Stupid, stupid. I felt so stupid. How could I have let this happen? How could I not know? I needed something, more information, better information, something to keep me occupied. So, before I did the packing, I checked his personal e-mail to see if I could find any further evidence, but there was nothing there. He’d texted me from his work phone—the only phone he had, that I knew of, anyway—and he mostly used his work e-mail even for communicating with me. He was the president of the company, after all. He could do what he wanted, apparently. And I didn’t know how to log on to his work e-mail—password protected, he always told me, for security reasons.
Who could it be? Who, who? I sat down on the edge of our bed, surrounded by the clothes I was supposed to be packing, and thought and thought, cycling through the women we knew like a child reciting the alphabet. Allison from down the street? No. I’d actually seen him wrinkle his nose at her once when she wore an unflattering dress to a party. Bea from the office? He didn’t think she was very intelligent, and maybe that wasn’t insulation against her prettiness, but it felt like it was. Carol from the kids’ school? He might be interested in her, but I’d overheard her saying she found him annoying, and she hadn’t even blushed when she realized I heard her, just gave me a challenging look like she knew I agreed with her, deep down.
And so on. I never had any instinct. No name stood out as likely. It was all unbelievable.
I know some people in my situation would’ve felt as if they were to blame, that it was some kind of reflection on them, but I didn’t. I felt like an idiot for not knowing it was going on, but not that it was my fault. I was surprised, though. Not because of the act itself; I always knew cheating was a possibility. I’d had my own opportunities I’d turned away from, and so I knew, I knew, it was something that could happen to me.
No, it was the carelessness. Tom, who was always so, so meticulous, who never made mistakes, not ever, had made a major one. And because of this, I couldn’t help but feel like he wanted me to know. That he wanted me to find out but couldn’t find the words, couldn’t bring himself to make a decision, and so let a thoughtless moment do it for him. I’d always made it clear to Tom that if I found out something like that, it was the end. There’d be no forgiveness, no going back. If you want to end things irrevocably, I’d said more than once—in a mocking tone, in a joking way, the way couples do sometimes, but he knew I was serious—then cheat on me. Cheat on me and tell me. Now he had, and there I was in the place in which I always said I’d know exactly what to do. And you know what took me by surprise?
My lack of certainty.
“These are pretty,” Cassie had said, startling me.
She was holding the camisole and underwear I’d bought. She had a shy look on her face, as if she was thinking about the nice things she might wear for a man one day, someday soon.
“They are.” I rubbed my hands across the silky fabric, then swept everything on the bed into my suitcase without taking the time to fold anything.
“Mom!”
“What?”
“It’ll get all wrinkled like that.”
“Probably.”
“Are you okay?”
“Sure I am, honey.”
I tugged on one of her braids, holding myself in check. I felt the first prick of hate for Tom, then, for making me lie to our daughter.
“I hope you have a stupendous time,” she said.
“Word of the day? I like it.”
Cassie smiled and gave me a quick hug, then darted out of the room, embarrassed.
I sat back on the edge of the bed and stared at the wall until Tom came home.
• • •
Before our date, I told Teo I needed to go home and change, but I also wanted time to do something I haven’t been doing enough of in the last couple months—visit the Rings.
We’ve spent a lot of time together in the last year, our two broken families blending into something resembling one. Being together was simple because there didn’t need to be any explanation. If someone cried, they were comforted. If someone needed to be distracted, there were enough petty squabbles and video games and chores to accomplish the task. If Josh didn’t feel like cooking or facing the freezer full of prepared guilt dinners the neighbors left, he knew they could always find a meal with us and vice versa. There were others who joined us, other families we knew from before who were also affected, but we were the core. For months and months and months.
Something shifted a while ago, slowly at first, then more rapidly. There were fewer dinners, fewer game nights or spontaneous drop-bys. Maybe it was a sign of healing, an inevitable change that meant things were improving. I’m not sure what started it, though things felt noticeably different during our last two evenings together, with Franny there. But that wasn’t Franny’s fault; it was us, our chemistry that wasn’t working as well when we didn’t need it so much. But when I saw their names hanging on the wall this afternoon, I realized I hadn’t seen them in weeks.
They live a few blocks from us, their brick colonial built on a similar plan to ours, so there’s always this moment of disorientation when I enter it. The colors are slightly off, the furniture not quite where I would’ve put it. But I don’t end up inside the house today. Instead, as I park my car,
