this afternoon.”

William runs his hand through his hair. “Jesus, Alice. Why didn’t you say something? Does Bunny know?”

I nod.

“Nedra, too?”

“Yes.”

He grimaces.

“Don’t be embarrassed. They adore you. They thought it was the most romantic thing they had ever heard of.”

“Is that what you thought?”

“Why, William? Why did you do it?”

He sighs. “Because I saw your Google search. The night of the FiG launch? You didn’t clear history. I saw it all. From ‘Alice Buckle’ to ‘Happy Marriage.’ You were miserable. I made you miserable. I made that stupid comment about you having a small life. I had to do something.”