Last Friday, I was drinking for fun.
But this Friday, I am drinking to forget.
I’m halfway through the can before I hear the sound of my phone vibrating on the top of the washing machine where I left it. I head back into the utility room to pick it up, and as I do, I see Sam’s name on the screen.
‘Hi,’ I say as I answer the call before taking another sip of my rapidly disappearing drink.
‘Hey. Is everything okay? Sorry I missed your call.’
‘Yeah, it’s fine. Did you get my text?’
‘Yeah, I’ll be home soon. Just finishing up a few things at the office.’
‘Okay.’
‘Dinner’s at eight tonight, right?’
‘Yeah.’
‘Great. I’ll be home as quick as I can. See you soon. Love you.’
I hesitate slightly before replying.
‘Love you too.’
The line goes dead, and I lower my phone before taking another swig from my can. I’ve almost finished it now, and I’m on my way to the fridge to get another one before I even realise what I’m doing. But screw it. I’m not going to be drunk off a couple of small cans of vodka and tonic. They don’t even put that much alcohol in these things anyway.
Opening the second can, I think about Sam and the awkward question I am going to have to ask him when he gets home. It’s a shame that we are going to have to start the weekend that way but it has to be done. I have to find out where that lipstick came from.
I just hope he has a good answer for me.
If not, this definitely won’t be the last drink that I’ll be having tonight.
17
SAM
I could tell that Rebecca had been drinking from the second that I walked through the front door and laid eyes on her. She didn’t have a glass in her hand, but she had that look in her eyes that she always gets when she’s had alcohol. Like she’s a little hazy. She’s not drunk by any means. She usually starts swaying and singing when she gets that far along. But she is definitely tipsy, and I’m surprised because I’ve never known her to be one to drink alone. Sure, it’s Friday night, and we have dinner plans with friends, so I could understand her having one or two. But one or two wouldn’t be enough to give her that look in her eyes.
She’s definitely had more than that.
But why?
‘Hey. Good day?’ I ask her as I walk over to her and try to get a better read on the situation.
‘Yeah. Not bad. You?’
Rebecca’s response is a casual one. Does she not want me to know that she has been drinking without me? She didn’t slur her words, so maybe she thinks she has gotten away with it. But she can’t hide that look in her eyes.
‘Work was fine. The usual. Too many meetings. Not enough actual work being done.’
I lean in to give my wife a kiss, and I’m expecting to smell or perhaps even taste the alcohol on her lips, but I don’t get the chance to.
That’s because she pulls away from me.
‘Is everything okay?’ I ask, wondering why she has just rejected me for the first time since we have been together.
‘You tell me,’ Rebecca replies, and that’s when she walks into the utility room.
I have no idea what she is doing, but I don’t have to wait too long to find out. A few seconds later and she returns to the kitchen with one of my white work shirts in her hands. Then she tosses it to me, and I manage to catch it, although I’m not sure why we are playing catch with my clothes.
‘What?’ I ask.
‘Look at it,’ she tells me, and I do as I’m told, but the shirt looks pretty normal to me.
‘What’s wrong with it?’
‘Check the collar.’
I do, and that’s when I notice the red smear across it. That’s weird. I have no idea what it is, and I definitely hadn’t noticed it when I was wearing it a day or two ago.
‘What is that?’ I ask as I have a go at wiping it off, but it’s already pretty well rubbed in and doesn’t come off despite my best efforts.
‘It’s lipstick.’
‘Lipstick?’
I have another go at wiping it but no good. I hope it will come out in the washing machine, but maybe it’s okay because it’s on the underside of the collar so that nobody has to see it. I guess that’s how I missed it when I put it on the other day. But how did it get under there?
‘It’s definitely lipstick,’ Rebecca tells me as if to clear up any doubt I might have had. But I’m not arguing. If she says it’s lipstick, I guess it’s lipstick.
‘How did you get lipstick on it?’ I ask her, not that I’m blaming her. I’m just confused as to why she is making a big deal about it. Maybe she’s annoyed because this is a relatively new shirt, and she thinks it might be ruined now. But it’s not, and besides, it’s not as if it’s expensive.
‘It’s not mine!’
‘What?’
‘I said it’s not my lipstick. I don’t have a shade like that, and even if I did, I haven’t been anywhere near any of your shirts with it.’
‘You must have done. How else did it get on here?’
‘You tell me.’
I don’t like the way Rebecca said that, and now I realise what’s going on here.
She thinks this lipstick belongs to another woman.
‘Look, I don’t know how I got lipstick on my collar, but I can assure you that it’s not from some woman.’
‘Then how did it get there? Have you been wearing lipstick?’
‘Don’t be stupid.’
‘Am I being stupid right now? Am I stupid for believing you instead of that woman the other night?’
‘Hey! That’s enough!’
I hate to raise my voice at my wife, but I had to do something. I’m not going to stand here in my own home and be
