Chapter 2 - THE WOMAN WHO WAS ALWAYS THERE
Rachel opened her front door wearing flannel pajamas and holding a baseball bat.
“Who died?”
“Possibly my marriage.”
She lowered the bat.
“Oh, honey.”
That was all it took.
I started crying.
Not graceful tears.
Not the quiet, dignified kind women cry in movies.
I cried so hard I couldn't get the words out.
Rachel took my suitcase, led me inside, and wrapped a blanket around my shoulders.
She made tea.
She didn't ask whether I was sure.
She didn't tell me to calm down.
She waited.
When I finally described the dinner, she listened without interrupting.
Then I told her about the jacket.
The spoon.
The ride to Bellevue.
The messages.
And the ring.
Rachel stared into her tea.
“Claire, when was the last time Ethan canceled something with Natalie because you needed him?”
I opened my mouth.
Closed it.
Thought.
There had been my thirty-fourth birthday.
Ethan had promised dinner at a restaurant I'd wanted to try for months.
Natalie's dog became ill.
Ethan spent the evening at the emergency veterinary clinic.
The dog recovered.
I ate leftover pasta alone.
Then there was the day I learned the architectural firm where I worked had selected my waterfront restoration proposal for a major public project.
I'd called Ethan, shaking with excitement.
He hadn't answered.
Later, he explained that Natalie was upset about a breakup.
He'd taken her hiking to clear her head.
He congratulated me the following morning.
And there was Christmas.
Natalie had invited herself to our cabin in Leavenworth because she didn't want to spend the holiday alone.
Ethan told me after he'd already agreed.
We spent Christmas morning opening gifts with her sitting between us on the couch.
She gave Ethan an expensive watch.
He gave her a necklace engraved with the coordinates of their college campus.
He gave me a gift card to a spa.
I had thanked him.
Because that was what a secure wife did.
Rachel set down her cup.
“Do you know what I think?”
“What?”
“I think you've been taught to mistake having no boundaries for being a good wife.”
I stared at her.
Then whispered, “I don't think he's cheating.”
“Maybe he isn't.”
She reached across the table.
“But you don't have to prove adultery to prove you're unhappy.”
The following morning, Ethan appeared at Rachel's house.
I watched through the upstairs window as he stood on the porch with flowers.
Yellow tulips.
My favorite.
He'd remembered.
I hated how much that mattered.
Rachel answered the door.
“Is Claire here?”
“Yes.”
“Can I see her?”
“That's her decision.”
I came downstairs.
Ethan looked exhausted.
His hair was uncombed. He wore yesterday's sweater.
When he saw me, relief crossed his face.
“Claire.”
I stopped several feet away.
“Hi.”
He held out the flowers.
“I brought these.”
“Thank you.”
I didn't take them.
His expression faltered.
“Can we talk?”
“We are talking.”
“Privately?”
Rachel looked at me.
I nodded.
She went upstairs.
Ethan exhaled.
“I'm sorry about last night.”
“For what?”
He hesitated.
“For making you uncomfortable.”
I waited.
He continued.
“I shouldn't have fed Natalie the dessert. I understand how it looked.”
“How it looked?”
He rubbed his forehead.
“Claire, you know what I mean.”
“No. I don't.”
His jaw tightened.
“It was a stupid joke.”
“Then why did you make me feel ridiculous for being hurt?”
He stared.
I continued.
“Why did you agree to drive her home without asking me? Why was her comfort more important than mine? Why did you smile when she announced she'd been there before your wife?”
He looked down.
“I didn't think.”
“I know.”
The words came out sharper than I intended.
“I know you didn't think, Ethan. That's the problem.”
He swallowed.
“I love you.”
I nodded.
“I believe you.”
Relief flickered across his face.
Then I said:
“But I'm beginning to understand that being loved by you hasn't always meant being considered.”
His expression collapsed.
For the first time, he didn't have an answer.
Before leaving, Ethan asked how long I intended to stay away.
“I don't know.”
“Are you asking for a divorce?”
“I'm asking for space to decide whether I still want this marriage.”
He stared at me.
“Claire, please.”
I looked at the flowers in his hand.
“You can keep those.”
His eyes filled.
“Why?”
“Because I don't want you to think one thoughtful gesture fixes seven years of being second.”
That evening, Natalie called me.
I almost ignored it.
Then I answered.
“Hello?”
“Claire, it's Natalie.”
“I know.”
She laughed nervously.
“Ethan told me you're upset.”
I closed my eyes.
Of course he had.
Natalie continued.
“I just wanted to say I'm sorry if you misunderstood last night.”
I stared at the wall.
“Misunderstood what?”
“The dessert thing. It wasn't romantic.”
“I didn't say it was.”
She paused.
“Well, I hope you're not going to let something so small damage your marriage.”
Something inside me hardened.
“Natalie, did Ethan tell you I left?”
“Yes.”
“Did he tell you I took off my wedding ring?”
Silence.
Then:
“He mentioned it.”
I breathed slowly.
“And your first instinct was to call me and explain why my feelings were wrong?”
“That's not fair.”
“Neither is being treated like a guest in my own marriage.”
She scoffed.
“Claire, I've known Ethan for eighteen years.”
“I know.”
“We're practically family.”
“Then you should have been the first person to respect his wife.”
Natalie went silent.
I ended the call.
Ten minutes later, Ethan texted.
Natalie says you were cruel to her.
I stared at the message.
Then laughed.
Not because it was funny.
Because suddenly everything was so painfully obvious.
May you like
I typed:
Thank you for proving my point.
