I rush back downstairs, where Mark has set up his laptop and some work folders on the kitchen counter. His law firm has opened a new office in Singapore, which is twelve hours ahead of D.C., and that’s meant a lot of these late-night calls.
I pour myself a glass of wine. Mark raises an eyebrow but doesn’t say anything.
“What?” My tone is defensive. I’m a grown woman, entitled to a glass of wine after the day I’ve had.
“Nothing. Tell me what happened with the police.”
I run down what happened at the station and wait for him to tell me it’s routine stuff, that I shouldn’t worry. But he lets out a long breath and shakes his head.
“I don’t like it. I really wish you had called Artie Zucker when I asked you to.”
“Okay, but I didn’t.”
“And why not? I mean, I texted you the info. You said you would.”
“I don’t know, Mark. I got busy. Does it matter now?” I finish off my wine and refill the glass. “I mean, I called him tonight, so can you stop harping on that?”
“I’m glad you called. I just wish you had done it sooner.” He nods his chin toward my wineglass. “Didn’t you have several glasses at dinner?”
“So?”
“Do you think maybe that’s part of the problem?” he asks in a soft voice.
“What problem is that?”
“The problem of forgetting things? Of not being able to keep track.” He sighs. “Like the other day when you put the car keys in the salad crisper.”
“So?” I’m trying to figure out what the hell losing my keys has to do with anything. As soon as I told him about that, I’d regretted doing so. I had searched for hours, afraid I was going out of my mind. Cole found the keys when he went looking for baby carrots at dinner to replace the yucky broccoli. “People lose things, forget things, that’s normal.”
“Like the hamburger buns?”
I wince. “Jesus, Mark. You’re kidding, right? I told you I didn’t sign up to bring those.”
“Okay, fine. I’m not attacking you, Allie. I’m on your side.”
“Are you? Doesn’t feel that way.”
“Yes, I am. You don’t have to do everything, you know. Like how I offered to call the lawyer, and you said no.” There’s no accusation or hostility in his voice, only resignation with a hint of sadness. “Look, I’m making enough money now.”
“Not this again. I love photography. I enjoy the work.”
“When we first met, you said you hated doing this kind of photography. That your dream was to quit your waitressing job and make art. Well, now you can.”
“Why are you bringing this up now?”
“You’re doing too much,” he says. “We’re supposed to host Thanksgiving dinner next month, and half our stuff is still in boxes in the guest room.”
“Feel free to unpack them, Mark!” My tone is sharp, but I’m fed up. I feel like I’ve been doing everything around here.
“You fall asleep every night in Cole’s bed.”
“You fall asleep every night in front of the TV.”
“I’m waiting there for you. I’ll happily turn off the TV if you come downstairs.” He leans over the kitchen counter and in a low voice says, “Last night was the second time we’ve made love since we moved into this house.”
“I didn’t realize you were keeping track.” I swallow hard. “Look, we only have ten minutes before your call, and I still need to ask you something. Did you tell Caitlin we were having problems? Do you talk to her about our marriage?” I tell him what she said to me in the bathroom of the restaurant.
“She shouldn’t have said that.”
“Why would she think we needed a marriage counselor?” I ask. “Did you ask her for a recommendation?”
“No. I mean, I asked her if she knew any good therapists, but not for a marriage counselor.”
“A therapist? For me?”
“Look, honey, don’t be mad. I thought it might help if you had someone to talk to. You just seem so on edge lately. I know moving here hasn’t been easy—”
“I can’t believe you told Caitlin I needed therapy.”
“I didn’t say that. I just asked her for some names. She knows a place outside Baltimore called Bridgeways.”
I stand up straight. “Bridgeways? Isn’t that a rehab?”
“Rehab isn’t the right word.”
“Jesus, Mark. You guys want to send me away to rehab?”
“Allie, it’s not a rehab. It’s a place where people go when they need a little break. You know—a place you can sort things out. No one’s sending you anywhere. It was just an idea.” He looks at the clock. Eight fifty-seven. He throws up his hands. “I have to make this phone call. I can wrap it up in twenty minutes, thirty tops.”
“Please. Don’t let me stop you from what’s important.” I sound like a bratty teen, but I can’t stop myself. I feel betrayed.
“You’re what’s important. I want to talk to you about this. I do. Tell me what you want me to do.”
“How about the next time your mom asks why we don’t have a second kid, you tell her—” I finish my wine in one gulp, trying to ignore the hurt look on his face. “Just make your call.”
I head toward the back door.
“Where are you going?” Mark calls after me.
“Out.”
“Allie! I am so glad you came over, I’ve been really worried. This whole thing is so messed up.” Leah’s white marble kitchen is covered in bowls and dusted with flour. She peers up from a sheet of rolled-out dough and smiles. My body is jacked up on adrenaline from my fight with Mark. I don’t like the way we left it, and I know tossing that line in about a second kid and then running out was dirty fighting. But it felt good to lash out. I’ve kept so much bottled up inside recently.
“Listen, Leah, the other day when I left book club—”
“I am really sorry about that. You probably felt ambushed.”
“Thank you for saying that, but I need to know—how
