Chapter 13
I started walking with our neighbor Lisa three evenings a week.
I joined a book club at the library.
Ordinary things.
That was what seemed to bother Daniel most.
If I had started dating immediately, he could have called me reckless.
If I had begun partying, he could have told himself I was acting out.
Instead, I was simply becoming occupied.
Peacefully.
Without him.
One Friday evening, I came downstairs wearing jeans and a green sweater.
Daniel was in the living room.
“Where are you going?”
“Megan’s.”
“What’s happening at Megan’s?”
“Dinner.”
“Who’s going?”
I stopped near the front door.
“Why?”
He looked embarrassed.
“Just asking.”
That phrase.
Just asking.
I almost smiled.
“Her neighbors. A couple from work. Some friends.”
“Men?”
I looked at him.
Daniel rubbed his jaw.
“Forget it.”
“No. Say what you mean.”
“I don’t know what you’re doing anymore.”
The honesty surprised me.
“I’m living.”
“That’s not what I meant.”
“I know.”
He stood.
“Claire, I’m trying here.”
“Trying what?”
“To fix things.”
I looked around the living room.
Nothing about our physical home had changed.
Same couch.
Same family photographs.
Same floor lamp my mother had given us.
Same blanket folded over the chair.
But marriage can end emotionally long before anyone moves furniture.
“Daniel, you apologized after you got caught.”
“That’s not fair.”
“What part?”
“I’ve apologized every day.”
“You keep telling me you’re sorry because you want me to feel differently.”
“Of course I want you to feel differently.”
“That isn’t repair.”
He stared at me.
“Then what is?”
I considered the question.
“A year ago? Telling the truth without being forced. Coming home. Answering your phone. Choosing your family before I had to compete for basic attention.”
He swallowed.
“And now?”
I picked up my purse.
“Now I don’t know.”
I left him standing there.
Megan’s dinner was lovely.
Not glamorous.
Not dramatic.
We ate baked ziti at a kitchen table crowded with mismatched dishes.
Someone brought cheap red wine.
Her neighbor Paul told a terrible story about accidentally locking himself out while taking the trash to the curb.
I laughed until my stomach hurt.
At one point, I realized three hours had passed without my thinking about Daniel.
That realization felt more important than anything he had confessed.
When I got home, the downstairs lights were still on.
Daniel was sitting on the couch.
Waiting.
The irony was almost too perfect.