“For tonight?”
His face changed.
That was when I understood there was more coming.
“For a lot of things,” he said.
I folded my arms.
“What does that mean?”
Nick rubbed both hands over his face.
“Evan told us what he said to you.”
There it was.
The kitchen island.
The beer bottle.
The casual cruelty.
My friends think you aren’t special enough for me.
“Of course he did.”
“Lauren, listen—”
“Did you say it?”
Nick froze.
I didn’t raise my voice.
“Did you tell my husband he could do better than me?”
He looked toward the closed treatment doors as if hoping someone would interrupt us.
No one did.
“Not exactly.”
I almost laughed.
“That’s usually what people say right before explaining that they did something exactly.”
He flinched.
Then he told me.
The conversation had started weeks earlier after Evan’s promotion.
The group had been drinking and talking about money, careers, travel, the things they thought successful men were supposed to want.
One of them had joked that Evan was entering his “upgrade years.”
Another asked why he and I were still living the same quiet life we’d had before his promotion.
Nick admitted he’d laughed.
Nobody had sat Evan down and formally declared that his wife was inadequate.
There had been no committee vote on Lauren’s value.
It had been uglier than that because it had been casual.
Jokes.
Smirks.
A few comments about how Evan could travel more if he weren’t “settled down.”
Someone asked whether he ever wondered what kind of woman he could attract now that he was doing better professionally.
And instead of shutting them down, my husband had joined in.
“He said you were comfortable,” Nick murmured.
I stared at him.
“Comfortable.”
“He didn’t mean—”
“Don’t tell me what my husband meant.
Tell me what he said.”
Nick swallowed.
“He said you were predictable.
That you’d probably be happy doing the same things forever.”
The waiting room seemed to sharpen around me.
The vending machine humming against the wall.
A paper cup abandoned beside a chair.
Rain trembling against black windows.
Predictable.
I thought about the Portland hotel reservation I’d made because Evan once told me he missed traveling with me.
The engraved watch I had saved for because he’d talked for years about wanting one after his first major promotion.
The waterfront restaurant I’d booked because he loved the view.
