Taking a step closer, my voice deepens to ask, “Are you okay, Zia? You don’t look so good.”
“Thanks.”
“How is it you’re able to make me smile under the circumstances we’re both in?”
She whispers, “Talent?” tilting her head to ask, “How’d you find out?”
“Joe.”
Surprise widens beautiful black eyes. “Your son knows?”
“Maybe I will take a drink.”
“There’s a wine store downstairs, inside the building.”
“I saw that when we walked up. But Bennett told me you have a stalker. I’m not leaving you. Water is fine.”
She blinks, thinking a moment. “I can call down and ask them to deliver.”
“Works for me!”
My comedically delivered change-of-heart makes her smile and push off of the door’s support.
Granted, I’ve only seen her in three situations — at the museum where she was an expert, at her family’s party where she was loved, and today, where she went from fun-spirited to cold — but in none of those very different circumstances did I ever see her shaky as she is now. “I’ll give them a call. Come in, let’s leave the foyer.”
Following her, my gaze drifts around an urban loft designed with simplicity and style. I know a bit about furniture from working on films where I oversee budgets for set design. Walking to a copper drum coffee table I ask, “Is this from India?”
“Yes.” She picks up her phone from a luxurious velvet chesterfield sofa in my favorite shade of blue. “How did you know?”
“For every movie a mood is set, whether it’s the character’s homes or where they fight, fall in love…” Zia looks at me, and I shrug, “Or a structure we have to blow up.”
Watchful, she nods. “Red okay?”
“Petite Syrah.”
She smiles slightly at my choosing her favorite, and waits for them to answer, gaze on the windows as she speaks. “Vlad? It’s Zia on the 6th floor. Would you please send up two bottles of my favorite wine?” After pausing to hear his reply, she says, “Thank you.”
“Are you hungry? We could order food, too.”
“I’m not hungry.”
Rubbing my face, I admit, “I’m not either,” and walk over to sit on a leather bench with modern legs of burnished steel.
Zia lowers herself onto the sofa across from me, pulling a throw blanket over her that looks softer than a kitten. “What happened?”
“You first.”
Biting her lip for a few seconds, she shakes her head. “I really don’t want to talk about it.”
“Do you know the guy?”
“Yes.”
“Has he been stalking you for a while?”
“No.”
“So you just met?”
“Remember way back when I said I didn’t want to talk about it?”
I give a pained laugh, rub my face again, dropping an elbow on my knee. “Guess that leaves me, then.”
“If you don’t want to, Nax…”
Staring off in disbelief, I exhale. “No. I do. I just never saw this coming. Should have. It makes so much sense, considering all of the factors that I’m not going to tell you about. No offense.”
She gives me a sad smile like she’s feeling my pain with me. “It’s okay.”
“I’m really surprised Liz would do this, that’s the crazy part. She’s got so many rules! It’s an optimistic thing, right? Walking down that aisle. You’re expecting it to last. You’re expecting fidelity.” I wave my hand. “That’s kind of the point, right? I knew it a couple years back that Liz probably wasn’t going to be my forever. We’ve grown apart since we were in college. But we have Joe, and I wasn’t about to leave her. Or him! I’m a very easy going guy. I go with the flow. Make the best of anything I’m handed. I was going to stick it out at least until Joe was in college.” Standing up, I begin to pace, “Until she told me she wanted the divorce. But before she dropped that bomb — no boyfriend mentioned at all! — I thought we don’t fight, Liz and I, so hey! We’re not in love anymore but I’ll just be her friend. I can live with that because I’ve got this great boy, this fun job, beautiful house. Wife that hates me.”
“Nax, I’m so sorry.”
“It’s okay, really, it’s alright.”
“You’re angry.”
If I were Bennett I’d be shouting, but I’m not him. I go the opposite. “I’m furious.”
Zia pulls her blanket tighter, our gazes locked. “I can’t imagine how you must feel.”
Walking to the window, I look down at the Holland Tunnel entrance. “I’m not jealous. Don’t misunderstand. I’m furious because I can’t understand how she could introduce our son to some guy without telling me she was even seeing someone. It made him have to keep secrets from me, not that he knew he was supposed to, thank God. But she didn’t know he’d tell me as if it was old news. How could she do that? Bring Joe into it like that?”
“You love her.”
Thoughtful, thinking of everything wrong with this sad situation, I stare down at honking cars, sound dimmed by thick glass. “I will always love her. But not like that. I’ll always love her as the mother of my son.” A knock at the door rouses me. “Stay there, Zia!”
Holding her breath, she nods and watches my quick strides across the large loft toward her door as I yell, “Who is it?”
“Vlad from Wine Spring!”
“That’s really him.” Zia calls out from the couch. “That’s his voice.”
I swing open the door to find a Russian man in his fifties handing me a stiff and rattling black plastic bag.
He objects when I pull out my wallet, “I’ll put it on her account.”
“Oh no, she’s not paying for this. How much do I owe you?” He tells me the amount due and I hand over more than enough, “Thank you for bringing this up.”
Zia’s voice comes louder than expected, “Yes, thank you Vlad,” and I turn my head to find her standing in the narrow foyer behind me.
“Anytime,” he smiles, accent thick, “I needed the fresh air. Have a good night.”
She nods,
