Speaker 1: It's still dark when I wake. The window glows lavender
Speaker 1: with the city's restless light, but it's not sunrise yet.
Speaker 1: The sheets beside me are coal creap but empty, the
Speaker 1: kind of absence that registers instinctively, the quiet sense of
Speaker 1: being alone you feel before you've even opened your eyes.
Speaker 1: I reach across to Adam's side, just to confirm it.
Speaker 1: He's already up. The clock on my night's end reads
Speaker 1: five welving. I roll over, squinting at the sound of
Speaker 1: shoes clattering on tile, the faint metallic click of a zibber,
Speaker 1: a whisper of nilon. For a second, I don't remember
Speaker 1: what day it is, or why Adam would be up
Speaker 1: before me, before the sun. Even He's never once beaten
Speaker 1: me out of bed in the five years we've lived together,
Speaker 1: not even for us I anon flight to Mexico, when
Speaker 1: I had to drag him groaning to the cab at
Speaker 1: one sneaker on. But now there's a new rhythm to
Speaker 1: the household, a secret athletic energy that wasn't here six
Speaker 1: weeks ago. Once it would have been me chasing a
Speaker 1: creative deadline. Adams sprawling across the middle of the bed,
Speaker 1: legs kicked over to my side. Now Adam's awake before me,
Speaker 1: moving with fumbling purpose the whole way outside our loft,
Speaker 1: his bride with his new enthusiasm, light which cyclings hues,
Speaker 1: slunking awkwardly, the flash of teal licra, the clean snap
Speaker 1: of a helmet buckle. I slide from the covers pad
Speaker 1: across the wide plank floors, careful not to alert him
Speaker 1: that I'm watching. Our place is airy and open, full
Speaker 1: of plants and magazine stacks, sunlight in the mornings. When
Speaker 1: it finally calms, I hear him at the door, muttering
Speaker 1: to himself, probably running through a mental checklist. That half
Speaker 1: distracted tone he gets when he's in project mode. I
Speaker 1: lean against the window behind the curtain so I can
Speaker 1: see the street below, items already out on the curb,
Speaker 1: loading the mat gray Cannondale into the trunk of our car.
Speaker 1: He is in better shade than he was a month ago, thinner,
Speaker 1: tied around the shoulders, the news nug cycling kit, emphasizing
Speaker 1: the line of his thighs. I'm a little proud of him, actually,
Speaker 1: may be even envious. It's impressive, this burst of discipline,
Speaker 1: this joy he's found in sweating three miles before the
Speaker 1: city even begins to stir. I half expect him to
Speaker 1: glance up, catch me spying, and wave a press palm goofy,
Speaker 1: Adam grinn Instead, he moves briskly, glancing up and down
Speaker 1: our quiet street, as if expecting someone to appear. I
Speaker 1: tell myself not to read too much into it. Adam's
Speaker 1: always been a little dramatic about his hobbies, but there's
Speaker 1: something secretive, almost furt of, in the way he hitches
Speaker 1: his back high, double checks the card doors, pauses when
Speaker 1: he runs the trunk. I bite my lip, a flicker
Speaker 1: of humor running through me. My husband closeted cycling and
Speaker 1: dissiest whoduff guessed? He signals up at our window, but
Speaker 1: I duck aside, uncertain whether he can really see me
Speaker 1: in the dock. When he comes back inside, I'm sitting
Speaker 1: on the couch, phone in hand, pretending to flip through emails.
Speaker 1: Adams's face is flushed from the cool morning, half hidden
Speaker 1: under his helmet plastic bill. He grins at me as
Speaker 1: he grabs his water bottle, pausing at the door. See
Speaker 1: you for brunch, he calls, voice bright, almost too cheery
Speaker 1: for dawn. He tax me when you're done. I yawn,
Speaker 1: shuffling after him, theatrically bleary eyed. I'll put on coffee.
Speaker 1: He leans over two swordy for a proper hug, then
Speaker 1: is gone the door, clicking clothes with a soft finality.
Speaker 1: The apartment feels enormous an empty. For a moment after
Speaker 1: he's left. I sip water, blinket his absence, then shake
Speaker 1: my head. Adam's cycling nut. Nobody would have seen that coming,
Speaker 1: not even me. It's the latest in a string of
Speaker 1: little reinventions he's gone through since we hit our thirties.
Speaker 1: At first it was taig cooking, then language apps, then
Speaker 1: the comedy in provcast that lasted two weeks. This one, though,
Speaker 1: seems to have stuck bikes, tied shorts, rides at the
Speaker 1: crack of dawn. I'm just glad he's found something to
Speaker 1: pull him out of bed, out of himself. Really, Adam's charming, magnetic,
Speaker 1: the social glue of our group, but he can get restless, needy,
Speaker 1: sometimes oddly fragile. This is good for him, at least
Speaker 1: that's what I tell myself as I text our group chat.
Speaker 1: A photo of Adams but propped on the curb is
Speaker 1: this my husband or a hallucination. I add a cycling emoji,
Speaker 1: partly as a joke, but also half proud. Maybe this
Speaker 1: is what marriage groove looks like, watching each other evolf,
Speaker 1: even if it means giving up lazy mornings together getting
Speaker 1: ready for brunch. I throw on jeans in a linen shirt,
Speaker 1: tie my hair in a messy knot, and cue up
Speaker 1: messages from our friends. Lawn is typing, dying to see
Speaker 1: if Adams survives this phase. He'll be insufferable if he
Speaker 1: makes it past spring. I laugh. Taln's replies, a meme
Speaker 1: a wonky cyclist bailing off a pair typical. The rest
Speaker 1: of the morning passes quickly, laundry piles shifting, coffee brewing,
Speaker 1: sunlight inching across the kitchen tiles. At ten fifteen, Adam's
Speaker 1: text pops up, finishing up, see you soon, read, I
Speaker 1: feel that flicker of warmth, the simple normalcy of a
Speaker 1: week end love and texts in Riyn's mugs in waiting
Speaker 1: for each other. When Adam finally comes home, his cheeks
Speaker 1: of that post ride, flush hair mus with sweat. He
Speaker 1: strips down in the foy, head straight for the shower,
Speaker 1: and calls us stats through the door. We did ford
Speaker 1: it to day. I am dead all those hills, Seriously,
Speaker 1: I call back encouragement, scha off. Don't expect me to
Speaker 1: massage your calves. After he emerges, we had to brunch
Speaker 1: with our usual group, Calum, Lanna, two other friends from work.
Speaker 1: The laughter and stories bounce around the table, mimerc's clinking,
Speaker 1: the easy camaraderie of people anchored and shared history. It
Speaker 1: isn't until the third round of jokes about lycra and
Speaker 1: saddle saws that I catch something odd. I ask Callum,
Speaker 1: so did Adam keep up with everyone this morning? Or
Speaker 1: was he left in the dust. Cal usually quick with
Speaker 1: a retort, stalls. He stirs his drink, glances at Adam,
Speaker 1: then mutters, ah, yeah, I mean I guess he was.
Speaker 1: You rode to day right? Adam barely looks up from
Speaker 1: his menu. Here we took this our's circuit tough one.
Speaker 1: Everyone nods, conversation moves on. But I notice how calumbites
Speaker 1: the inside of his cheek, looks at Laana, then looks
Speaker 1: away for half a second. There's an awkward little gap
Speaker 1: in the atmosphere, like a saw a note in an
Speaker 1: otherwise perfect chord. The laughter resumes. I let it go.
Speaker 1: Still the scene plays in my mind an hour later,
Speaker 1: as I washed the grit of the city from a
Speaker 1: mugga at our kitchen sink. It's almost nothing, a fleeting
Speaker 1: glitch in an otherwise typical weekend. I dismiss it, But
Speaker 1: something in Callum's face lingers. Was I overthinking? Was it
Speaker 1: just an early morning hangover? Or had something been left
Speaker 1: and said? By Monday night, the hazy oddness of brunch
Speaker 1: has faded into the background of daily roudine. Adam sprawled
Speaker 1: on the sofa, scrolling through fantasy football stats on his tablet,
Speaker 1: a bee of sweating in his hand. I'm at the
Speaker 1: count of finishing a client proof tapping a stylelus a
Speaker 1: against my jaw, MNT half on work, half drifting through
Speaker 1: the silence between us. He's been in a lighter mood lately,
Speaker 1: more energetic at herme all week. He's been out early,
Speaker 1: bouncing back for quick showers and enthusiastic reports of new
Speaker 1: Hill's conquered, funny stories about someone in the group wiping out.
Speaker 1: There's a momentum to him I haven't seen since we
Speaker 1: moved here. The old Adam, beloved, predictable, only in his unpredictability.
Speaker 1: You coming to bed soon, I ask, glancing at the clock.
Speaker 1: He nods, mumbles let me finish this, and keeps tapping
Speaker 1: at the screen. The tension is trivial every day. Still,
Speaker 1: when I sit down next to him, I slip in
Speaker 1: a question till light to seem loaded. So what was
Speaker 1: the route to day? Calm said something about river Park,
Speaker 1: but he said, you guys went Upton last Saturday. Do
Speaker 1: you change it each week? Adam's eyes flick up for
Speaker 1: a second. He looks like he's searching for the right story, calculating,
Speaker 1: almost as if he's back in a work meeting. Oh yeah,
Speaker 1: sometimes we improvise. Today we just went wherever the group
Speaker 1: felt like. Ended up east actually out by the flower Market.
Speaker 1: That doesn't fit the cycling group he's described usually rides
Speaker 1: the old railroad trail along the river, nowhere near the
Speaker 1: flower Market. I stifle the urge to ask again, to push.
Speaker 1: He looks tired, and I feel ridiculous pressing him on
Speaker 1: the details of what is ultimately just exercise A new
Speaker 1: holby some more an inst to himself. Did you see
Speaker 1: Lorna out there? I try? She mentioned riding last week,
Speaker 1: and if Adam had been with the typical crew, he
Speaker 1: would have run into her. He hesitates a fraction too long. No,
Speaker 1: must have been a different group. I think she rides
Speaker 1: with the beginners. Another small pause, almost invisible, but not
Speaker 1: to me. He's always had a tendency to misplace names
Speaker 1: and schedules. But something about his tone is off, distracted, attentative,
Speaker 1: running a defense step ahead. I drop it. Part of
Speaker 1: me feels a small cold grip, the first squeeze of
Speaker 1: something like suspicion. But what's there to suspect that my
Speaker 1: husband might have gotten disoriented on a bike, that the
Speaker 1: intricate social clockwork of our friends Ryde's plans, who saw
Speaker 1: whom might be a little off one round on weekend?
Speaker 1: I shake the feeling away. Adam is glowing, full of
Speaker 1: new verve, more attentive when he's with me. Over dinner,
Speaker 1: he described to harrow and down, all stretch and full
Speaker 1: dramatic color, the way his casts almost locked up, the
Speaker 1: taste of cold wind. I picture him when Brandon grinning,
Speaker 1: dappled in sunlight, and the image suites me. Let it go.
Speaker 1: I think, I tell myself that I trust him, I
Speaker 1: trust us. Adventure has always been nothing. The way we met,
Speaker 1: the way we've kept our relationship wide with laughter and motion.
Speaker 1: This is just another phase, a way for him to
Speaker 1: push himself, but a part of me fased away, a
Speaker 1: mental tab I count quite close. Our apartment is a
Speaker 1: time capsule of the past five years. Photographs from Peru
Speaker 1: and Croatia. A painting we bought for too much at
Speaker 1: an art market in oak soccer journals we never finished
Speaker 1: city maps hat behind our desk. We met on a
Speaker 1: high arranged by Lona and Hernalex, both of us ambitious
Speaker 1: but a little insecure, Him drifting out of a bland
Speaker 1: stop jaw, me burning out at my first agency, one
Speaker 1: overnight downpour in the mountains, trapped together in a tent,
Speaker 1: and all at once we clicked a mutual hunger for novelty, movement,
Speaker 1: the occasional peculiar challenge. Adam's first words to me after
Speaker 1: can you pass the d Do you ever feel like
Speaker 1: the universe experiment? We are a worry the couple people
Speaker 1: pointed to the friends who left their hometowns behind, chasing
Speaker 1: new cities, new jobs, new routines. Adam arrives in new
Speaker 1: settings at parties. He's the social pinwheel drawing people into
Speaker 1: his orbit. I'm the Plannert, the one who sets up
Speaker 1: the air, the color coded Google doc, the list of mussies.
Speaker 1: We jerk that he keeps us moving while I keep
Speaker 1: us from getting lost. After three years of dating, we
Speaker 1: moved here to a city dence with our galleries, hole
Speaker 1: in the wall cafes, and enough urban hiking to keep
Speaker 1: us sweating most weekends. Our current crow date nights every
Speaker 1: other Thursday, lazy Sunday mornings with jazz and fresh crossus
Speaker 1: gallery openings we sometimes hate but never regret. Attending Our
Speaker 1: friend's circle is an entidy whip of transplants, mostly creative,
Speaker 1: all relent, us in pursuit of something status, novelty, the
Speaker 1: next underground brewery. I am and always have been, the
Speaker 1: steadier one. Adam will say he needs adventure, not routine,
Speaker 1: but he's also suited by late night takeout, Netflix's binges,
Speaker 1: the slow pulse of a well organized life. We rib
Speaker 1: each other about it, but in the gaps, when the
Speaker 1: walls always falls away, there's a deep, gentle trust. That
Speaker 1: trust has cracks, though Adam's surfaces from time to time
Speaker 1: with what I call his itch. He'll complain about feelings deadman,
Speaker 1: restless with familiarity, work, friends, even with us, until something
Speaker 1: new captures his attention. Sometimes I worry I can't keep
Speaker 1: him stimulated, that I shrink next to his volatility, the
Speaker 1: classic creative anxiety of being enough. But when he finds
Speaker 1: something like cycling that makes him glow again, I feel
Speaker 1: both relief and mild trepidation. I want to keep growing
Speaker 1: with him, but fear being left behind at work. I'm
Speaker 1: fresh off a branding campaign for Nico Snack's start up.
Speaker 1: My desk drift of Panton's watches and scribbled mood boats.
Speaker 1: I like the freedom the late nights spent at home
Speaker 1: with a huge monitor and a glass of wine. Adam
Speaker 1: drifting through, sometimes making dinner, sometimes just dropping a hand
Speaker 1: on my shoulder. His own job at the start up
Speaker 1: is faster paced, all slock and zoom in, tight dead lines,
Speaker 1: perpetual crisis management. Lately, though, he's been quieter at home.
Speaker 1: Maybe just tied from early rise, I reason, or maybe
Speaker 1: just the way of spring slow crawl. Our date nights
Speaker 1: are still rituals, but the silence is stretched longer before
Speaker 1: he reaches from my hand. That's normal, right, Yes, Together,
Speaker 1: life accumulates on you, even as you try to brush
Speaker 1: it off with novelty and little shocks to the system.
Speaker 1: One Thursday, we linger at a new tie spot down
Speaker 1: the block, Adam talking about a new product launch, meventing
Speaker 1: about a client who only speaks in pivot Anne' synergy.
Speaker 1: I mention wanting to try hiking the state park next month.
Speaker 1: Sounds good, he says, but there's a far away quality
Speaker 1: in his eyes, like hes scanning the horizon for escape routes.
Speaker 1: If I could bring myself to ask, really, ask how
Speaker 1: are you Adam? Is everything okay? Would he answer? Or
Speaker 1: would he just flash that half crooked smile and change
Speaker 1: the subject as he does when things get heavy. Saturday
Speaker 1: comes again, and I'm now half expecting Adam's alarm At
Speaker 1: five them he dresses in the dark, slips a spare
Speaker 1: pair of shoes into a jim bag, collects his keys
Speaker 1: with a whistle tune. I ask nothing, just smile and
Speaker 1: press a banana into his hand. Say hi to the
Speaker 1: hills for me to say, He flashes a grateful look.
Speaker 1: May be guilty, maybe just sleep deprive? I can't decide. Later,
Speaker 1: at brunch, I ask Callum again as if It's the
Speaker 1: most natural thing in the world. You and Adam doing
Speaker 1: the bigloop again this Saturday. Hallum looks up sharply, eyes wide.
Speaker 1: Oh ah ay. Last week I couldn't make it, had
Speaker 1: to take my mom to a doctor's thing. But Adam said,
Speaker 1: you all rode together. I press keeping it light. I
Speaker 1: saw a blush creeps up Callum's neck. Oh maybe he
Speaker 1: meant a couple of weeks ago. I lose track. Was
Speaker 1: it the week with rain? He offers, retreating behind his mug.
Speaker 1: The subject pivots clumsily. Later, Lorna roops Adam for his
Speaker 1: slow start, and he jokingly blames it on some one
Speaker 1: who made him watch horror movies until midnight. To me,
Speaker 1: another piece that doesn't fit. There was no horror movie
Speaker 1: at fallen asleep reading, I note it folded away, But
Speaker 1: again dissent crimes did the harm less tangle of coupledom
Speaker 1: lies so small you can't see the point in confronting them.
Speaker 1: That night, after Adam goes to sleep, I tipped her
Speaker 1: through the bathroom. I'm the hamper. His cycling gear is folded.
Speaker 1: Crispin nomad, no sweat, no sign of the river trail.
Speaker 1: Dusty so animatedly described his new jersey smells fresh, not
Speaker 1: even the faintest trace of deodorant, let alone sweat. Maybe
Speaker 1: he's wushing it at the gym. Maybe he's careful. Maybe
Speaker 1: I'm insane. I tell myself to stop to dress. But
Speaker 1: curiosity is a slippery crack. It widens every time something
Speaker 1: doesn't quite add up. Midwek, Adam comes home, flushed with energy,
Speaker 1: phone clutched in hand. He's changed his locks green till one.
Speaker 1: I don't recognize a new abstract pattern with a foreign
Speaker 1: number pin. He notices me noticing start ups being weird
Speaker 1: about security. We're all supposed to update passwords every week,
Speaker 1: he says, pre easily dropping his back and heading to
Speaker 1: the kitchen. Logical, his work is border lying paranoid about leaks.
Speaker 1: One virals grew up and the product is dead before
Speaker 1: launch sail. A pang of uncertainty lingers until last month.
Speaker 1: We twap playlists, pull each other's phones to show memes
Speaker 1: without the faintest thought of secrecy over wine. Adam's phone
Speaker 1: buzz is several times calendar pings, meeting reminder notifications at
Speaker 1: odd hours. Each time. He gladces down, then taps usness.
Speaker 1: I ask if it's work again, and he just shrugs, distracted.
Speaker 1: Saturday arrives. This time Adam leaves even earlier. He passed
Speaker 1: through the apartment with even less noise, almost ghost like,
Speaker 1: careful not to wake me. The door snacks shut of
Speaker 1: four thirty five m Hours later, I roll over Bill,
Speaker 1: get nine on the clock and check my phone. No text.
Speaker 1: The group chat is silent. I stare at the ceiling
Speaker 1: on knees growing. When Adam finally does texts while past noon,
Speaker 1: his message reads sorry, lost track of time with the
Speaker 1: group heading home soon. No details, no color, no boasts
Speaker 1: about distance on new recruits. While he's still out, I
Speaker 1: slide onto the couch and do what I always do
Speaker 1: when uneasy. I stop poking at social media. Adam hasn't
Speaker 1: posted about cycling, but when I look up his tig
Speaker 1: on Instagram, I see a photo of a cappuccin or
Speaker 1: his I know from the familiar chipmunk tack at a
Speaker 1: coffee shop I've never heard of it smiles from the
Speaker 1: river trail. By the time I check again, the tad
Speaker 1: is gone. I screen shout it anyway, Feeling a jolt,
Speaker 1: I scroll through recent group photos from the cycling crew,
Speaker 1: and Adam is in a few grinning, but the backgrounds
Speaker 1: don't match the routes he's described. At one point, he's
Speaker 1: at a sidewalk cafe. He's gearfolded, besset him beside him
Speaker 1: a single, unremarkable arm, not quite in frame. I remind myself,
Speaker 1: don't jump to conclusions. But the territory of my trust
Speaker 1: is shrinking now. My mind is a slow, fevered spin.
Speaker 1: I remind myself. People change, routine shift. Maybe Adam's restless
Speaker 1: energy just found a better path. Maybe he likes the independents,
Speaker 1: the early hours, a little freedom before settling in beside
Speaker 1: me again. On Wednesday, I run into Lonna at the
Speaker 1: studio where she takes pottery over clay and coffee. I
Speaker 1: test the waters. Adam's really getting into those rides. You
Speaker 1: ever see him out on Saturdays. She starts to say
Speaker 1: something that hesitates, glancing away. But last week I Am
Speaker 1: missed it rain right, She questions her own answer, then
Speaker 1: shumbles into a story about glazes. But there hadn't been rain,
Speaker 1: not on Saturday. Or maybe there was, but Adam told
Speaker 1: me he rode alone. Now even Lon seems guard by
Speaker 1: the time Adam comes home that night. I'm win tight
Speaker 1: as a drum. I remind myself, do not in ter day,
Speaker 1: do not project still. When he peels off his jersey,
Speaker 1: I glance at it again, spotless. The soles of his
Speaker 1: shoes aren't even dusty. He smells faintly of something floral
Speaker 1: and unfamiliar, not his usual body wash. He's texting more
Speaker 1: at night, hand cup around his phone. I try to
Speaker 1: banish the thought that he's hiding something, but the sign's
Speaker 1: little as they are keep coming. It's a cruel game,
Speaker 1: catching myself snooping. I feel equal pop's humiliation and icy dread.
Speaker 1: I'm not a jealous wife. Paranoia is in my brand,
Speaker 1: and yet the evidence shifts under my feet and I
Speaker 1: keep slipping. Next weekend, I suggest writing with him, making
Speaker 1: it a couple's thing. I could keep up, or at
Speaker 1: least meet you halfway for coffee. He lasts it off
Speaker 1: a little too quickly. It's a real beginner group, babe,
Speaker 1: all old juice and serious gearhints you'd be bored, I promise. Then,
Speaker 1: since in he's perhaps gone too far, he adds, but
Speaker 1: maybe another time, when the weather's better. Adam's best lies
Speaker 1: always have a shadow of truth. He's protecting me from boredom.
Speaker 1: Maybe this really is for him a private space. Maybe
Speaker 1: I'm intruding. I try to let go for his sake,
Speaker 1: maybe for mine. But now I am keeping mental lists,
Speaker 1: watching his routine for cracks. One Thursday, Adam mentions needing
Speaker 1: to travel for work next weekend, something he's never done,
Speaker 1: not since his company snapped into remote mode. The new product.
Speaker 1: Guys finally want us in person, he says, already scrolling
Speaker 1: through cheap fares. Trip coincides with another cycling weekend. He's
Speaker 1: evasive when I press for details, What city, what time? Why? Now?
Speaker 1: Another red flag. I check his credit card's statements when
Speaker 1: he leaves his wallet out one afternoon. It's not something
Speaker 1: I'm proud of. The statement is clean, mostly except for
Speaker 1: a series of early morning charges at a coffee shop
Speaker 1: called Canto not on the River route. Two cappuccinos every Saturday,
Speaker 1: sometimes a brunch for two, always early. It could be innocent,
Speaker 1: but the pattern repeats. I highlight the transactions on my phone,
Speaker 1: then erase them, feeling like I'm scraping for scraps. Trust
Speaker 1: is barely more substantial than suspicion. Now a tight rope
Speaker 1: stretched over current fraying. One Sunday, Adam comes home just
Speaker 1: after eight. He's flush, breathing fasts, but not swatty. He
Speaker 1: ducks a hawk, claims he needs a shower to warm
Speaker 1: up before we do anything together. I follow him stop
Speaker 1: in the doorways. He strips off his clothes with uncharacteristic
Speaker 1: urgency and tosses them not in the hamper, but straight
Speaker 1: into the wash. He's tense, almost edgy. Later that day,
Speaker 1: as I am peas Jim Bad looking for a missing charger,
Speaker 1: I find a crumpled fairacy to full breakfast for two
Speaker 1: time stamped just after nine a m. At Canto. He
Speaker 1: claimed to have already finished his ride and showered by
Speaker 1: then said he'd grabbed him off and to go that night.
Speaker 1: His clothes smell faintly off, unfamiliar perfume, a fluoroal trace
Speaker 1: lingers in the collar of his cycling jacket, and his
Speaker 1: lipstick stay nearly innocem. I stare at it, press my
Speaker 1: finger to the mark, willing it to be a pencemere
Speaker 1: it doesn't come off. I ask Adam about the coffee charges,
Speaker 1: faking a tone of light accusation he's spending more on
Speaker 1: coffee lately than groceries, trying to weave the barrister. He grins,
Speaker 1: plays along, he caught me, but seriously, it's the after
Speaker 1: rid thing. Caffino collapsed, And for the record, I always tape.
Speaker 1: He's charming, opaque, like a magician, drawing attention away from
Speaker 1: the trick. I I don't laugh. I now even friends
Speaker 1: are slipping away from candor. When I mention the cycling
Speaker 1: group at a gathering, Lorna and Callum both duck their heads.
Speaker 1: Answer in half sentences. They're protecting Adam. Maybe we're just
Speaker 1: trying to avoid drama. It hurts the sense of collusion,
Speaker 1: the way even my own team feels out of reach.
Speaker 1: At work, I can't focus, My designs come out stilted, lifeless,
Speaker 1: A scallopt my own screens, my hands drifting from undane
Speaker 1: color palettes. I get snippy with clients, dodge team happy hours,
Speaker 1: inventing deadlines. Adam, though, is lit up, full of energy
Speaker 1: at dinner parties, life of the room, bright, easy laughter.
Speaker 1: I resent it. I start to hate the way he
Speaker 1: slips out of conversations, checks his watch, excuses himself for
Speaker 1: an early start. I replay every conversation in my head
Speaker 1: each week, a new little inconsistency. Once he left a
Speaker 1: set of cycling shorts on the bathroom counter briefly, and
Speaker 1: notice the laundry tat was still attached, strange since he
Speaker 1: supposedly been wearing them every week. Another time, as I
Speaker 1: am putting away groceries, I find an unfamili energy bar
Speaker 1: in the snack drawer, one I never buy. Adam says
Speaker 1: it's a sample from work. I pretend to believe him.
Speaker 1: One evening, I try again. If you're getting this serious
Speaker 1: about cycling, let's actually do right together. I could use
Speaker 1: a challenge, He ducks. Honestly, you'd hate it. Nick. It's
Speaker 1: all gear talk. Enough for meal chest thumping later in spring,
Speaker 1: I promise, he always says. Later, I promise. I dropped
Speaker 1: the subject. But now I'm watching everything, his texts at night,
Speaker 1: his careful folding of gear, even the way he talked
Speaker 1: about his riding friends. A couple of times, when Adam
Speaker 1: is out, I open his laptop. There's nothing obvious, cleared
Speaker 1: browser history, nothing but worked tads and sports news. I
Speaker 1: try not to feel like a cartoonish jealous wife. But
Speaker 1: paranoia is a weed. It flourishes in silence. Adam begins
Speaker 1: scheduling business trips short hopstead quarters he never cared about before,
Speaker 1: including trips that just happen to overlap with typical cycling weekends.
Speaker 1: I ask if he can move one join me at
Speaker 1: a friend's opening, but he claims the calendar is already set.
Speaker 1: It's just a couple days. Nick, we'll do something. After
Speaker 1: one night, after a long ride, he comes home later
Speaker 1: than ever. He smells of glowne his but heavier, as
Speaker 1: if masking something. I ask if he wants dinner. He
Speaker 1: says he already ate, but when I look in the
Speaker 1: trash there's nothing but a banana peal and a single
Speaker 1: coffee cup. I now I'm not sleeping. While tossing and turning,
Speaker 1: finding myself replaying every detail. When he's home, I feel
Speaker 1: an aching desire to believe him that this is all
Speaker 1: just a mid thirty's restlessness, not a rupture. I love him,
Speaker 1: I want to be proud of him, but the walls
Speaker 1: feel closer every day. I decide to become more methodical.
Speaker 1: Adam once linked his ride tracking AUP to his phone
Speaker 1: and hoping to compare stats. If I can just chick
Speaker 1: the logs may be silenced, annawing in my brain. But
Speaker 1: his public activity log is full of gaps. The longest,
Speaker 1: most impressive rides are quick unlocked, while the week ends
Speaker 1: that don't fit have no entries at all, a network
Speaker 1: of broken traces, like the breadcrumbs of some one who
Speaker 1: doesn't want to be found. I start getting up earlier
Speaker 1: just to watch him leave. I time his eggsit. Sometimes
Speaker 1: he's gone for hours, sometimes just ninety minutes, always texting
Speaker 1: when out of sight. Once I call Canto Cafe at
Speaker 1: seven arms, feigning in order for box of pastries, just
Speaker 1: to check what time they open. The borister chipper and
Speaker 1: aunuspicious says, we've had regulars in since six thirty. Our
Speaker 1: busy slot is before nine, people like your husband. I
Speaker 1: hang up, feeling sick. The doubt creep into every ritual
Speaker 1: dinner jukes turned careful inquiries. Adam developed a tick checking
Speaker 1: his phone, then leaving it face down on the table.
Speaker 1: His stories grow more general, lusty, dailed, just as usual,
Speaker 1: he says, or nothing special. When I ask how the
Speaker 1: ride went. He showers immediately after coming home, sliding past
Speaker 1: me in the hallway, a sheepish grin on his lips.
Speaker 1: At brunch, One Sunday, Lorna let slip almost innocently. Adam
Speaker 1: looked great in the cycling shorts last week. I blink.
Speaker 1: I thought he rode alone and warned you at your
Speaker 1: pottery class. She frowns quiet, Oh right, I must be
Speaker 1: mixing it up. Then she grins, he should just do
Speaker 1: to Tour de France at this rate. I smile, but
Speaker 1: something inside me folds over. How many more slips will
Speaker 1: I gather before? I ask atrite? Before suspicion curdles into certainty,
Speaker 1: he detail fragmens me a little more. Half convinced I
Speaker 1: am inventing a betrayal, half certain I am watching it
Speaker 1: build in slow motion. I begin to recoil from his touch.
Speaker 1: When Adam kisses my neck at night, I stiffened, then
Speaker 1: catch myself embarrassed by the sudden coolness he notices. One night,
Speaker 1: he asks, are we okay? I should answer, but my
Speaker 1: voice deserts. Me yere just hired from work? I reply,
Speaker 1: burying myself in a pillow. The next week, I find
Speaker 1: a new cycling jersey at the bottom of his gym bag.
Speaker 1: It's not one I bought. The tag is still attached
Speaker 1: to women small from a beautique sports shop on the
Speaker 1: other side of the city. Hugging the jersey. I pause.
Speaker 1: The receipt in the bag is just two days old,
Speaker 1: and there's brunch for two from the same morning. The
Speaker 1: dates match of right. Adam claimed he did alone for
Speaker 1: a while. Second, I think, is he buying me a gift?
Speaker 1: But he never mentions it. The jersey stays in the bag.
Speaker 1: I put it back, fingers trembling. The next morning, he
Speaker 1: slides out of bed before dawn. I hear him rummage
Speaker 1: for keys, moving with coltish anxiety. The perfume sent for
Speaker 1: his shirt still lingers, blending with his body's familiar warmth.
Speaker 1: He kiss as my cheek, promises to text when done,
Speaker 1: and is gone before I can speak. By Sunday, I'm
Speaker 1: a string wind too tight, I ask Callum gently over coffee.
Speaker 1: You still riding with Adam. Haven't seen any group photos
Speaker 1: in a while. Callum looks at me, dark circles under
Speaker 1: his eyes, and his voice trembles just a little. I've
Speaker 1: been skipping, honestly, too much work. Maybe check with Lorna.
Speaker 1: She's the die hard. When Lorna and I talk, her
Speaker 1: answers are just as eVisa. I barely see Adam on
Speaker 1: the rides. He's always with the fast group or talking
Speaker 1: shop about year. No drama nick, He's just on his
Speaker 1: own planet. Lately, the universe contracts. The proof is everywhere,
Speaker 1: and yet infuriatingly in nowhere. I don't scream, I don't confront. Instead,
Speaker 1: each scene with Adam now feels double exposed, a happy
Speaker 1: couple on the surface, a scrambled shadow underneath. I wait,
Speaker 1: I watch for what breaks next, and I wonder if
Speaker 1: the person I've loved for half a decade has already
Speaker 1: spun away from me, humming his own secret adventure while
Speaker 1: I ration out heartbreak day by day in silence. Tuesday
Speaker 1: night drags at slow, as if the city has been
Speaker 1: put on new trains, drinking the windows neon, blurring everything,
Speaker 1: damp and off kild her Adam tex still be late,
Speaker 1: emergency at the office, don't wait up, grab dinner without me.
Speaker 1: For years, that message would have been nothing, a night
Speaker 1: alone and excuse to snuggle on the couch with a
Speaker 1: movie and my laptop. Now at lands sharp a stinger,
Speaker 1: I order dumplings and sit at the dining table, the
Speaker 1: light stein scrolling mindlessly as rain hammers the glass Adam's
Speaker 1: location pings in midtown, right where his office should be.
Speaker 1: But there's another stop. Briefly, a triangulation from a right
Speaker 1: chair receipt, a detour through a neighborhood we never visit.
Speaker 1: Just after nine of them, he comes in after eleven, breathlessly, apologetic,
Speaker 1: damp hair spiked with rain. A paper bag rustles under
Speaker 1: his arm around them. But I grabbed your cinnamon twist
Speaker 1: from that little bakery off Crescent. You ripped about it right,
Speaker 1: He's buttering me off. I want to clutch the bag,
Speaker 1: taste sugar and forgiveness. But the sweetest kurdles the bakery
Speaker 1: he named closes. At seven. We dance our bed tamoroutine,
Speaker 1: brush teeth swish, sides of the bed. Feet tangle for
Speaker 1: a heartbeat. I wait, thinking he'll reach for me. He
Speaker 1: lies still for I had pressed to the pillar. I
Speaker 1: want to blur everything. Do you love me? Are you lying?
Speaker 1: The words chalk their outline in my throat, but don't escape.
Speaker 1: Morning comes with a work meeting, but my real agenda
Speaker 1: is stealth. I poke around the apartment, looking forward. I
Speaker 1: can't quite name Adam's work. Backpack hangs by the door,
Speaker 1: heavier than usual. There are receipts in the utter pocket,
Speaker 1: a protein shake, a mil fortuitt of Vigan bistro, a
Speaker 1: small bouquet purchase. He claims he hates flowers, says there
Speaker 1: allergy bombs. When I check his jim back, the woman's
Speaker 1: jersey is gone. My stomach flips. I try his browser
Speaker 1: history again, still clean, but one auto filling window reveals
Speaker 1: an email draft never sent. It's addressed to Ze. I
Speaker 1: can't open it password protected, but the prevoys shows tomorrow
Speaker 1: usual spot miss that laugh my hand shake Zee. If
Speaker 1: some one new, some one familiar to him Dowey, I
Speaker 1: remember her now saw her once in the background of
Speaker 1: a zoom party as company through, briefly introduced as a
Speaker 1: recently single. Heleae is tequila lover. I close the lap up.
Speaker 1: I want to be wrong. I want all of this
Speaker 1: to be stressed fueled invention. I returned to my client work,
Speaker 1: make myself drag gradients across a mock up, but everything
Speaker 1: is flat, humorless. That night, Lona calls her timing is odd.
Speaker 1: She rarely phones, preferring voice notes or mean bombs. Hey,
Speaker 1: I know it's late, but you okay. Her voice wavers
Speaker 1: almost guilty. I try to sound breezy. Yeah you A
Speaker 1: silence ran hissing through the line, just tired anyway. I
Speaker 1: saw Adam a cantel last Saturday. I meant to say hi,
Speaker 1: but he was outside on the phone. Looked intense. Sorry,
Speaker 1: should have waived. I registered nothing at first, then everything.
Speaker 1: He were there early. I had a pottery delivery to
Speaker 1: drop off. Saw him through the glass. A pause wasn't
Speaker 1: in his gid though, just jeans and a jacket, so
Speaker 1: not coming from a right I don't think so. She
Speaker 1: trails off. I wait for a name, for an admission,
Speaker 1: for anything. Maybe he was waiting for some one. My
Speaker 1: mind scrambles. Thanks for telling me, I say too softly.
Speaker 1: Lorna says love you, Nick and hangs up fast, as
Speaker 1: if she's guilty or protecting me, or both. Adam comes
Speaker 1: home light again. He brings stakeout in a torrent of
Speaker 1: stories about a product manager melting down over a front
Speaker 1: in spreadsheet. I interject, you really must love Kanto. Lorna said,
Speaker 1: she bumped into you there last weekend. He stiffens, just
Speaker 1: a fraction. Oh, she must be confusing me with some
Speaker 1: one else, maybe the week before he keeps him packing
Speaker 1: fruit funny. I'll almost never stop there unless the group's dragging.
Speaker 1: I let the excuse of aperating the steam from the curry,
Speaker 1: but the facts don't match. Later, as wheat crossly get
Speaker 1: on the couch, Adam fiddles with his phone under the pillow,
Speaker 1: he dashes off a text out of habit. I glance
Speaker 1: at the mirror tabot. We sometimes shared a stream movies.
Speaker 1: Message is pain. One is from Zoe, the preview popping
Speaker 1: up before disappearing in a blink. Tomorrow's still on. Can't wait.
Speaker 1: My hand clench is around my fork. I excuse myself early,
Speaker 1: a long day works killing me, and closed the bathroom door.
Speaker 1: I feel a quiver of rage, but mostly grief. I
Speaker 1: stare at my reflection, red eyed, lips pressed flat. I
Speaker 1: need to see for myself. Saturday, I wake in darkness,
Speaker 1: neus electrified. Adam moves quietly, careful not to brush against me,
Speaker 1: his movements precise. For the first time, I feign sleep.
Speaker 1: I hear him tipto through the apartment, the shuffle of papers,
Speaker 1: the quick sap of a zipper. Front door shuts. Silence
Speaker 1: washes in, pulling on leggings and a hoodie, I grab
Speaker 1: my back and exit through the back. I keep to
Speaker 1: the edge of the block, pull s loud in my ears.
Speaker 1: I watch from a block away as Adam loads his
Speaker 1: bike in the car, checks over his shoulder, and drives off,
Speaker 1: not toward the river, not toward the usual bug meat up,
Speaker 1: but northwest s gutting traffic, toward the historic District. I
Speaker 1: catch his daylights in the down gloom, and an irrational
Speaker 1: urge to shout after him clenches my throat. My hands
Speaker 1: feel huge on the steering wheel as I follow half
Speaker 1: a block back, keeping his car in dul sight. I
Speaker 1: almost wish he'd catch me force a confrontation. Instead, he
Speaker 1: pulls into a space cross from Kanto. He steps out,
Speaker 1: smooths his hair under a beanie. He has not brought
Speaker 1: his helmet of gear. The bike stays locked in the trunk.
Speaker 1: I watch, parked incongruously in a delivery bay, heart drumming.
Speaker 1: A few minutes later, a woman walks up, tall, dark,
Speaker 1: curly hair tucked in a pony tail, a red wool coat.
Speaker 1: She hugs Adam. It's not brief. It's not the way
Speaker 1: friends creep before coffee. They linger. I can't see her
Speaker 1: face perfectly until she glances up to laugh at something.
Speaker 1: Adam says, it's so wey. I recognize the lift of
Speaker 1: her eyebrow from company linked in shots. They go inside,
Speaker 1: sit a corner table, facing away from the street. I
Speaker 1: move closer, crossing under a dripping awning, pretending to examine
Speaker 1: flyer's taped to the window fiercemered glass. I watch them
Speaker 1: leaning together, hands brushing on the table top. Adam flattens
Speaker 1: his hand over hers for a moment, then pulls back
Speaker 1: when the server arrives. Still, they sit close, heads lined.
Speaker 1: Adams smile huge and soften away. I haven't seen in months.
Speaker 1: I take three blurred photos. The click of the phone's
Speaker 1: camera is too loud. My hands tremble so hard that
Speaker 1: one image has nothing in frame but motion, just a wild,
Speaker 1: accidental scribble. I don't go inside. Instead, I walk three
Speaker 1: blocks in the raw, punishing wind, circling just far enough
Speaker 1: to see them a marriage again. Forty minutes later, Adam
Speaker 1: holds o his bag. They'll laugh together. They kiss, swift
Speaker 1: buttons of conscious, before she heads one way in. He
Speaker 1: hurries back to the car. My body feels foreign, legs numb,
Speaker 1: hands being bright with cold. I drive home park two
Speaker 1: street away and sit in the car un till they
Speaker 1: ache behind My eyes blind me. There's no new air
Speaker 1: in the apartment. When I come into, just the fussy
Speaker 1: need as HadAM left behind. She is lined up the faint,
Speaker 1: lingering scent of his cologne. I take a nearly scalding shower,
Speaker 1: skin red under the water, I seal in tight. Later,
Speaker 1: I searched so his name online, scrolling through off his photos,
Speaker 1: her Instagram, her linked in. Her profile is more open
Speaker 1: than I expected, photos of hiking week ends, friends and
Speaker 1: wine bars. A blowy snap. At a cycling event where
Speaker 1: Adam's company sponsored a team, I see a group shot
Speaker 1: toy grinning in neon green athelser Adam tuck two people away,
Speaker 1: arm half raised as if reaching for her. The dots
Speaker 1: begin to connect, the cycling interest, the Sadden wave of gear,
Speaker 1: the invisible group, the recurring receipts, every hidden detail coast
Speaker 1: tied her around her name. The next day, I intercept
Speaker 1: a text on the tablet. They're not as quick to
Speaker 1: clear out the fragments as they think. A message from Zoe,
Speaker 1: thank you for the jersey, love waking up with you
Speaker 1: next week and can't come fast enough. Her contact icon
Speaker 1: is the same playful photos on LinkedIn. There's nothing ambiguous,
Speaker 1: no room left for doubt. I spend that night at
Speaker 1: Lana's wine bottle and cork before my coat's even off.
Speaker 1: I don't want to say the words out loud, but
Speaker 1: Lana knows. She chews her lip as I read out
Speaker 1: the text showed the blurry photos. I had a feeling,
Speaker 1: she admits, cringing at her own cowardice. Adam asked if
Speaker 1: he could say he was with me on a ride
Speaker 1: just once. He said, you were getting suspicious. I didn't
Speaker 1: want to get in the middle, Nick, but I I'm sorry.
Speaker 1: I should have told you sooner. I coun't muster anger
Speaker 1: at Lona. Her guild is palpable, tears streaking her mascara. Instead,
Speaker 1: I feel a sharp, bitter relief, confirmation, not just instinct
Speaker 1: tumming in my head, the solidarity of one shared, clean truth.
Speaker 1: At last. I return how late, drained, empty, weirdly focused.
Speaker 1: My phone buzz is out and checking in, asking if
Speaker 1: he should pick up dinner. His tone light, I say no,
Speaker 1: I'm not hungry. We'll work late. I can't bring myself
Speaker 1: to look at him just yet. Knowing what I know.
Speaker 1: The only action left is waiting for the right moment,
Speaker 1: for a conversation we can both run from for Adam
Speaker 1: to look in my eyes and try to explain the unexplainable.
Speaker 1: For the first time in weeks, my mind goes still,
Speaker 1: not a piece, but clear, painful, unavoidable. In the quiet,
Speaker 1: I begin to map out the coming confrontation. Every word
Speaker 1: I'll hold into, every detail I won't let slide, every
Speaker 1: wind I need to expose before it can heal. For Scar.
Speaker 1: I don't sleep for more than a few scattered minutes
Speaker 1: that night, rolling back and forth on lana Is pulled
Speaker 1: out the wine cloin in my mouth. When I close
Speaker 1: my eyes, two images replace each other in steady alternation.
Speaker 1: Adam leaning over a caffee table, smiling that sheepish, private
Speaker 1: smile I once thought was only from me, and the
Speaker 1: message from Zoe, bright and intimate. On our shared screen.
Speaker 1: My phone buzzes twice before sunrise. Adam home soon, you
Speaker 1: out late, and I stare at the lock screen until
Speaker 1: the numbers blur. I imagine the morning routine and furling
Speaker 1: at home, Adam emptying the dishorsher stretch at the counter,
Speaker 1: humming as if nothing's crooked. I can decide if I
Speaker 1: dread the return to our apartment to the familiar scent
Speaker 1: of him, or if that's exactly where I want to
Speaker 1: be to reclaim the thing that is falling apart in
Speaker 1: the night air. By the time I let myself into
Speaker 1: our apartments on already high, Adam is gone. His gearer
Speaker 1: is missing from the hallway. The only sign of occupation
Speaker 1: a mug in the sink, a banan appeal curled on
Speaker 1: the counter. I walk through the room slowly, feeling both
Speaker 1: like an intruder and the legitimate owner. The bed is
Speaker 1: neatly made, except for a hollow in my usual spot.
Speaker 1: The sheets still warm to the touch, as if he's
Speaker 1: only just stepped out. I wonder through the tidy chaos.
Speaker 1: Are all polaroids on the fridge, the crumpled receipt in
Speaker 1: the wastebasket, his favorite playless qued in the bluet of speaker,
Speaker 1: waiting for someone to prissplay. The ordinariness hurts each thing
Speaker 1: in its place, while nothing amased Daddy. I don't call Adam,
Speaker 1: I don't leave a note. I stand at the kitchen
Speaker 1: counter for a full hour shift in my phone from
Speaker 1: pond to palm. The urge to demand and explanation churns
Speaker 1: inside me, equal parts compulsion and dread. What would I
Speaker 1: even say? I know everything and you lied. I know
Speaker 1: who she is, I know about the jersey, the brunches,
Speaker 1: the way you look at her. But saying it out loud,
Speaker 1: making it real. Crossing the threshold feels enormous, catastrophic. Some
Speaker 1: contra of my old self still wants to believe there
Speaker 1: is an explanation, however, meager that can stuff the truth
Speaker 1: back into a box. But Adam's absence buys me no time.
Speaker 1: Consequence creeps closer with each breath. Late that afternoon, as
Speaker 1: I'm staring blankly at my laptop with no intention of
Speaker 1: actually working, my fun vibrates. A calendar invite appears from Adam,
Speaker 1: labeled to dinner Justice. I blink at the time, seventh
Speaker 1: Serupham our usual spot, the Italian place we go for anniversaries.
Speaker 1: It automatic, habitual, almost as if he's telegraphing nothing's changed.
Speaker 1: Lets hold the illusion together a few hours longer. I
Speaker 1: stare at it undecided. My jaw aches from grinding my teeth.
Speaker 1: Before I can reply, Adam sends another message, running late?
Speaker 1: Can you meet me there? It as though he sends
Speaker 1: the shift in my silence and is scrambling to reassert
Speaker 1: contact before I slip further out of orbit. I can
Speaker 1: imagine sitting across from him, trading small talk, pretending to
Speaker 1: want miss otto and dessert. So I ignore the invite, close
Speaker 1: my laptop, and retreat to the bedroom, burrowing into my hoodie.
Speaker 1: The curtains after on as afternoon SLINKs toward dusk. I
Speaker 1: hear Adam come in two hours later, his soft whistle,
Speaker 1: the jangle of his bike loock, the smithsip of nylon.
Speaker 1: He doesn't call out for me, but I hear his
Speaker 1: steps paused by the door of the bedroom, as if
Speaker 1: he is about to say something, then thinks better of it.
Speaker 1: His phone vibrates in the living room. I hear the
Speaker 1: muffled buzz, the sound of him picking up his tone,
Speaker 1: too low for me to make out the words. I
Speaker 1: debate everything. Do I surprise him now, corner him while
Speaker 1: he's distracted? Do I give him another night to feel safe,
Speaker 1: let him ride himself frither into a lie. Either way,
Speaker 1: the certainty is now an acre, pressure that blooms with
Speaker 1: every half heard word, every minute he spends, moving comfortably
Speaker 1: through our shared space. Dinner hour comes and goes. The
Speaker 1: apartment smells of nothing, no candles, no simmering take out.
Speaker 1: Adam's footsteps are careful, deferential. I hear the groan of
Speaker 1: the couches he lies down, the distant hum of his phone.
Speaker 1: When I finally stead out Ridgie with anticipation, he sits
Speaker 1: up straight, starts to speak, then, seeing my face, supports
Speaker 1: I move past him to the kitchen. He didn't cook,
Speaker 1: I say, blankly, a statement that means everything and nothing.
Speaker 1: He lets out one of those half laughs that mask embarrassment.
Speaker 1: Didn't know if he'd be hungry, he says, softly, edging
Speaker 1: from the couches, if preparing to bridge the gap between us.
Speaker 1: I thought you were at Las again, so I so
Speaker 1: you just waited. I stubbed the heel of my hand
Speaker 1: against the countertop. My voice is flatter than nine tend
Speaker 1: and too loud in the small space. He looks at me, wary,
Speaker 1: shoals tensed. Are you okay er? My mouth tastes metallic.
Speaker 1: I'm fine. Adam lingers there, useless at the threshold. I
Speaker 1: let my eye settle on him, not saying more. After
Speaker 1: a beat, he gives up, wandering to the bathroom door,
Speaker 1: shutting with gentle deliberateness. The following day's worse consequences press
Speaker 1: and from all sides. At work, I get cold out
Speaker 1: on a slack rod, my out direct opinion me twice
Speaker 1: for missing color proofs. I apologize there, mew the notifications.
Speaker 1: My email is a stack of unread threads. Some urgent,
Speaker 1: most indifferent friends text in the group asking if Adam
Speaker 1: and I are around for craft cocktails. But I leave
Speaker 1: every message and answered. The distance between my life and
Speaker 1: the people in it grows by the minute. In the evening,
Speaker 1: Adam appears at my studio door. Can we talk? He asks, tentative.
Speaker 1: He's changed after his shower, still damp, hair combed back,
Speaker 1: face open but exhausted, a stale sweetness drifting off him.
Speaker 1: I now recognize as barricle own something not his own.
Speaker 1: I gesture for him to sit, but remain standing it's easier,
Speaker 1: somehow not to share the same plane. Sure, what is it?
Speaker 1: He hesitates, measuring his words. I feel like things are
Speaker 1: off between us lately. Did I do something? I laugh,
Speaker 1: an ugly involuntary sound. That's an interesting question, he shifts
Speaker 1: on the edge of the chair, fiddles with the seam
Speaker 1: of his sweatpats Nick Are you mad? I just I
Speaker 1: feel like you're not here, or you're angry when you are?
Speaker 1: Did I cross a line? I want to tell him
Speaker 1: that's the wrong question. The line is so far behind
Speaker 1: us you can't see it any more. Instead, I say,
Speaker 1: are you seeing someone? Adam? The air collapses. He blinks, slow,
Speaker 1: lips parting, the color draining from his face. He laughs, unconvincingly.
Speaker 1: Where do come from? I hold onto the chair back
Speaker 1: so tightly, my knuckle's white. I say nothing, Just wait.
Speaker 1: Silence expands. Adam's entire posture changes, his legs cull under him,
Speaker 1: his hands twist. A phone vibrates elsewhere in the apartment.
Speaker 1: Neither of us moves Somewhere. An ambience siren kenes outside,
Speaker 1: impossibly distant. He draws a shaky breath. Is this about cycling, Nick, I? No,
Speaker 1: I cut in my voice, sharper, stronger. Now it's about
Speaker 1: Zoe and about y line. Over and over all. The
Speaker 1: proof I've marshaled is ready a battery of receipts, the photos,
Speaker 1: the message from Zoe, Lana's confession, But the most damning evidence.
Speaker 1: Is Adam himself shrinking into this moment and able to
Speaker 1: maintain the confident east that's always carried him through trouble.
Speaker 1: The words land, real and solid between us. Adam looks
Speaker 1: at his hands as if they're no longer attached. The
Speaker 1: flush of gilt is colorless. He is pale, mouth a
Speaker 1: tight line. He shakes his head, but barely. It's not neck.
Speaker 1: It's not what you think. So tell me what it is.
Speaker 1: I say, each syllable, steady, cold. He stares at the floor,
Speaker 1: mouth working. She's just as she's just a friend. O K.
Speaker 1: It was never a protest runs out of steam, don't
Speaker 1: I interrupt, stepping forward, incredulous. But don't pretend. I saw
Speaker 1: you a count of Saturday morning, not in cycling gear.
Speaker 1: I saw you kiss her. I saw all of it.
Speaker 1: Adam mc coyle's I was closing, then lets out aside, deflating.
Speaker 1: O K. He whisper's voice, tiny O ky yes I.
Speaker 1: He swallows, his face, shudders in the yellow lamp lay.
Speaker 1: We've been seeing each other. It started I don't even know,
Speaker 1: after that holiday party. Maybe she went through a divorce.
Speaker 1: We started talking. It helped me too, at first it
Speaker 1: wasn't It wasn't physical. Was it emotional? Then? I flingered
Speaker 1: at him, not because I want the answer, but because
Speaker 1: I want him to feel the wound cranula and exposed.
Speaker 1: He nods, I still pinned to the rug between us. First, Yeah,
Speaker 1: it just got complicated. I felt like I could talk
Speaker 1: to her just about stuff. What's stuff? What couldn't you
Speaker 1: talk to me about? The words tumble out, brittle with
Speaker 1: years of accumulated fear. He starts stammering, his old confidence shredded.
Speaker 1: Everything just got hard Nick with work with us. You're
Speaker 1: always so put together, and I just feel out of step.
Speaker 1: Like if I told you how lost I was, you'd
Speaker 1: just tell me how to fix it. Though we listen.
Speaker 1: I didn't plan for it to happen. It justed. He
Speaker 1: shrugs helplessly. He didn't plan to fuck her. I spit
Speaker 1: the words, watching him flinch. No, yes, I don't. It happened.
Speaker 1: I know it's awful, but it felt like I had
Speaker 1: control over something again, like I could start of her.
Speaker 1: He breaks off, seeing my expression panic overtaking his features.
Speaker 1: I never meant for it to get this far. I
Speaker 1: wanted to stop a hundred times. I look at him,
Speaker 1: this man I have loved, who now looks unrecognizable to me.
Speaker 1: One When would you have stopped when I caught you?
Speaker 1: When everything came crashing down? He erupts, desperate and angry
Speaker 1: at once. Why are you going through my things? Snooping
Speaker 1: in my messages? I know you don't trust me, but
Speaker 1: this is insane. I thought you were above that, you
Speaker 1: could have come to me. I want to laugh. Above
Speaker 1: what protecting myself from being made a fool of It's
Speaker 1: not snooping when you're hiding in entire life from me.
Speaker 1: He collapses back onto the chair head and hands. The
Speaker 1: room pulses with a silence so absoluted aches. I'm sorry, Nick,
Speaker 1: I'm so fucking sorry. You have no idea how much
Speaker 1: I hate myself for this. I let the words hang
Speaker 1: lifeless between us. I ask, slowly, each word deliberate. Was
Speaker 1: it justter? He lifts his head, shakes it. God, yes,
Speaker 1: just Zoe. I swear how long I can barely get
Speaker 1: the question out. My voice is splintered. He sighs, defeated.
Speaker 1: Since January, I guess, But really, these last couple months,
Speaker 1: every week I kept thinking I could end it, But
Speaker 1: the lying was addicted for getting away with it. It
Speaker 1: was like, as long as I wasn't caught, I could
Speaker 1: keep pretending I wasn't. This guy tasting my eyes, but
Speaker 1: I blink them back. He tries to reach my hand,
Speaker 1: but I recoil, recoiling as if from an open flame.
Speaker 1: Don't touch me, I say, harsher than I mean. He
Speaker 1: sits back, nodding, more broken than I've ever seen him.
Speaker 1: I'm so sorry. I was lost, and I didn't want
Speaker 1: to drag you down with me. I thought if I
Speaker 1: kept you out of it, I could fix it all
Speaker 1: before you ever got out. The bitterness that follows is
Speaker 1: volcanic old fears boiling up. You didn't keep me out
Speaker 1: of it. You made me question my own sanity for weeks.
Speaker 1: You made our friends complicit in your secret. You watched
Speaker 1: me every day, pretending while I thought I was losing
Speaker 1: my mind. Adam, His shoulders collapse. There are no more
Speaker 1: defenses left. What do you want me to do? He whispers.
Speaker 1: My own breath is ragged. The question what do I want?
Speaker 1: Spins in an empty place inside me. The decision forms itself,
Speaker 1: inexorably heavy but clear. I want you to leave tonight.
Speaker 1: I can't. I don't even know where to start, except
Speaker 1: with space. For a second, he looks like he wants
Speaker 1: to protest plea, but the look on my face must
Speaker 1: close the door. He unfolds himself. The years of intimacy
Speaker 1: now brittle, useless thing. He stands, hesitates, but says nothing more.
Speaker 1: Adam moves through the room, gathering keys. Wallet. Jack is
Speaker 1: the detritus of a life that has no place here.
Speaker 1: For the moment, he glances at the firsch Magnus, the
Speaker 1: Battet's ceramic dish I made in a pottery class. He
Speaker 1: never remembered the plants drooping on the sill there. Then,
Speaker 1: after nothing further, he slips out, closing the door without
Speaker 1: a backward look. I sag into the nearest chair, breath
Speaker 1: trembling in out in again. The rooms erupt in contract
Speaker 1: around me. I hear the echo of Adam's exit in
Speaker 1: every rustle of the wind through the window. I wait
Speaker 1: a long while before moving. Grief and fury peer at
Speaker 1: each other across the ruins. Night strips the apartment of color,
Speaker 1: yet everything feels over at a stark, honest exposure. I
Speaker 1: switch off the overheads, curl into the corner of the
Speaker 1: couchnees pulled to my chest, sell fowing between my palms
Speaker 1: as if it might grant absolution or understanding. I watch
Speaker 1: for Adam outside, but don't see him. Instead, I listened
Speaker 1: to the dull thump of the city, enduring another cycle
Speaker 1: of disappointment. I think of calling Laana or my mother,
Speaker 1: but the after feels lethal le ROI canstead of support. Eventually,
Speaker 1: if I get up, moving through the apartment with new intent,
Speaker 1: I replace the locks, or at least the de bolt
Speaker 1: Adam always forgets exists. I counsel our joint dinner reservations
Speaker 1: through an impersonal water me to portal that demands additional feedback.
Speaker 1: I enter a change of plans, nothing more. I whether
Speaker 1: Adam's dray belongings. A tangle of chargers is batted, set
Speaker 1: of keys and place them in a paper bag by
Speaker 1: the door, next to a pile of unopened mail addressed
Speaker 1: to us both. I send a text to our close friends,
Speaker 1: the group that's always known us as, and call an Adam,
Speaker 1: letting them know way rift has opened, but I give
Speaker 1: no details. I need the narrative to sharpen, but I
Speaker 1: am not ready to see control. I call my mother,
Speaker 1: who answers on the first ring, voice anxious but determined.
Speaker 1: She offers to drive in to come set things straight,
Speaker 1: but I decline it's easier right now to be alone
Speaker 1: with the facts. I crash on the couch, sleepless, put inert,
Speaker 1: unwilling to disturb the untouched bed. When I get up again,
Speaker 1: sun is only a pale idea on the horizon, and
Speaker 1: all I hear is silence and no clatter of cycling shoes,
Speaker 1: no Adam singing off key. The apartment is suddenly too big.
Speaker 1: I write an email to HR, claiming a family crisis,
Speaker 1: asking for remote work days for the week. My sentence
Speaker 1: is clipped and almost cheerful. I pour coffee and sir
Speaker 1: at my reflection in the microwave door, searching for a
Speaker 1: sign of whom I'm supposed to be next. I don't
Speaker 1: open Adam's text whene'er I have stacked as notifications and
Speaker 1: seen in an answer. After a while, the overroutines reassert themselves. Coffee, reheated, plants, watered,
Speaker 1: the humming of the apartment's eater, But nothing about them
Speaker 1: brings comfort. My handshake as I fill the kettle. Once
Speaker 1: Adam would have lean into steady me or stolen a
Speaker 1: sip teasing. Now every movement feels deliberate and lonely. After
Speaker 1: Noon again, the mail carrier Buzzes delivers a package with
Speaker 1: Adam's name. I toss it next to the pile by
Speaker 1: the door. The mail box is full of intended details,
Speaker 1: the living proof that some part of us still exists,
Speaker 1: even as I tried to will it away. When Lanaitecht's again,
Speaker 1: I don't respond. I want nothing more than to retreat
Speaker 1: from mutual friends, shared alliances, the risk of hearing we knew,
Speaker 1: or you'll be fine or the worst. Forgive him. I
Speaker 1: need decisiveness, edges, not dismudge of comfort or the offer
Speaker 1: of commisseration. I start searching for therapist online booking appointments
Speaker 1: through impassive web forums, were viewing lists and bios. It
Speaker 1: feels strangely transactional, this hunt for someone to help entangle
Speaker 1: an intimacy I once trusted more fiercely than my own instincts.
Speaker 1: I try to eat lunch, fail, the hours quaggerly around
Speaker 1: the empty places Adam used to fill. Each silence, both
Speaker 1: the wound and its own answer. Night returns cold and precise.
Speaker 1: This time I prepare, bolt the door, close the windows,
Speaker 1: set Adam's keys and things on the inside, mad in
Speaker 1: case he dares to return unannounced, though I know he won't.
Speaker 1: I climb under the weighted blanket on the couch, watching
Speaker 1: the city flicker against a soip black sky. I fall
Speaker 1: asleep upright, face pressed into the rough arm mesce knees,
Speaker 1: hug close body of forpress. Sometime in the blue grayhosh
Speaker 1: before dawn, I wake and sit up, mind ringing empty.
Speaker 1: I move through the apartment, touching the backs of framed fortos,
Speaker 1: straightening the books Adam always left uneven, as though re
Speaker 1: aligning the pass could fix the present. I opened the curtains,
Speaker 1: letting the brutal lights build over the city below. I
Speaker 1: pour coffee and nurse it as the minutes bleed by. Then,
Speaker 1: without announcement, I go to the window again, one hand
Speaker 1: pressed to the glass as I watch cyclists reread the
Speaker 1: city streets, Kiao's clicking, Anonymous and knon shells. The sight
Speaker 1: trigger is a clench in my chest, a sharp regret
Speaker 1: that dissolves just as quickly into something like calm. The
Speaker 1: smells of rain and burnt toast the city, and concerned
Speaker 1: with my heart break insistent on its morning. I breathe in,
Speaker 1: slow and sure, feeling the cover reescue of the pain
Speaker 1: through my finger tips. I curl my free hand into
Speaker 1: a fist relax, and it only as the warmth of
Speaker 1: the mug seats into my core. My phone, abandoned on
Speaker 1: the table, lights up with a message from Lana. Coffee
Speaker 1: or just a walk tn another from a coworker dangling
Speaker 1: an easy excuse to talk about anything but this. I
Speaker 1: hesitate for a beat, then answer Laana's text with a
Speaker 1: single word walk. For the first time in days, I
Speaker 1: feel the corner of my mouth to a chappert The
Speaker 1: city is still the same, full of strangers, impossibility, the
Speaker 1: air lastic with the promise of something. If not forgiveness
Speaker 1: of closure, then at least my own forward motion. I
Speaker 1: set the mug in the sink and step away from
Speaker 1: the window.