Chapter 2

"About six months." Luke said it quietly, as though lowering his voice might make the time shorter. Six months. He had known on our anniversary, when he booked a table for his father and me. He had asked me to send a picture before dinner because, he said, we never took enough photographs together anymore. I had stood beside Mark in a blue dress, smiling while my husband’s hand rested on my back. "You booked our anniversary dinner." Luke shifted his weight. "You asked me to." "And when I told you about the trip I wanted to take with him?" "Mom, Dad said you already knew things were over." I looked at Mark. He was watching our son carefully. "Did you ask me?" I said. Luke rubbed his palm against his trousers. "I didn’t want to get in the middle." "You helped me choose a hotel." "Because you were excited. What was I supposed to say?" For a moment, I could only stare at him. He had listened while I described the balcony overlooking the water. He had told me to book the room before the price went up. I had mistaken his attention for happiness on my behalf. "You could have asked why I was planning a trip with a husband you thought I’d left." "Enough, Claire," Mark said. "He didn’t create this situation." Luke looked relieved that his father had spoken. That hurt almost as much as his answer. My son wasn’t waiting for a chance to comfort me. He was waiting for someone to stop me asking questions. I picked up my purse. Mark still held his suit. I walked past without taking it. When I got home, his breakfast cup was still beside the sink. I had rinsed mine before work, then left his because he was still drinking from it. The coffee had dried into a brown ring. I stood in our kitchen, unable to understand how he could come home every night and let me believe we were living the same life. My phone rang. For one hopeful second, I thought it was Luke. It was Emma. "Hi, Claire. Is this a bad time?" "No." "I wanted to check something about tomorrow’s lunch. Luke said everyone was still coming, but I wasn’t sure how you’d feel about Brooke sitting with us." The family lunch at the hotel had been on my calendar for weeks. We were supposed to meet Emma’s parents and talk through the wedding weekend. "Why would Brooke be there?" A pause. "I’m sorry. I thought Luke had talked to you. I just don’t want you to feel uncomfortable around Mark and his new partner." His new partner. Emma said it gently, trying to spare my feelings. She sounded like someone asking how to seat a divorced couple. "What did Luke tell you about us?" "That you decided to separate a while ago. Before Mark and Brooke got together." I sat at the kitchen table. Six months of silence had been bad enough. My son had filled that silence for everyone else. "He said you didn’t really want to discuss it," Emma added. "I’ve been trying not to pry." "We haven’t separated." "Oh." "Until a few hours ago, I didn’t know there was anything to discuss." I heard her draw a breath. On the table lay the grocery list I’d started that morning. Mark’s cereal. The coffee Luke liked when he visited. "I don’t understand," she said. "Neither do I." "Would you like me to call you later?" I almost said yes. It would have been easier to let her hang up and keep believing whatever Luke told her. "Could you send me the wedding schedule you have?" I asked. "I need to see whether it’s the same as mine." "Of course." After we hung up, Emma sent me her copy of the schedule. It wasn’t the one I had. Her email mentioned a revised seating plan, so I asked the planner to send me the current copy. My name had moved. I had checked it myself on the original chart: Claire beside Mark at the parents’ table. Now Brooke’s name occupied that chair. Mine was at a table with my sister and several cousins. Below the attachment, the planner had written: These changes were confirmed by Luke. I called him. "Did you move my seat?" "Mom, can we please take a break?" "Did you?" He exhaled into the phone. "Yes. I thought you’d be more comfortable with Aunt Susan." I traced the small rectangle containing Brooke’s name. "You didn’t ask me." "I was trying to avoid an awkward situation." "For whom?" "Everyone. Brooke’s been helping us, and I didn’t want her sitting alone." He had considered where she would sit, who would speak to her, whether she would feel welcome. My feelings had been handled by moving my name. "You gave her my chair." "It’s a chair, Mom. You’re still my mother." I closed my eyes. He kept saying that as though being his mother meant there was nothing he could take from me. "I need a minute." I ended the call before he could tell me again that nothing important had changed. For a while, I sat with the seating plan open in front of me. Then I opened another tab and typed divorce consultation near me. My hands stopped over the keyboard. That morning, I had been planning what to wear beside my husband at our son’s wedding. Now I was looking for someone who could tell me how to leave him. I opened a local attorney’s appointment form. Under my name and phone number, it asked whether we were already separated. I selected No. In the box asking why I wanted a consultation, I wrote: My husband is having an affair. I need to understand my options before I decide what to do. I read it twice. Then I submitted the request, using my personal email and asking to be contacted on my cell. The confirmation appeared. It didn’t make me feel better. But for the first time that day, I had done something without waiting for Mark or Luke to tell me what I should accept. My phone lit up. Luke: What else did you want to ask? I looked back at the schedule. The dance section listed only a time. I called him. "What about our dance?" For several seconds, he said nothing. "Luke?" "Come to the hotel tomorrow. We’ll talk about it there." "Why can’t you tell me now?" "It’s easier in person." I looked at the empty space beside Mark’s name. This time, I didn’t tell my son I understood.