Speaker 1: The bartender set my gin and tonic down with a
Speaker 1: gentle clink from a friend, he says, nudging the condensation
Speaker 1: beat of glass closer. I blink half out of the
Speaker 1: trivia host rapid fire question about nineteen nineties championship teams, Sorry,
Speaker 1: I ask, Glancing up the bartender, A gentlefaced guy named Andrea,
Speaker 1: who's been working here as long as we've been coming,
Speaker 1: leans forward. It's the usual guy. Eeh. He tits his
Speaker 1: head towards the bar, almost in that way people do
Speaker 1: when they don't want to be obvious. I follow his gaze.
Speaker 1: Nobody looks familiar. There's a group from some local ad
Speaker 1: agency filling the corner booth, A couple of regulars on laptops,
Speaker 1: a young couple flirting with their hands everywhere. Matt's jewell,
Speaker 1: second from the left, sits as empty as my heartbeat.
Speaker 1: A text from Mac glows Delly on my phone. Running late.
Speaker 1: Maybe next time, client things love you. I smile lightly
Speaker 1: at Andrea, Thanks, I say, though I'm not sure who
Speaker 1: I'm thinking any more. The tonic fizzis in my gas,
Speaker 1: carrying that faint smell of lymon juniper. The tables round
Speaker 1: me pulse with easy laughter and side her jokes about
Speaker 1: this neighborhood, in this brewery, local trivia Laren, not tourist Lauren.
Speaker 1: I fight the urge to text Might again, to just
Speaker 1: say it it's Thursday. I'm here. I kept their spot warm.
Speaker 1: But what's the point. He saw my calendar invite, bought
Speaker 1: me coffee this morning, pressed kiss behind my ear as
Speaker 1: I took my vitamins crush it to night. He grinned
Speaker 1: win us a free round. Now I'm alone, squinting at
Speaker 1: Dimbard shop boards. When did we stop being away at
Speaker 1: least on Thursdays? I scrawl half hearted guesses in my notebok.
Speaker 1: What year did the bus three p who first climb
Speaker 1: Kate woe without oxygen? Out of habit? I leave room
Speaker 1: for Matt's answers in the margins, hoping he'll bursten at
Speaker 1: the last round. Arms rais late but incandescent. But he doesn't.
Speaker 1: When his colleagues file in a way of trendy jackets
Speaker 1: and laughing insults, I expect one of them to pause,
Speaker 1: recognize me, maybe say hey, Matt's wife. Instead, they slide
Speaker 1: smoothly toward an empty high top and order around, barely
Speaker 1: glance in my way. I know them from matt Christmas party,
Speaker 1: or at least the most outgoing of them all, and
Speaker 1: Byron they are deep in some rapid fire agency gossip Already,
Speaker 1: I catch myself staring, so I turn away, swirling my
Speaker 1: drink and feeling faintly ridiculous. The lime wedge, which Matt
Speaker 1: would normally joke as a functional garnish, floats alone in
Speaker 1: the bubbles. Why does everyone else seem hidly sure of
Speaker 1: where they belong? To night? The trivier wraps up. I
Speaker 1: tell Andre to close my tavern, then can, and as
Speaker 1: I took him ascarf into my coat, I cashed the
Speaker 1: bart in his eyes again. Matt, not joining you, He asks,
Speaker 1: soft but almost too familiar client stuff, I say, with
Speaker 1: a shrug that attempts slightness. Andre gives a knowing nod,
Speaker 1: and for a moment I wonder how much of our
Speaker 1: routine is visible to everyone else. Somewhere behind me, Matt's
Speaker 1: colleagues are raising their glasses to something. I slip out,
Speaker 1: the wind biting my cheeks, and I realize I didn't
Speaker 1: win us anything except a pocketful of unused answers. Our
Speaker 1: apartment is only four blocks away, A one bedroom. We
Speaker 1: gutted and slowly made our own, covering the dull builder's
Speaker 1: bage with deliberately clashing paint samples. Matt's touch is everywhere,
Speaker 1: the Akeia hack shoff for our records, the revolving wall
Speaker 1: of polaroids from us our first year in the city.
Speaker 1: I should feel comforted stepping inside, but the silence swallows me.
Speaker 1: My reflection in the dark window looks tired, like someone
Speaker 1: who hasn't won a round of trivia in years. My
Speaker 1: phone buzzes as I'm handing my coat. I message from Matt,
Speaker 1: did you go without me? Sorry again, babe? Tomorrow? Will
Speaker 1: do you take out in a movie if you're up
Speaker 1: for it? Long day? I love you. I force myself
Speaker 1: to reply, let's do. I miss you. Good night. I
Speaker 1: re read my message twice, making sure it sounds natural,
Speaker 1: then toss the phone on the kitchen counter beside his
Speaker 1: keys and an unopened letter from our building management. He
Speaker 1: comes in close to midnight. His steps are quiet. He
Speaker 1: moves softly, not wanting to wake me. I pretend to
Speaker 1: be half asleep, listening as he drops his shoes by
Speaker 1: the door and pours a glass of water in the kitchen.
Speaker 1: I can picture exactly how he stands hips cocked, free
Speaker 1: hand rubbing his temple, drinking straight from the tap. I
Speaker 1: used to love this sliver of modanity, finding comfort in
Speaker 1: his living shadows. I hear the clink of his keys
Speaker 1: in a bowl, the unmistakable exhale of relief that comes
Speaker 1: from leaving the outside world at your threshold. In the morning,
Speaker 1: I'll ask the usual questions, how is the campaign, pitch,
Speaker 1: has new client? What's on for Friday? But right now
Speaker 1: and still by the sense of quietness, the comforting hum
Speaker 1: we used to share now mostly echo Friday, I work
Speaker 1: from home, a new insight meeting and an evening consult
Speaker 1: eat most of my day and only around for when
Speaker 1: the pumbing in the new project lines up perfectly in
Speaker 1: the building's supervise. It gives me a rare spot on
Speaker 1: Lauren the do I realize I haven't spoken to Mad
Speaker 1: except for single text. I'm closing up my work laptop
Speaker 1: when he calls, hey, lo, want to do sushi tonight?
Speaker 1: Or are you buried? Not buried? Sushi sounds good? Cool?
Speaker 1: Or on seven there's a lag in his voice, self
Speaker 1: phone delay or maybe too many tabs open in his head.
Speaker 1: I want to say something about last night instead, will
Speaker 1: you be home before or just meet me? There? The pause?
Speaker 1: Actually I should probably meet you. I've got to drop
Speaker 1: in on the agency fix a client proposal. Sorry, you
Speaker 1: know how it is. I murmur that it's fine, it's fine,
Speaker 1: and hang up. But the fineness is threadbare. I spend
Speaker 1: an extra ten minutes redoing mascaret, telling myself it's just
Speaker 1: autumn dead lines, that the city always makes couple scramble
Speaker 1: for quality time. He shows up, laid, carrying the smell
Speaker 1: of rain and something expensive his new cologne. Maybe. He
Speaker 1: orders sick with a shy smile and asks about my project,
Speaker 1: listening with more focus than I expect. Between me rolls
Speaker 1: in the tarot ice cream, his phone buzzes over and over,
Speaker 1: each time with a too bright apology. Some of them
Speaker 1: are work group chats, babe, and some our alley has
Speaker 1: a client kneldown each excuse, where is a little thinner
Speaker 1: after dinner? His arm slides round my waist as we
Speaker 1: step out into a slick street. You're cold, he says,
Speaker 1: pulling me in for a second and temper back into calm,
Speaker 1: letting myself fall into step beside him. We pass the
Speaker 1: gallery district, shiny glass, all dark inside, and he glances
Speaker 1: at the poster taped to the window first Friday's emerging
Speaker 1: voices looks cold. Does in it? He says, but distracted.
Speaker 1: Want to check it out sometime, I offer, sort of
Speaker 1: gently teasing, I might have to actually new client thing.
Speaker 1: Something flickers, He's not meeting My eye is hand tied
Speaker 1: round line. I tuck it away. Papa survived dry spells.
Speaker 1: Cities and careers can swallow evenings and week ends and
Speaker 1: still spit you out together. Right on Saturday, Matta is
Speaker 1: up and out long before I am. I drift into
Speaker 1: the living room with my coffee and see evidence of
Speaker 1: his whirlwind. A half eaten banana, running shoes kit near
Speaker 1: the door, A crumpled email print out about brand activation,
Speaker 1: gallery launch. I flip it over. On the back is
Speaker 1: scribbled call a three p M slash or to wine.
Speaker 1: He's under lining ay twice. I taken at the sip
Speaker 1: of coffee and a tiny stray hope kicks in new business,
Speaker 1: new stress. Maybe if I ask directly, we can solve
Speaker 1: it with a date night or a crazy brunch. Matt
Speaker 1: TeX's at ten running late. Agency needs me love you
Speaker 1: see you tonight. Still, he makes it home for dinner.
Speaker 1: Still he distracts me with a movie I Love his
Speaker 1: Head in my Lapp's credits Roll Monday. On my walk
Speaker 1: home from a late client meeting, I look into our
Speaker 1: corner market for groceries. I run the aisle, a newly
Speaker 1: collide with Alley Matt's team. It all energy and stafferings.
Speaker 1: She's with her boyfriend holding a basket, looking surprised. We
Speaker 1: exchange pleasantries the expected, say hi to Matt for me,
Speaker 1: But there's a micro expression, a drop in her tone,
Speaker 1: a brief lick of her eye past my shoulder that
Speaker 1: makes me feel I've wandered into a private joke. Back
Speaker 1: in our kitchen, stirring rosotto, I put the odd moment aside.
Speaker 1: Mac comes home late, apologizing in a flurry deadline. Low
Speaker 1: Agency's nuts right now, he says, at susanceealy. I almost
Speaker 1: believe him until I see another text come in mid bite.
Speaker 1: He flits his phone over with the worn reaction of
Speaker 1: someone practiced at hiding notifications. The following Thursday, I return
Speaker 1: home to find him in front of the laptop, tubing
Speaker 1: between tabs. He looks up startled when my keys hit
Speaker 1: the ball. Hey you Ellie, I switched for a co worker.
Speaker 1: I drop my bag by the chair and peer over
Speaker 1: his shoulder. An open browser tab reads contemporary or art
Speaker 1: scene opening receptions. I try for casual curiosity. You looking
Speaker 1: for something fun? He shifts. Ah, one of our new
Speaker 1: clients is housing a gallery thing this week networking? You know?
Speaker 1: Should I clear my Friday night. We haven't been to
Speaker 1: an opening in forever. His fingers freeze, then drop from
Speaker 1: the keys. It'll be boring for you, honestly, all shop
Speaker 1: talk maybe next one, he've gone. What your a deadline, right?
Speaker 1: I nod? I'm sure. He starts talking about the gallery
Speaker 1: and a collectic spot near Broadview, and how the client
Speaker 1: is all about experiential branding. The furniture in the room
Speaker 1: seems slightly rearranged. His overnight bag unusually tucked behind the
Speaker 1: TV console, as though he shoved things aside just before
Speaker 1: I walked in that night. He pulls out his suit jacket,
Speaker 1: only worn for big pitches or weddings. He cuts the
Speaker 1: tags from a new shirt, deep blue, subtle print, nothing
Speaker 1: like his usual solid, approachable style. You look sharp, I offer,
Speaker 1: half teasing, and he grins, but too widely. Before he leaves,
Speaker 1: he asks me if I need anything from out that way,
Speaker 1: make a joke about scouting the scene for you. I
Speaker 1: watch him not his tie with ritual care, noticing, maybe
Speaker 1: for the first time, how much more effort he's putting
Speaker 1: into the way he presents. Maybe he's nervous, or eager,
Speaker 1: or just wanting to impress. That's normal, right, I can't
Speaker 1: fully relax that evening. I work late, scrolling half through
Speaker 1: mindless architectural feeds, jumping at every car that passes. He
Speaker 1: comes in after midnight, quietly carries the current of sweet
Speaker 1: but unfamiliar perfume, not the one I weigh, something lighter,
Speaker 1: maybe floral and powdery. I could ask, I think, but
Speaker 1: the moment seems brittle, and my brain does the work
Speaker 1: for me. At events like this, any number of people
Speaker 1: probably hugged him hello, or loaded every one with their
Speaker 1: own sand. He hums as he brushes his teeth, removes
Speaker 1: the scufflings in a little spot of bathroom brightness. Everything okay,
Speaker 1: I call, He spits and grins at me in the mirror.
Speaker 1: I killed it, and the wine tasted like pen is.
Speaker 1: Glad you skipped it. I laugh, putting on my most
Speaker 1: believable performance. Two days later, I attend a networking breakfast
Speaker 1: hosted by one of Matt's mutual acquaintances from Agency Life,
Speaker 1: a lawyer named Prix who led a branding sem and
Speaker 1: not Be both attended last year. The hotel serves watery
Speaker 1: orange juice and slightly burnt courses influorescent lit conference space.
Speaker 1: I drift between industry chats. Eventually I overhear a young
Speaker 1: guy in textured glasses say, did you see Matta Price
Speaker 1: and Crane last Thursday? Seriously holding cork, talking art like
Speaker 1: he owned it. For a second, my breath catches. I
Speaker 1: have a nearby, pretending to fuss with my coffee. Who
Speaker 1: was he with? The guy's companion asks, not sure, some
Speaker 1: woman striking dark hair might be one of his clients.
Speaker 1: They look close. I jot the idea down mentally Price
Speaker 1: and Crane one of the new galleries. Thursday was the
Speaker 1: night Matt claimed he was meeting the client, but he
Speaker 1: never mentioned who he spent time with. The Rest of
Speaker 1: the weak rains by inn a blow. Matt and I
Speaker 1: have lap mostly at night, brushing teeth in parallel. Two
Speaker 1: bodies moving through the same apartment like polite guests. He
Speaker 1: skips trivia again Sunday morning, the most sacred of our
Speaker 1: shared traditions, Bagel's black coffee across wood and beded. He demers,
Speaker 1: I thought I'd squeezing a quick run finished that deck
Speaker 1: for Thompson, he says, already tying his shoes. Last year
Speaker 1: he'd make bad coffee shop puns while filling seven down.
Speaker 1: Now he heads out, leaving the paper untouched in my mug,
Speaker 1: cooling by the headboard. By Wednesday, I noticed Matt has
Speaker 1: started ducking out of group plans with me, offering vague
Speaker 1: excuses that always seem to involve the gallery client or
Speaker 1: a crisis with a new campaign. One evening, a tidy
Speaker 1: up the apartment, gathering laundry. In the pocket of Matt's light,
Speaker 1: we peek out a gift from our first anniversary. I
Speaker 1: find a crumpled receipt from Espressomanda, a bet coffee shop
Speaker 1: in the heart of the gallery district. It's time stump
Speaker 1: seven forty three p m. The prior Thursday. Two espresso
Speaker 1: dapios twelve dollars and a small chocolate corsa. We haven't
Speaker 1: set foot in Espresso Mondo for months. We always joke
Speaker 1: about their artfully bum beans. I wonder if Matt was
Speaker 1: simply trying to impress a client. Business lunches and after
Speaker 1: hours meetings are ordinary in his world, but it's unusual.
Speaker 1: He's careful, not the type to splurge without cause. An
Speaker 1: espresso for two maybe a pre event picked me up. Still,
Speaker 1: as I fold his shirt, discomfort begins to collect lesatic
Speaker 1: that evening. I mention it trying for playful while you're
Speaker 1: keeping up with the caffeine scene without me. I saw
Speaker 1: your espresso splurge. He studies me for an instant too long.
Speaker 1: Oh yeah, client stuff needed to be functional after a
Speaker 1: crazy Thursday. Didn't want a sund boring. His grin crumbles
Speaker 1: and he glances away, tugging at a calf. The whole
Speaker 1: night was super last minute. Those arts to type stew
Speaker 1: everything on adrenaline. Well, tell me if you find better
Speaker 1: beans than you're usual. I toss back, smiling, but inside
Speaker 1: I wonder whom he was sharing chop could cross us with.
Speaker 1: One night, after Matt leaves for a planning dinner that
Speaker 1: turns into another late one, I open his laptop. He's
Speaker 1: not secret of never has been, so I tell myself.
Speaker 1: I just need a peek at the agency's new products,
Speaker 1: but the browser history is empty. Waped, I stare at
Speaker 1: the blinking cusset in the blank search box. Why would
Speaker 1: he clear it? What? Am I afraid I'll find? The
Speaker 1: next evening, he comes home later than ever, but with
Speaker 1: a bottle of Sharers and too many cheese kicks from
Speaker 1: the French baker in Neo's office. He plops on to
Speaker 1: the couch beside me, legs nudging mine, scrolling through Netflix options.
Speaker 1: His warmth is easy as always. I try to savor it,
Speaker 1: but there's a queasy new awareness. I want to trust him,
Speaker 1: but the more he tries to charm me, the more
Speaker 1: I wonder what gets left and mentioned. On a rare
Speaker 1: evening off we meet for dinner with Matt's agency team
Speaker 1: at a stylish Italian restaurant. The wine paws freely. The
Speaker 1: table rolls with stories of pitch disasters and campaign winds
Speaker 1: as the server sets are posterodaan. Matt's colleague, by ronteases
Speaker 1: Matt and his arts muse there inseparable these days. I
Speaker 1: swear we're hiring art history majores to keep up this laughter.
Speaker 1: But Matt only smirks and shakes his head. Careful by ron,
Speaker 1: or I'll tell your wife about your sculpture phase. The
Speaker 1: energy pivots and the conversation quickly moves on. I chuckle along,
Speaker 1: but the words burrow deeper, artsy muse not just a client,
Speaker 1: then we're just an agency joke. Later, as we walk home,
Speaker 1: I reap late exchange. Matt's hand is warm in mine,
Speaker 1: but he walks faster than usual, pulling me along as
Speaker 1: if the quicker we get home, the less likely I
Speaker 1: am to ask about muses and ah. He mentions the
Speaker 1: agency's sudden focus on Nought's marketing. It's just in it.
Speaker 1: We're testing high value if you can crack it, he says,
Speaker 1: face angled away, voice clipped. I say, maybe I could
Speaker 1: pop by for one of your events, meteor mues, I
Speaker 1: say it lightly, trying to read his reaction. Matt Slowe's
Speaker 1: smiling just enough to seem casual, but the strain around
Speaker 1: his eyes honestly, it mayhem at those things. He squeezes
Speaker 1: my shoulder, steering me gently across the crosswalk. But sure,
Speaker 1: some time if you want. He's careful with his answers.
Speaker 1: New for a while, I second guess myself. I might
Speaker 1: chasing ghosts? Is all this just the city pulling us
Speaker 1: in separate directions. When I share my frustration with maya
Speaker 1: new friend and the wife of Matt's business partner, over
Speaker 1: brewerritas at a fruit truck, she cocks her head half
Speaker 1: concern and half conspiratorial amusement. I actually saw Mad at
Speaker 1: a gallery showing last weekend, she says. He was deep
Speaker 1: in conversation with some seriously striking woman. Looked into hands.
Speaker 1: But you know, art people, big hand gestures for you.
Speaker 1: Go into the next show. Maybe I'll tag along a smile,
Speaker 1: trying not to sound offensive. That might have been a client.
Speaker 1: Matt's getting really into the art stuff, she laughs. He
Speaker 1: looked like he belonged. You should see him work a
Speaker 1: room anyway. Let me know next time. I'll bring wine
Speaker 1: that night over dinner. I circle toward it. May, I
Speaker 1: saw you at a gallery shore last weekend. Who were
Speaker 1: you with? Matt barely looks up from his phone. New client.
Speaker 1: I'm onboarding Nania something or other. Big deal for the agency.
Speaker 1: It was mostly logistics. To trust me, you'd have been
Speaker 1: bored out of your mind. He flashes a smile to
Speaker 1: cut his annoyance, but it sits poorly. I try not
Speaker 1: to push, but something in the way his eyes clicked
Speaker 1: quickly to his sets my jaw days fold over. I
Speaker 1: try to remind myself of our history. Six years ago,
Speaker 1: a pop up barn near our first apartment, Matt found
Speaker 1: me sitting alone, furiously sketching elevations on a cocktail napkin
Speaker 1: design crisis or bad date that he'd ask looking over
Speaker 1: my shoulder. I'd answered structural integrity, and he'd fallen in
Speaker 1: step beside me, making clever jokes about plumb lines and
Speaker 1: city code until I stopped fighting my own shyness. We
Speaker 1: spent the summer finding the best doll at Toccos and
Speaker 1: dancing in each other's living rooms, both of us a
Speaker 1: little amazed by the way our crook seemed to slot together.
Speaker 1: When I got the lead architect bump and the chance
Speaker 1: to relocate, he was the first to pack boxes, planning
Speaker 1: our scouting trips. Let's build the life we want, new city,
Speaker 1: new traditions. We did a d y painting late night,
Speaker 1: a key expeditions, hand drawn calendars of quirky city events.
Speaker 1: Matt was all momentum. I was grounding. He showed me
Speaker 1: jokes and late night food. I showed him the quiet
Speaker 1: pleasure of two mugs touching in the coffee tray. Crossroad
Speaker 1: dancers spoken aloud, I miss at. I started making more
Speaker 1: of an ft, leaving notes on the mirror, inviting him
Speaker 1: for impromptu lunches, even suggesting a weekend getaway. Each time
Speaker 1: he hesitates, recommends me both rest or coop energy for
Speaker 1: the work marathon. He encourages me to enjoy some downtime.
Speaker 1: While he never looks like crazy, it's not just that
Speaker 1: he's busy. He's carving out solitude, insisting I need mine
Speaker 1: to Each excuse calcifies into a wall. One Thursday, on
Speaker 1: my way home, I s bought him across the street
Speaker 1: from that gallery my I A mentioned. He's outside, head
Speaker 1: bent close to a woman, long dark hair, crimson scarf,
Speaker 1: angular jacket. They both laugh. She puts a hand on
Speaker 1: his arm. I freeze. They're close close enough that if
Speaker 1: I were across that space with a client, I'd be
Speaker 1: careful not to signal intimacy. Before I can move, Matt
Speaker 1: checks his watch, says something, and peels away, jogging toward
Speaker 1: a waiting richer. I cross the street. The woman lingers
Speaker 1: a minute, then heads inside. I peer into the gallery windows,
Speaker 1: but she's soon absorbed in a knot of guests. My
Speaker 1: chest is tight, heavy, awkward. I tax Matt, did avent
Speaker 1: go well? He replies instantly, yep. Heading home? Want me
Speaker 1: to pick up anything? The rest of the night, I
Speaker 1: tell myself there could be any explanation A fall asleep,
Speaker 1: wanting to believe mine. Saturday, he spends most of the
Speaker 1: day in a coffee shop, finalizing a campaign. In the afternoon,
Speaker 1: I run errands and half by accident, find myself stopping
Speaker 1: at Spressomondo. I buy two cortados, an almen coarser and
Speaker 1: a magazine, wandering slowly past the gallery scene on my
Speaker 1: walk home. No sign of Matt, but my receipt looks
Speaker 1: eerily like the one I found in his coat. What
Speaker 1: would I have thought seeing me carrying two coffee sola
Speaker 1: that night? Scrolling Instagram before bed, I notice by Ron's
Speaker 1: story chaotic freeze frames from a gallery event, shots of
Speaker 1: guests laughing, a blood image that includes Matt mone cluster
Speaker 1: along the back wall. He looks happy, glass raised, arms
Speaker 1: slung casually over someone's chair. The tag line reads agency
Speaker 1: slays hash Art World, Part of me wants a message
Speaker 1: by run an ask, but I don't. As these little
Speaker 1: clues pile up, each one could be nothing, or they
Speaker 1: could be fragments of a pattern. I can't quite grasp
Speaker 1: A vast lay between two internal voices. One says, be
Speaker 1: grown up, give his base work. Stress happened? He knew
Speaker 1: this about agency life. The other is sharper. Why all
Speaker 1: the secrecy? Why is it suddenly so easy for him
Speaker 1: to be somewhere I can't see. On Sunday, he proposes brunch,
Speaker 1: but councils at the last minute. Client fall up. Babe,
Speaker 1: I owe you. I eat pancakes alone, sirr up too sweet.
Speaker 1: Tuesday night, I find Matt pacing the living room, phone
Speaker 1: pressed to his ear for slow and urgent. I hear
Speaker 1: him say, no, don't, I'll call you hang on. When
Speaker 1: he sees me, he brightens instantly. Sorry agency suft by
Speaker 1: runs melting down, But he doesn't take the call again,
Speaker 1: just flips through TV channels at random. I want to
Speaker 1: press him, but I falter. I set up my laptop
Speaker 1: near him and hope he'll relax. He doesn't. His phone
Speaker 1: stays close, every buzz, sending his hand darting for it.
Speaker 1: At one point he sighs audibly. I ask, is everything okay?
Speaker 1: He nods too quickly, not looking up from his screen.
Speaker 1: Wednesday morning, I open the agency's website during a break
Speaker 1: at work, half hoping his new project is highlighted. Maybe
Speaker 1: it'll be so DAZZLING'L console myself for this. Driving the
Speaker 1: banner shows an event faces kraud the back of a
Speaker 1: woman's head, long, dark hair, crimson scarf. I have her
Speaker 1: over the photo, searching for confirmation, but there's nothing. I
Speaker 1: skull through blog posts and team shout outs, nothing conclusive,
Speaker 1: just a flicker of discomfort. That night, he's home early
Speaker 1: for the first time in weeks. He offers to make dinner,
Speaker 1: digging out the posta machine for Homide Ravioli, our treat
Speaker 1: for snowd and week ends only. We dance in the kitchen,
Speaker 1: a little stiff at first, but by the third class
Speaker 1: of wine, our laughter has a genuine edge. Again. For
Speaker 1: the briefest moment, I wonder if I invented my worry,
Speaker 1: if this is simply the ebb and flow of adulthood
Speaker 1: and hard deadlines. As we carry the dishes to the sink,
Speaker 1: Matt kisses the side of my neck. More of this suin,
Speaker 1: he promises, Let's reset. I let myself believe it for
Speaker 1: ten hours. The next morning holds its own reality. Matt
Speaker 1: leaves only new suppressed. I spend my day on site, visits,
Speaker 1: phone calls, the usual wool of minor fires to extinguish.
Speaker 1: By evening, I get a text stuck late agency drinks
Speaker 1: possible client drop by. I consider asking if I can join,
Speaker 1: but I hesitate. Why am I even asking for to
Speaker 1: monitor to belong? Instead? I text MAYA still down for
Speaker 1: that gallery thing, she replies instantly, Always text me details.
Speaker 1: Let's make it a night. I propose the next agency
Speaker 1: hosted event, the one Mat has mentioned in passing. That night,
Speaker 1: when he gets home, a float the idea. Careful not
Speaker 1: to seem confrontational. Meyra and I want to see what
Speaker 1: all the bus is about. He call, with us crashing
Speaker 1: the opening next week. He looks caught for a split second,
Speaker 1: then recovers, of course, it'll be fun. Galleries love a crowd.
Speaker 1: His ease is reassuring. Maybe my suspicion is misplaced. We
Speaker 1: make plans Thursday eight gallery District. The night of the event,
Speaker 1: I wear my architectural black a geometric necklace boots that
Speaker 1: say Ebilon Meyer is waiting outside. When I arrive, She
Speaker 1: hugs me, grinning, her hair wildly curly in the wet air, rowdy,
Speaker 1: she chirps, sliding her arm through mine inside. Matt is
Speaker 1: a star. He floats from person to personalties agency fooks, galorous,
Speaker 1: radiating a charisma that's both infectious and intimidating. When he
Speaker 1: spots May and me, his smile is bright, genuine. He
Speaker 1: looped an arm around my shoulders, introduces us as my
Speaker 1: brilliant wife and our friend Meyer future queen of the
Speaker 1: art circuit. An arrow inn. I watch him move through
Speaker 1: the room. He always had this ability. The warning tecutives covered,
Speaker 1: making a crowd feel scene. Mine nudges me. He's in
Speaker 1: his element. For a second, I feel nothing but pride.
Speaker 1: Then a woman approaches, striking mid thirties, dark hair and
Speaker 1: metallic earrings and air of mischievous confidence. You must be Lauren,
Speaker 1: she says, a man MAT's told me or the reason
Speaker 1: he still saying during launches. Her handshake is warm, assertive.
Speaker 1: Matt joins us, arm resting on the back of my chair,
Speaker 1: introducing Anya as our gallery's secret weapon. The conversation flows,
Speaker 1: our funding, city politics, travel plans. Any tension I carried
Speaker 1: to solves slowly. Anne is fascinating and earnest about her work,
Speaker 1: seemingly drilled to finally meet the fabled spause. For a while,
Speaker 1: my anxious narrative short circuits. I sip wine, listen to
Speaker 1: matchoke with colges, watches, he checks, and with meet one another.
Speaker 1: Drink the still with me. The world seems exactly as
Speaker 1: it should be. Later, I drift to the restroom. On
Speaker 1: my way back, I pass Matt and Anya at the
Speaker 1: far end of the corridor, hunched together over what looks
Speaker 1: like a gallery floor plan, talking fast, the hand sketching
Speaker 1: lines in the air. It's all the intensity of late
Speaker 1: stage collaboration. I pause, watching their body language is open, focus,
Speaker 1: not flirtatious, as far as I can tell. As I approach,
Speaker 1: Mac glances up, waves me over. We were just plodding
Speaker 1: world domination. Annie laughs, rolling up her plans. Lauren remind
Speaker 1: him he needs to sleep Occasionally. Matt invites Ma and
Speaker 1: Me to join them for drinks after. In the bass
Speaker 1: amber hued haze, there's an easy floor to the conversation.
Speaker 1: I lean into Matt's shoulder, enjoy his warmth, his attentive jokes,
Speaker 1: the familiar private language that emerges only in the safety
Speaker 1: of shared company. For the first time in weeks, I
Speaker 1: feel like I've been invited back inside. We walk home together,
Speaker 1: slightly tipsy, arms linked at the door. Mac kisses me
Speaker 1: Linger for he had pressed to mine. Happy now, Tea whispers.
Speaker 1: I nod, sinking into the simple joy of belonging. But
Speaker 1: sleep only erases some doubts. At six a m I
Speaker 1: waked her text for Meyer. So Matt leave right after you?
Speaker 1: Wasn't he heading home with you? My exhaustion cloud's memory.
Speaker 1: Did Matt save for client, wrap up like he's head?
Speaker 1: Or was there more? And why didn't I wait up
Speaker 1: for him? After the event? A lie in bed, staring
Speaker 1: at the ceiling. Everything in the past twelve hours nudges
Speaker 1: me to relax. Introductions, inside jokes, a wife proudly showcased,
Speaker 1: but with each minute the warmth drains. I scrolled through
Speaker 1: my calendar, looking at the block of colored tabs for trivia,
Speaker 1: coffee runs, copper nights. They are emptier than they used
Speaker 1: to be. The following week, I resolved to put it
Speaker 1: behind me. No more second guessing, not after the way
Speaker 1: Matt included me last night, but krack seep in while
Speaker 1: reviewing our bank's statements for the quarterly budget, punctuated by
Speaker 1: Matt's tokenure, so much better at this, babe. I see
Speaker 1: several charges to cocktail anges and restaurants near the gallery district,
Speaker 1: all on knights. Matt was working late at the office.
Speaker 1: A fewer beautique hotels I know offer exclusive artist events.
Speaker 1: I check myself. Maybe all agency shmoves with high end dinners.
Speaker 1: Maybe it isn't strange. I mention it at breakfast. Maddest
Speaker 1: crawling through emails, sipping cold brew. Your social budget makes
Speaker 1: mine look tame. I joke, trying to sound light cocktail
Speaker 1: bars every other night. He looks up defensive cost of
Speaker 1: doing business. You want to bring in creative clients, you
Speaker 1: have to be in creative places. You know that. He
Speaker 1: pushes his phone aside for he's a hair too sharp.
Speaker 1: I do, I say, but that's how mistakes happen, runaway,
Speaker 1: spending double entries. He nods, but I sense him withdrawing
Speaker 1: the tight lines and his jaws set. That night, I
Speaker 1: lie awake strolling throughound his public art page. She's curated
Speaker 1: elevated photos of insulations, party snaps with artsy friends, glowing
Speaker 1: reviews of her new exhibition. A few shots from recent
Speaker 1: week ends. Crowd of gallery floors, intimate dinners, moody bar lighting,
Speaker 1: no sign of Matt, but people's faces blur, and sometimes
Speaker 1: all you hear is laughter over warmth and jin For
Speaker 1: the first time, I press message love your work at
Speaker 1: the opening. We'd love to chat about our clubs. Sometime
Speaker 1: I hit s end heart racing. She responds instantly, bright
Speaker 1: and chatty. We exchange flurries about her process, gallery schedules,
Speaker 1: citty must seas. Then mid thread comes a line, so
Speaker 1: glad Matt introduced us. He kept telling me his wife
Speaker 1: is the best ie for detail. Ask him about our
Speaker 1: festival trip last month. He still hasn't recovered from the rainstorm.
Speaker 1: There's a grinning emoji. I stare blood rushing in my ears.
Speaker 1: Festival trip last month, Matt said he was away at
Speaker 1: a marketing conference free towns over. I scroll through the
Speaker 1: conversation back and forth. Every emoji suddenly suspects My anxiety spikes.
Speaker 1: I' draft a reply, how up will do? And delete it?
Speaker 1: Work that week feels like treading water Matt's energy is
Speaker 1: for nettic, anxious, not quite bright. He suggests we each
Speaker 1: take a solow weekend to decompress breast from the ground.
Speaker 1: He offers it gently, but behind his words, I sense
Speaker 1: a preparation for absence, for not having to answer to me,
Speaker 1: for finally being able to fall off the grid. My
Speaker 1: response is sharp. Is this about work or do you
Speaker 1: just not want us together? He startled, arms half raised,
Speaker 1: face hardening at the accusation. You can't control when I
Speaker 1: need time alone, Lauren, this is burnt out, not a
Speaker 1: marital crisis. I let it drop, but my days are
Speaker 1: wire tight. Myer invites me for drinks, and I nearly counsel,
Speaker 1: but then decide I need her. Need to hear myself
Speaker 1: out loud. Sitting across from her at a crowded bar,
Speaker 1: city lights reflecting in her glasses, I find the words.
Speaker 1: I think something's happening with Matt and his gallery work,
Speaker 1: something he won't tell me. She listens. I soft hand
Speaker 1: resting on mine, You know, she says slowly. I saw
Speaker 1: iippost a story last week look like a private event
Speaker 1: after hours at broad View. Matt was in the background.
Speaker 1: I think, or some one who could be him. That night,
Speaker 1: as Sir je Anne is Instagram again, this time more closely.
Speaker 1: Her story is a fleeting gallery pan, a burst of laughter,
Speaker 1: a hand reaching for a wine glass foz. The camera
Speaker 1: pans and catches barely for half a second. Matt's amistakable
Speaker 1: profile is a laugh that small dimple arm draped over
Speaker 1: the back of a velvet chair. The same night he
Speaker 1: told me the agency was hosting emergency pitch on site.
Speaker 1: I sit in the dark, barely breathing, as the realization
Speaker 1: settles in not a bloom but a slow spreading stain.
Speaker 1: The evidence is everywhere, in gaps and fragments, in details
Speaker 1: I wish I couldn't see. Still, even as I put
Speaker 1: the pieces together, even as my heart pounds for some explanation,
Speaker 1: I can't quite make myself believe the central, devastating fact.
Speaker 1: Not yet. That night I listened to Matt in the
Speaker 1: next room. Is cheerful voice carrying over a phone call,
Speaker 1: his laughbitch just a little too loud, while the wall
Speaker 1: between us suddenly feels not like dry wool, but the
Speaker 1: thick stone of something ancient, moving and cold. My sleep
Speaker 1: is broken and shallow. The kind n leaves you more exhaustive.
Speaker 1: When you wake the next morning, I move mechanically shower
Speaker 1: of coffee, email, sight plans splayed out across the kitchen table.
Speaker 1: I can't even recall if Mat kissed me goodbye. Maybe
Speaker 1: he didn't. I'll listen for the sound of his keys
Speaker 1: in a ball after he's gone. Craving some child is
Speaker 1: proof that he still orbits around the facts of our
Speaker 1: life together. On the way to work, I pick up
Speaker 1: a coffee I don't taste and sink into the back
Speaker 1: seat of a rod chair, Turning each moment over in
Speaker 1: my mind as of gentle examination might cause the darker
Speaker 1: edges to fade. I'm make a mentalist. Bank's calories, names, excuses,
Speaker 1: hoping its neat columns can contain the wide shape of
Speaker 1: my anxiety. Round eleven, my phone buzzes. It's a notification
Speaker 1: from our shared calendar. Matt has added a gallery client
Speaker 1: lunch one p m. Juno's cafe. No invitation, no flourish,
Speaker 1: not even a double check with me about using the
Speaker 1: calendar we both curated for our lives. Here, I open
Speaker 1: my own plans for the afternoon and spot the ovalap
Speaker 1: My sight checking is two blocks from Juno's I almost laugh,
Speaker 1: What are the odds? By one? I'm walking up the
Speaker 1: block clipboor tucked in my arm, pretending I don't feel
Speaker 1: like a spy in my own neighborhood. Juno is a
Speaker 1: big plate glass maximalis green wall, pepper, little marble tables
Speaker 1: pressed nearly flush in a window bay. I slow as
Speaker 1: I approach mad Is there a mistakable jacket off sleeves
Speaker 1: Rolt had bent conspiratorily across from a woman whose hair
Speaker 1: is up in a messy knot. She last touching her neck,
Speaker 1: and I see her profile. Ititagna. Mat glances at his phone,
Speaker 1: may be checking the time, may be making sure I'm
Speaker 1: nowhere near by. He leans in, voice too cried for
Speaker 1: me to hear through glass. They look in Tom. It
Speaker 1: is too clinical a word at ease? Or is that
Speaker 1: simply what professional closeness looks like. I try not to
Speaker 1: ascribe romans to every smile, every angle of a shoulder.
Speaker 1: My heart is pounding. I keep myself moving duck into
Speaker 1: the shop next door and pretend to browse candles for
Speaker 1: a full five minutes before the pressure becomes too much.
Speaker 1: On my way out, I risk a glance Mat, and
Speaker 1: any are gone. Back at the office, I'm short with
Speaker 1: a supplier and even shorter with my junior associate than
Speaker 1: immediately regret it. I catch myself drawing MAT's face absent
Speaker 1: mindedly in the margins of my note, but an old
Speaker 1: habit from happy years. At five, I get a text
Speaker 1: from Matt late one again. Sorry, can't be helped, monsieur.
Speaker 1: I text back anything I can help with He replies,
Speaker 1: you help by being my sanity. Love you. That night,
Speaker 1: I heat up left of a rosatto and shower off
Speaker 1: the city's crime. Sitting cross legged on the couch with
Speaker 1: my dinner in a bowl because it's easier than setting
Speaker 1: the table for one. I stare at our wedding photo
Speaker 1: on the wal MAT's wild rakish grin, his bowt high,
Speaker 1: crooked me half laughing at some dirk the photographer snapped
Speaker 1: in the middle of that day. Feels us operrational, naw,
Speaker 1: like a portrait of people I once briefly knew. Matt
Speaker 1: gets home close to midnight, the sorrou smell of wine
Speaker 1: mixing with yes again, that elusive perfium, floral and sharp
Speaker 1: with a hint of spice. I meet him at the door.
Speaker 1: You are laid again. I say, not quite, managing nonchalance.
Speaker 1: He drops his bag and rubs his jaw. We lost
Speaker 1: track of time. Annie is introducing me to all her
Speaker 1: grand connections. Don't get me started on oah, it's politics.
Speaker 1: He leans in to kiss me, and I step away,
Speaker 1: pretending to clear his bag aside. He hesitates briefly, then
Speaker 1: heads for the shower. In a steamy half light of
Speaker 1: the bath room, he talks about a new project and
Speaker 1: immersive installation in a building not yet so owned for
Speaker 1: public events. It's exhausting, but exhilerting, he says, voice echoings slightly.
Speaker 1: He asks, do you think we'll warehouse spaces? Can ever
Speaker 1: feel warm? I can't help myself, depends on whose inside.
Speaker 1: I say. My tone sharper than I intend. He falls silent.
Speaker 1: I regret it, but say nothing. Saturday, I try to
Speaker 1: reclaim normalcy with a long walk. I text Mat and
Speaker 1: suggests we meet at the park, a mutual favorite, with
Speaker 1: the promise of food trucks. He begs off being dragged
Speaker 1: to pop up brunch for Enna's artists collective, pure work,
Speaker 1: not fun promise. I almost ask to join, but the
Speaker 1: words falter. I make do with the cortado on a bench,
Speaker 1: reading the same page of my book four times at home.
Speaker 1: That evening, a brown envelope has slipped through our male
Speaker 1: swat a sleek invitation to emergents new voices in city
Speaker 1: art in gold script. It reads VIP Reception Matt Chedler
Speaker 1: plus guest. I study it, flip in the card over
Speaker 1: and over, a wondering when Matt planned to mention this.
Speaker 1: Maybe it's in his calendar. Maybe I missed the invite.
Speaker 1: I tuck it into the shelf by the door. That night,
Speaker 1: when Matt returns earlier than usual, a small mercy, I
Speaker 1: hand him the invite. This looks exciting. He glances at it.
Speaker 1: Too casual. Here it's the Big One Gallery's first major
Speaker 1: partnership with the agency. You should come if you want to,
Speaker 1: no pressure. I say yes, too quickly, greedily. I want to.
Speaker 1: He nods, relief fluttering behind his eyes, or maybe calculation.
Speaker 1: He grabs a beer from the fridge and asks if
Speaker 1: I want to watch anything in particular, I'll watch whatever
Speaker 1: you want. I reply. We settle into a Crown documentary.
Speaker 1: He makes fun of the narrator's tone and pretend to
Speaker 1: laugh along For a few minutes with fit together hits
Speaker 1: and knees and shoulders, making sense again. Later, I wake
Speaker 1: to find a bed beside me, empty covers, thrown back lights,
Speaker 1: eats from under the closed bathroom door. I listen to
Speaker 1: water running, the faint sound of shuffling. I want to
Speaker 1: call his name, but remain silent. Eventually the water stopped
Speaker 1: and Matt returns, but I feign sleep. His phone buzzes
Speaker 1: quietly twice on the night's tent. He sighs audibly, screen
Speaker 1: lighting up his face, then sets it to silent in
Speaker 1: the darkness. I count my breaths in out come com
Speaker 1: com The following Monday, I attend to climb lunch near
Speaker 1: the river side and take the long way back, passing
Speaker 1: the row of hotels where Mount's agency sometimes hosts events.
Speaker 1: Out front, stands Anya leaning into a cab door, laughing
Speaker 1: for impressed to her ear. A moment later, Madam urges
Speaker 1: behind her, wearing the navy blazer, talking animatedly with his hands.
Speaker 1: He hands her something as slim folder maybe print proofs,
Speaker 1: may be nothing, and she tucks it into her toat,
Speaker 1: touching his shoulder as if it's a habit. He doesn't
Speaker 1: see me. I don't let myself slow down. My work
Speaker 1: that week is scattered a fast of competence, all punch
Speaker 1: lists and digital mockups, while my mun tugs at these
Speaker 1: first seams. By now I'm actively searching for reasons, straining
Speaker 1: to catch patterns. Matt's agency drops a pro celebrating in
Speaker 1: the whole creative team after a successful campaign, but not
Speaker 1: a single tag of photo includes him. I scroll endlessly,
Speaker 1: searching for clues, double checking if maybe he's just behind
Speaker 1: the camera, but I find nothing more. One post from
Speaker 1: Anny interior shot gallery light flooding, a row of paintings,
Speaker 1: holds a wine glass in the foreground, and what might
Speaker 1: be Matt's hand, thumb scar and all resting on the bar,
Speaker 1: but nothing is certain. I feel like a conspiracy theorist
Speaker 1: reading whispers into pixels. I test my own boundaries that Friday,
Speaker 1: waiting until the exact time Mat told me he be
Speaker 1: at its strategy had told nearby. Then, with a clumsy
Speaker 1: rush of adrenaline, I walk past a beautique hotel's lounge
Speaker 1: through frosty glass. Music thumps and a catch flashes hotwork chatter,
Speaker 1: a spill of light in one corner. Seated just inside
Speaker 1: my line of sight, Matt leans an animated conversation with
Speaker 1: Anya and two unfamiliar men. He throws a hand up
Speaker 1: in exasperation, Anna laughing her fingers on the rim of
Speaker 1: her glass. I pass on my pulse, laud in my ears, ego, pots, guilt,
Speaker 1: and relief. He didn't see me. I didn't see enough
Speaker 1: to be sure of anything. That night. I ask if
Speaker 1: his huddle went well. He nods exhausting. But I think
Speaker 1: we landed them. I barely escaped with my sanity. He
Speaker 1: knocks his glass against mine, an old habit, but doesn't
Speaker 1: meet my eyes. Who was there? I venture the usual crew,
Speaker 1: the agency, a couple of the client's people. Anya presented
Speaker 1: a new idea. She is relentless, you know how creators are.
Speaker 1: I press for softer, working late with her a lot ha,
Speaker 1: mad is a beat too quick. It's just work low.
Speaker 1: You know. I'd rather be home. I know, I say.
Speaker 1: It just feels like I never part of that. Well.
Speaker 1: He reaches across the table from my handy. My only
Speaker 1: real world. The rest is just noise. I swear. He's
Speaker 1: so certain, so reassuring, almost too rehearsed. I want to
Speaker 1: believe him, but the words stack up like apology notes.
Speaker 1: Than promises. The next week, I receive a call from here.
Speaker 1: Do you want to grab a drink after work? She asks,
Speaker 1: her tone unusually careful. I say yes before thinking it through.
Speaker 1: We meet at a rooftop bar, and the city's haze
Speaker 1: blurs the far towers into soft gray shapes. My waits
Speaker 1: till we're halfway through our first gin and tonic. I
Speaker 1: want to desk. Do you think everything's okay with Matt?
Speaker 1: She stirs her straw, not quite meeting my eye. I freeze,
Speaker 1: Why do you ask? She hesitates. I bumped into him
Speaker 1: outside Broad Vi last Wednesday, late past ten. He said
Speaker 1: he was on his way home, looked buzzy. He was
Speaker 1: with Anna. She glances up. I didn't mean anything by it.
Speaker 1: It just seemed like he should know my throat is tight.
Speaker 1: He said he was working late with the team. I
Speaker 1: guess Anne is part of the team. Now. I try
Speaker 1: to make a joke, but it's too thin. Maya's hand
Speaker 1: cove is mine. Maybe it's normal Galleries city life. Everyone
Speaker 1: mixes at weird hours. I just wanted to make sure
Speaker 1: you're okay. I thank her. I'm certain whether to feel
Speaker 1: more grateful or more exposed. We turned to say. For
Speaker 1: subjects were annoinss, new restaurants, an off key playlist from
Speaker 1: the overhead speakers. I slip out early, my feet aching
Speaker 1: more from clenching and from my block heels. When I
Speaker 1: get home, Matt at his laptop, writing something with fierce concentration.
Speaker 1: He doesn't look up. You're late, he says, not unkindly.
Speaker 1: I ran into Maya, she says. Hi. He shrugs, as
Speaker 1: flicking briefly in my direction. It's less curiosity than calculation.
Speaker 1: She's good people, he says, voice muffled by the computer screen.
Speaker 1: I have her in the doorway, then wander away, feeling
Speaker 1: like a ghost in my own knife. Seeing the VIP
Speaker 1: gallery event, the invitation I clung to like a lifeline arrives.
Speaker 1: I dress carefully, layering blacks and subtle copper jewelry, fussing
Speaker 1: with my hair until I look both professional and slightly
Speaker 1: and touchable. Mad is ready first, his tie loose and
Speaker 1: jacket just rumpled enough to look and study. You look incredible,
Speaker 1: he says. As we leave. There's real warmth in his gaze,
Speaker 1: but it feels oddly formal now, like a compliment given
Speaker 1: at a work dinner. We arrive at the gallery, greeted
Speaker 1: by bursts of applause, anxious clapping, glasses shattering against bartop marble.
Speaker 1: Matt melts instantly into the crowd, drifting from hand chiek
Speaker 1: to cheek, kiss with the practiced grace I trail, after
Speaker 1: feeling both too visible and entirely ignore. I agreet to
Speaker 1: us near a sculpture lit softly from beneath. She's radiant,
Speaker 1: all sculptured, confidence and warmth. She hugs Matt, then me
Speaker 1: her scent, light and familiar blend of whatever perfume keeps
Speaker 1: lingering on Matt's jackets. Lauren, I'm so glad you're here,
Speaker 1: she says, earnest, I never see your architect's side at
Speaker 1: these things. Matt says, you have the best eye on
Speaker 1: the east side. I smile, but my heart drums an
Speaker 1: irregular rhythm. Thanks, he likes to brag. We circle the room,
Speaker 1: making introductions, trading stories of urban blight and design. Matt
Speaker 1: acts the attentive spouse. He keeps his arm on my waist,
Speaker 1: make sure I have a drink, draws me into conversations
Speaker 1: with collies and collectors for a whole stretches the surface
Speaker 1: of my anxiety. Smooths. Maybe I think I'm simply a
Speaker 1: woman in need of a hobby, A little more trusted
Speaker 1: and untethered friend. Midway through the evening, Matt and Anne
Speaker 1: stepside to discuss an installation. I watches Matt hoole to
Speaker 1: model between his hands, aunigesturing. Both faces intent, but the
Speaker 1: tone is professional. A photographer snaps their folder. I find
Speaker 1: myself both jealous and relieved. Later, Ali joins me at
Speaker 1: a high table. Your husband's killing it tonight, she says,
Speaker 1: nodding toward Matt. Everyone's talking about him. She leans in,
Speaker 1: but he looks exhausted. You guys, okay with all this
Speaker 1: public stuff, I deflect. We do our best. Sometimes I
Speaker 1: miss when we just play trivia and open Netflix, She laughs,
Speaker 1: agreeing agency life sometimes looks more glamorous than it feels.
Speaker 1: The night wears on, The speeches are self congratulatory but heartfelt.
Speaker 1: Matt finds me, then presses a glass of sparkling wine
Speaker 1: into my hand and smiles so openly. I almost believe
Speaker 1: in us again. After the crowd thins, Matt and Anne
Speaker 1: huddle over a day planner at the bar, planning what
Speaker 1: sounds like a pop up event. He motions for me
Speaker 1: to come over. We're plotting world domination again, he jokes,
Speaker 1: echoing the private language from our last gallery night. Though
Speaker 1: only if you build me a viep lunch at teas
Speaker 1: back voice light, Anya grinned, Sorry, that's for staff only.
Speaker 1: The camaraderie is genuine enough to disarm me. Perhaps I've
Speaker 1: been overdrawing the lines, seeking danger in perfectly ordinary ambition.
Speaker 1: An hour later, Matt suggests a lay drink at a
Speaker 1: new bar nearby. If you're up for it, he says,
Speaker 1: you me us, how about it? I agree, and for
Speaker 1: a few shining blocks, walking under the city's sodium lights,
Speaker 1: the river breeze on our face's life feels uncomplicated, as
Speaker 1: if I can still return to our shared world whenever
Speaker 1: I wish. We end the night tipsy, tangled together in
Speaker 1: the sheets, laughing about a mutual friend's disastrous gallery talk. Still,
Speaker 1: when dawn creeps in, the security dissolves. Matt's phone buzzes urgently.
Speaker 1: It's past six, and he mumbles about an early call.
Speaker 1: Slipping out of bed, I drift back to sleep, almost
Speaker 1: certain like waking from a pleasant but delusional dream. Hours later,
Speaker 1: my phone ding's a message from maya saw met leaving
Speaker 1: Broadview just now. He wasn't with you right. My breath
Speaker 1: leaves me. I hesitate, scrolling back through my own memories.
Speaker 1: I'd left the bar around too, exhausted and tipsy Leaven
Speaker 1: Matt chatting with Danya and a few others. He said
Speaker 1: he'd walk home after sweeping out the creatives. I'd nodded,
Speaker 1: grateful for the apt but he hadn't come straight home.
Speaker 1: I right back, No, I was beat and went home early.
Speaker 1: He said he stayed to help clean up Ay at
Speaker 1: long night. She thumbs ups the reply and nothing else.
Speaker 1: I dressed mechanically and sit by the window, looking down
Speaker 1: through the rainy glass at the city below. My mind
Speaker 1: picks up the broken freads, weaving them together with a
Speaker 1: kind of desperate precision. At breakfast, I bring it up.
Speaker 1: Did you get in late? I woke when you left
Speaker 1: the bed. He doesn't look surprised. Ye help Dan to
Speaker 1: finish up the clean up crew vanished? Ye know how
Speaker 1: it goes. I search his face for any flicker, but
Speaker 1: there's just tired eyes and the tension of some one
Speaker 1: well practiced and easy answers. I want to push, but
Speaker 1: I don't. We eat in silence. The tension in our
Speaker 1: apartment grows perceptibly over the next days, a tight While
Speaker 1: I humming just beneath the surface of daily life, Matt
Speaker 1: seems increasingly absorbed by his fawn, flicking between messages and
Speaker 1: news feeds. His responses are clipped, but not unfriendly. I
Speaker 1: try to stay busy with where, but my focus slips airs,
Speaker 1: creeping even into the simple drawings I used to complete
Speaker 1: on autopilot. On Thursday, Matt Cosmond afternoon, don't wait a
Speaker 1: huge pitch to night. May need to crush at Byron's
Speaker 1: if it goes late. I almost ask, point blank, or
Speaker 1: are you really staying with Byron? Instead? I just reply,
Speaker 1: O K, be safe, text me if you need anything.
Speaker 1: My voice sounds alien to my own ears. That evening,
Speaker 1: after I've microwave left over noodles and half heartedly organized
Speaker 1: receipts for our quarterly taxes, I open Matt's laptop again.
Speaker 1: No password changed, no browser history this time still blank.
Speaker 1: I check his downloads, nothing recent. I spot half written email.
Speaker 1: Will confirm silent auction lots with you. Let me know
Speaker 1: about the hire, whether it's too risky. M I check
Speaker 1: the crowded Carton's actions again, feelings lazy and desperate. I
Speaker 1: scanned for hire there it is a charge for drinks.
Speaker 1: The same night, Matt said he was crashing with Byron.
Speaker 1: I click on details. Two drinks, one dessert after midnight.
Speaker 1: My mind races. Maybe he was meeting with the client.
Speaker 1: Maybe Byron was there, But why didn't he just say so?
Speaker 1: I closed the laptop with shaking hands and step out
Speaker 1: onto our balcony, the city air biting at my face.
Speaker 1: I call maya, hey, I say, my voice barely above
Speaker 1: a whisper. Can I ask you something? Has Matt said
Speaker 1: anything to Bend about crushing at Byron's. He told me
Speaker 1: he was staying over after a late pitch. My sound surprised,
Speaker 1: then no idea. Ben came home early that night, said
Speaker 1: Byron texted him a drunk mean like eleven, didn't mention Matt.
Speaker 1: My heart feels bruise. I don't know what to think
Speaker 1: any more. She's quiet for a moment. If something's wrong,
Speaker 1: you don't have to handle it, soul lore. I'm here
Speaker 1: later that night when Mac comes home, not in the
Speaker 1: morning as he claimed he might. He smells of crushed
Speaker 1: minto Echo's maybe and there's a faint lipstick's mere dead
Speaker 1: center on his shirt, collar, half blended into the fabric.
Speaker 1: I stare at it, and he doesn't notice, simply undressing,
Speaker 1: muttering about agency chaos. Sleep is impossible. I watched the
Speaker 1: ceiling shadows wax and wane, resolve, hardening into something more pointed.
Speaker 1: On Friday, I leave walk early, my manager to Priyoki,
Speaker 1: pied with opponent disaster to question me. I walk to
Speaker 1: the gallery district, my steps uncertain but determined. MY hand
Speaker 1: hovers over my phone as I debate texting Anne. I
Speaker 1: stopped just shy of the front steps of her newest
Speaker 1: show of the sign in the window announcing to night
Speaker 1: only immers of unveili Inside the gallery is abuzz with
Speaker 1: early preparations. I see Annie at the fire end, discussing
Speaker 1: lighting with her technician. Just then she glances my way.
Speaker 1: I walk up, studying my breath. Hi, I say, projecting
Speaker 1: my most professional self. Sorry to drop by, but Matt
Speaker 1: spoke so highly of your new insulation. I was hoping
Speaker 1: to see it before the rush. She brightens Lauren. Hi,
Speaker 1: of course, come in, she beckons me over MT's be
Speaker 1: no life siver on this project. The energy he brings
Speaker 1: team magic. She offers me a glass of wine, pours generously,
Speaker 1: chatting about Grant's in gallery politics. She makes no move
Speaker 1: to hide her affection for Mad, but keeps things strictly professional,
Speaker 1: never crossing the line. A young woman burst in distracts
Speaker 1: Anne with a question about electrical hookupes. I have her
Speaker 1: in her by studying the space, taking in every detail.
Speaker 1: My mind is racing. If I ask her about the
Speaker 1: festival trip, will she think I'm prying? What would I
Speaker 1: say if she turns it back on me instead? I
Speaker 1: thank her and leave, pretending anger at another event. Once outside,
Speaker 1: I text Matt Lovedyane's new installation. Proud of you, guys.
Speaker 1: He replies instantly that was to night. Sorry I missed you.
Speaker 1: I was stuck at the agency. I stare at my
Speaker 1: phone in disbelief. He lied about something as simple as
Speaker 1: being here, or maybe about not being here. The lie
Speaker 1: sits crisp and wrought at the center of my chest.
Speaker 1: All night, I scroll through social media, letting myself spiral.
Speaker 1: At midnight, I stumble on an Instagram story from an
Speaker 1: acquaintance in the art world. BRIEFI ere dim lighting champagne
Speaker 1: popping there just beyond the focus. Matt's laugh rises above
Speaker 1: the music. He seated on a velvet couch, head tepped
Speaker 1: back next to Ayna, arm lingering on the backrest. No clients,
Speaker 1: just a cluster of friends. I set my phone face down.
Speaker 1: The realization presses slow but relentless. Morning brings no relief,
Speaker 1: only a strange adrenaline. Soak calom. I open off finances
Speaker 1: for the month and click through the gallery of flag transactions. Restaurants,
Speaker 1: kraft cocktail bars, ride chairs, sipping between the same three neighborhoods,
Speaker 1: a beauty cotel, single night, Friday business rate, each line night,
Speaker 1: MADD's wait and clarity, the data points converging toward a story.
Speaker 1: It can almost reconstruct frame by frame. It's not paranoia,
Speaker 1: not any more. It's accounting. I tap out a message
Speaker 1: to Matt hands steady, let's talk to Night at home.
Speaker 1: He doesn't reply for two hours. When he does, its brief,
Speaker 1: of course, what's up. I swallow the urged around to
Speaker 1: send foebos to call him a thousand times. I cradle
Speaker 1: my coffee and sit by the window, spine straight, letting
Speaker 1: the certainty settle with doubt. Use to live somewhere inside
Speaker 1: a strange detachment sets in. I think of our trivia nights,
Speaker 1: the easy cadence of before it, the belonging that always
Speaker 1: felt like air, never noticed, only missed woods. Then I
Speaker 1: look at the recurring trivia night on my phone's calender,
Speaker 1: Thursday after Thursday, and for the first time in our
Speaker 1: entire relationship, I don't miss it, not because it no
Speaker 1: longer matters, but because I finally see it for what
Speaker 1: it is, a placeholder for faith I can't get back.
Speaker 1: The apartment is silent except for the ticking wall clock.
Speaker 1: Some light angles sharply through the kitchen window, dust most
Speaker 1: trailing in its wake. I'm still at the window where
Speaker 1: I'd been waiting after texting Matt, waiting for his answer,
Speaker 1: though by now I have no illusions left to protect.
Speaker 1: I close the laptop of my note book, the once
Speaker 1: reassuring order now brittle and humbling. I runeth them along
Speaker 1: the edge of the table, count the breast between messages.
Speaker 1: When Matt finally comes through the door that night, dusk,
Speaker 1: already heavy, he's part way in the act of looking busy,
Speaker 1: fun in one hand, keys in the other. His features
Speaker 1: are composed, may be too composed, as though he'd braced
Speaker 1: for some prepared version of this conversation. He sets down
Speaker 1: his bag, glances around, registering the stillness. My voice comes
Speaker 1: out even too flat for comfort. You said to talk
Speaker 1: to night. He ready for that? He hesitates only a second, gaze,
Speaker 1: flicking to the counter, where my careful stack of receipts
Speaker 1: print outs and a half folded invitation to the gallery
Speaker 1: of and wait, Like a silent jury, I gestured to
Speaker 1: the evidence. Sit. He shrugs out of his jacket, stalls
Speaker 1: just long enough to renot the muscles in his face.
Speaker 1: Is this a budget thing? He tries, but the joke
Speaker 1: doesn't land. Sit, I repeat, as he lowers himself into
Speaker 1: the chair cross from me. The schury drains from his posture,
Speaker 1: replaced with a reluctant tension. I need you to explain these,
Speaker 1: I say, sliding over the bank statements. First, my hands
Speaker 1: don't shake, but everything inside me feels a hair's breadth
Speaker 1: from breaking bar tabs, I tel receipts, dinners up. Places
Speaker 1: we've never gone together, most within splitting distance of the brov.
Speaker 1: The night you said you were at Byron's, you were
Speaker 1: at the hiat when someone drinks for two and the
Speaker 1: festival trip, mat The one you said was a conference.
Speaker 1: I nen talked about it like it with some inside joke.
Speaker 1: He doesn't touch the papers, just watches me breath too shallow.
Speaker 1: Their client expenses, He says the words careful and practiced,
Speaker 1: the agency host. We take meetings wherever the clients want,
Speaker 1: not at midnight, not with the same person every single time.
Speaker 1: He shifts, lips parting, shudding, searching for some salvatable path.
Speaker 1: Then a different tack. You're going through my accounts. That's
Speaker 1: not that's not fair. A wave of incredulity passes over me,
Speaker 1: sharp and cold, fair, I echo, you tell me about fairness, Matt,
Speaker 1: tell me about honesty for once. Wire you ever going
Speaker 1: to tell me your and any I've in seeing each
Speaker 1: other outside of agency events. He presses the heels of
Speaker 1: his hands to his eyes voce row for the first
Speaker 1: time in months, Lauren. He breaks off, then looks up,
Speaker 1: face naked, defiant, scared. It wasn't supposed to go like this.
Speaker 1: I never, I swear, I never meant for it to
Speaker 1: get out of control. My breath hitches, so there is
Speaker 1: something to get out of control. I He SAgs in
Speaker 1: the chair. The performance finally stringing out. Yes, we started
Speaker 1: working together. It became something else. I didn't know how
Speaker 1: to stop that first. It was just excitement. She got me,
Speaker 1: made me feel like I'm mad at again. I was
Speaker 1: drowning at work. And you, God, you're always so in control,
Speaker 1: but with her, I wasn't. Every sentence is a fresh cut.
Speaker 1: But I gripped the edges of the table, forcing myself
Speaker 1: to listen. So what was I Matt? The backup plan?
Speaker 1: Your safe place? He shakes his head, voice rising, No,
Speaker 1: You're my person. You've always been my person. But it
Speaker 1: got complicated. I know I should have He breaks, then
Speaker 1: starts again quieter. I was lost. I moved here and
Speaker 1: suddenly you had your work and I have mine. And
Speaker 1: I kept screwing up, and nanyo. She made it look
Speaker 1: easy to not care. For a night or two, I
Speaker 1: stare at him for a long time, the world narrowing
Speaker 1: to the pulse in my ears. How long it's barely
Speaker 1: more than a whisper. He flinches, counts on his fingers,
Speaker 1: as if cataloging his own betrayal. Four months, maybe longer
Speaker 1: if you count the texts, the late nights that got
Speaker 1: more than justly in the wake of his confession. The
Speaker 1: apartment's silence is deafening. The refrigerator cycles on, humming. The
Speaker 1: street light outside blinks. I realized artia is hot on
Speaker 1: my skin, but I brush them away, unwilling to give
Speaker 1: him that comfort. You let me sit alone at trivia night,
Speaker 1: week after week so you could what peel scene. Did
Speaker 1: you ever think about how invisible I've become in this relationship?
Speaker 1: He closes his eyes, hands cold into fists. It wasn't
Speaker 1: about you, at least not like that. God. I am
Speaker 1: so sorry, lor I was stupid and greedy, and I
Speaker 1: kept pulling both worlds tighter until I couldn't breathe. I stand,
Speaker 1: pushing my chair back. He wanted so body for me
Speaker 1: to trust you. He insisted we were still a team,
Speaker 1: even as you were building some things secret. I can't
Speaker 1: compete with a version of you who never existed outside
Speaker 1: of your own need to be worshiped. He bows his head,
Speaker 1: tears form me. I ruined it didn't I a dry
Speaker 1: life escapes me. He burned it mat and you kept
Speaker 1: stoking the fire. I don't want apologies. I want truth,
Speaker 1: even if it's empty. Now he doesn't move to stop
Speaker 1: me as I walk out of the kitchen and into
Speaker 1: the bedroom. The door closes with the softest click, but
Speaker 1: it's the sound of a wall coming down. In the bedroom,
Speaker 1: the pressure finds me all at once, ringing the last
Speaker 1: warmth out of my limbs, a cold, rolling panic chase
Speaker 1: by a paradoxical relief. I sit on the edge of
Speaker 1: the bed, try to breathe through the migraine, dulling my senses.
Speaker 1: He air in here to stale with the faint, sweet
Speaker 1: echo of perfume that's not mine. I stare at the closet,
Speaker 1: his shirts, ma scarves, all intermingled until to night. I
Speaker 1: imagine a future for these objects. Now they are relics.
Speaker 1: Minutes later I hear him shuffle in the whollway, rustling
Speaker 1: bag's force come in the mirror across from the bed.
Speaker 1: My reflection is pale, eyes, huge and unfocussed, but steadiness
Speaker 1: rises beneath the shock. This is what happens when the
Speaker 1: story entangles. You get stuck inside the knots. He calls
Speaker 1: through the door, of voice wavering, do you want to
Speaker 1: talk more? I don't answer. Instead, I moved deliberately. I
Speaker 1: pull my old, weaken duffel from the closet, the one
Speaker 1: we used for short trips of state, and begin to
Speaker 1: fill it with only what I need, chargers, familiar's featpoints,
Speaker 1: a clean tooth brush, my reading glasses. The acts themselves
Speaker 1: are haphazard, under guarded by the hard clarity that comes
Speaker 1: when fae becomes choice. I text Meyer, you still have
Speaker 1: that guests room, not sure how long I'll need it,
Speaker 1: She replies, almost instantly at yours, just ask. I'll leave
Speaker 1: the bedroom door open behind me. As I cross into
Speaker 1: the living room, Madis lump on the couch, face in
Speaker 1: his hands, phone face down on the armorst salent, as
Speaker 1: though muting one world could silence the echo in the other.
Speaker 1: He looks that face, red eyes shining. I'm going to
Speaker 1: my eyes for a while. I say, I need air space.
Speaker 1: Don't call, don't text, don't follow me. He stumbles over
Speaker 1: his own feelings. A can we should A pack? Will you?
Speaker 1: But I shake my head horrid. This isn't a negotiation.
Speaker 1: He made your choices. He pushes off the couch to follow,
Speaker 1: but I pin him with a look, the kind of
Speaker 1: look I never knew I owned. Don't, Matt, I can't
Speaker 1: fix this for you. I collect my coat, keys, fawn
Speaker 1: and slide the doufful handle up onto my shoulder. On
Speaker 1: an impulse, I gasp out a breath that nearly turns
Speaker 1: into sob, but catch it before it builds. He stands there,
Speaker 1: an outline cup from a different life. The softness of
Speaker 1: our first years together now grainy and obsolete. The whole
Speaker 1: way outside is frigid. I tap my eyes address into
Speaker 1: my phone in the elevator. I watch the four numbers change,
Speaker 1: each one a notchum or toward this new and chosen
Speaker 1: solitude at myas. Her welcome is silent, all warmth and
Speaker 1: reassuring logistics. She doesn't ask for details, just points me
Speaker 1: toward the guest room and hands me a bottle of water,
Speaker 1: the neutral kindness that makes space for everything unsable. I
Speaker 1: lie down. The unfamiliar sheets are clean slate I don't
Speaker 1: yet feel ready for, but also don't resist that first night.
Speaker 1: I mute mass calls five in a row, then a
Speaker 1: litany of text piling up behind a blank notification bubble.
Speaker 1: Each one is a pale a cove, explanations, promises to
Speaker 1: make it right, please for forgiveness, Requests for honesty that
Speaker 1: are years too late. I said the aside, screen down
Speaker 1: and let the strange peace settle in every time it buzzes,
Speaker 1: ignore it. Matt's absence in my immediate world does cavernous
Speaker 1: at first, but as a biting relief in the rock Clarty,
Speaker 1: the end is here and it belongs to me now,
Speaker 1: not to his half kept secrets. By Monday, I notify
Speaker 1: my phone that I'll be working remotely for several days.
Speaker 1: My tiptoe is round me, handling the shape of my
Speaker 1: sadness without trying to define it. I spend hours entangling
Speaker 1: share finances on my phone, pausing joint auto pay for utilities,
Speaker 1: fagging accounts that need new passwords, drafting emails for apartment
Speaker 1: management and our bank. Meanwhile, noffcations from Map become less
Speaker 1: frequent but more desperate, ranging from free sentence apologies to
Speaker 1: single word please please the talk. Can we fix this?
Speaker 1: I send a single blunt reply, I need time, do
Speaker 1: not come here. I will reach out when I am
Speaker 1: ready to discuss next steps. My wordlessly takes my phone,
Speaker 1: tucks it in a drawer. She makes soup sits with
Speaker 1: me through two movers, where I only pretend to follow
Speaker 1: the blot. She mentions gently that Matt's business partner stop
Speaker 1: by her office, looking for him, asking if everything was
Speaker 1: all right. I say nothing at first, but feelings tighten
Speaker 1: and reminded at this break is not only private, but
Speaker 1: already seeping out into their shape professional world. A day later,
Speaker 1: emails from my building's management come through, reminders of least
Speaker 1: rules appending renewal. Matt must co sign. I forward them
Speaker 1: to him. Ters but necessary, the dull administration of a
Speaker 1: life splitting in two. Midweek, Maya finds me in the kitchen,
Speaker 1: phone in hand, face pinched. You might want to check
Speaker 1: your voicemails. Reluctant I do. My inbooks is dotted with
Speaker 1: messages from Matt, each more frantic than the last. He's
Speaker 1: missed a client deadline. His business partner is asking questions
Speaker 1: He's unable to focus at work, Lions about agency scrutiny,
Speaker 1: something about expenses needing, explaining vague enough to decipher only
Speaker 1: if you know already. His professional life, once so impenetrable
Speaker 1: to me, now looks frickety from the outside. The irony
Speaker 1: stings a man who couldn't stop hiding, now wishing for transparency.
Speaker 1: That afternoon, I receive a court message from Matt's mother,
Speaker 1: woman Idore, who texts me seeson recipes and book recommendations,
Speaker 1: checking in. My response is measured. I'm safe. I need
Speaker 1: time before I can ex explain anything. Please don't worry
Speaker 1: or reach out to Mat on my behalf, She replies
Speaker 1: with a simple heart. I weep at the sight, the
Speaker 1: smallest thing springing the barrier I'd built up to now.
Speaker 1: A day later, my returns from a work lunch, a
Speaker 1: tangle of concern knotting her brows. Ben says Matt was
Speaker 1: pulled into partner meeting something about flagged expenses, company cards,
Speaker 1: personal charges for client entertainment in a gallery district. I
Speaker 1: slide down on the sofa, motionless at first, but she
Speaker 1: sits beside me. I realize the cost. The fallout isn't
Speaker 1: just emotional or romantic, but material public in a WEIMAC
Speaker 1: can't control that. Evening alone in the guest room, I
Speaker 1: receive my first message from Matt that doesn't beg explain
Speaker 1: or refute. It simply reads, I've told the partner, I'm
Speaker 1: sorry for everything. Please let me know if you need anything.
Speaker 1: This is not closure, but it is as close to
Speaker 1: truth as were likely to reach. I review my mentalness,
Speaker 1: call utilities, shift my direct deposit, make an appointment to
Speaker 1: see the apartment solo, start sorting what's truly mine from
Speaker 1: what was always in reality his I keep the gallery
Speaker 1: invitation in my will at one part evidence, one part
Speaker 1: token of these life. I am learning to release the
Speaker 1: trivia app on my phone dings quietly on Thursday evening,
Speaker 1: and for the first time, I swiped the notification away
Speaker 1: without a WinCE. In the days after the rupture, muttext
Speaker 1: drip in from the rest of our social orbit Byron's
Speaker 1: brief hope you're okay, Let us know if you want company.
Speaker 1: Ali's emoji studded offers a brunch, even an his oblique
Speaker 1: public status updates. I ignore them all. There's no role
Speaker 1: for me in the theater of their world any more.
Speaker 1: I book a short term sublet near my office, not
Speaker 1: the apartment I want, but the one I can afford
Speaker 1: and fill with quiet for now. As I walk through
Speaker 1: taller rooms, clutching the keys, I feel the muted, waitless
Speaker 1: relief of choosing, of not waiting for rescue, of not
Speaker 1: asking for answers that only ever came with Li's attached.
Speaker 1: Within a week, my lawyer friend emails and take forms
Speaker 1: for the first steps of legal separation, clinical plane, almost
Speaker 1: laughably impersonal for something that feels as enormous as the
Speaker 1: collapse of the solar system. I fill them out in
Speaker 1: the guest room at myas comforted by the precision and
Speaker 1: the lack of ambiguity. On my final evening in her house,
Speaker 1: I sit at the kitchen table, organizing a last pile
Speaker 1: of bills and insurance cards. When my slides are mugotti
Speaker 1: near my elbow and just sits, not talking. Both of
Speaker 1: us look through the rain street window where the city
Speaker 1: blurs its knee and colors in the damp. She doesn't
Speaker 1: say anything about fresh starts or resilience, and I'm grateful
Speaker 1: for that. For the first time in days, I'll let
Speaker 1: myself think about the little things that will change. Mornings
Speaker 1: that start in silence but end with no need to
Speaker 1: a code someone else's absence. Before bed that night, I
Speaker 1: pull out my phone, scroll through my contacts, and delete
Speaker 1: Matt's number from favorites. I set our joint calendar to
Speaker 1: view only, and clicker remove myself from the recurring Thursday
Speaker 1: night trivia event. When the confirmation prompt pops up, the
Speaker 1: words forfeit, the heaviness and become strangely resolutely ordinary. As
Speaker 1: rain slicks down the window, I gather my back my
Speaker 1: laptop a Maya spare umbrella, then leave the mug to
Speaker 1: dry beside the sink. It's my last concrete act before
Speaker 1: locking up behind me. Not stealthy, not harry, to just
Speaker 1: the simple, deliberate movement of someone picking up her own
Speaker 1: beginning outside. The air is brisk and damp. My every
Speaker 1: breath puffing a cloud in the late eving gel. The
Speaker 1: walk from Mayas are silent. I move with the thick,
Speaker 1: unerving sense of floating, like the world is wrapped in
Speaker 1: cotton and ambush for ru. I'm exhausted, but underneath the
Speaker 1: fatigue is a live wire of something steadier than grief,
Speaker 1: sharper than anger, at distant clarity, as a part of
Speaker 1: me is standing outside this body, watching with cold and
Speaker 1: oletical eyes. My one small suitcase bumps against my knee
Speaker 1: as I reach the curb, standing exactly where Matt and
Speaker 1: I use to wait for right chares after trivia night,
Speaker 1: I force myself to inhale, to find form in the
Speaker 1: forams hours ahead. By the time I'm halfway to the sublet,
Speaker 1: my phone vibrates against my hand. Two new messages made
Speaker 1: again persistent though he's moved on from apology to logistical chaos.
Speaker 1: Building wants to know about renewal. Agency partner wants receipts.
Speaker 1: Let's talk. I don't respond. I'm not ready, not for practicalities,
Speaker 1: not for more tears. There will be time for all
Speaker 1: of that, mountains of it right now. Task completion is
Speaker 1: what's left at the sublet. I drag my bag inside.
Speaker 1: The place is nearly empty, a posted stump, kitchen, battered
Speaker 1: with floors, a two firm mattress. None of it bothers me.
Speaker 1: It feels almost like a hotel between destinations, nobody else's
Speaker 1: energy seeping through. I take off my coat, folded into
Speaker 1: the one closet, and sit at the foot of the bed,
Speaker 1: hands pressed hard together. Elsewhere in the city, Matt is
Speaker 1: probably pacing, looking for ways to fix what cannot be fixed.
Speaker 1: He must be field in questions from colleagues, reshuffling meetings,
Speaker 1: spinning explanations that grow thinner and less plausible each time.
Speaker 1: Our world has collapsed, and now he has to face
Speaker 1: the echo in the spaces that still bear his name.
Speaker 1: The week presses on newstrickles at Matt's business partner calls,
Speaker 1: his tone clipped, awkward, with the weight of things not said.
Speaker 1: He asks if I know when Matt will address the
Speaker 1: expense accounts for the agency. I answer tightly that I
Speaker 1: no longer manage agency matters at all. The ice there
Speaker 1: is quick and clean, no chance for slipping back into
Speaker 1: the tangle of obligation that used to define our rolls.
Speaker 1: A day later, by our own messages with a vague
Speaker 1: friendly thinking of you birth here if you need work,
Speaker 1: gives me exactly what I need. A structure. Each day
Speaker 1: at the FROME is allowed of wrongs of phone calls, blueprints,
Speaker 1: logistical puzzles. Still I dread the moment I see Matt's
Speaker 1: name flash on the caller ID each time I let
Speaker 1: it ring into silence. Then one mid afternoon, my lawyer
Speaker 1: friend circles b back. There is something sticky about the
Speaker 1: last credit card bill, charges that look personal, flagged for
Speaker 1: a review by the business. Does this impact your separation?
Speaker 1: She asks? I realize for the first time how thoroughly
Speaker 1: Matt's professional implosion is twined to the personal fallout, How
Speaker 1: his choices have set tiny fires to your neighborhoods of
Speaker 1: our old life I didn't even know existed. I agree
Speaker 1: finally to one meeting, public neutral ground at the little
Speaker 1: Stone Park, halfward between work and the life we shared.
Speaker 1: It's neither home, nor office nor bar, and that fact
Speaker 1: alone feels like armor. As I wait, hands jammed in
Speaker 1: jacket pockets, The trees bear in the past, stewed up
Speaker 1: with dirty snow. Matt arrives late twenty minutes, which once
Speaker 1: would have infuriated me, but now feels merely administrative. He
Speaker 1: looks thin, an older, a blue shadow beneath his eyes.
Speaker 1: Joel tat. He approaches what hesitance, a child caught out
Speaker 1: in an old lie. Thank you for meeting, he says,
Speaker 1: voy small. He stands across from me, hands jammed in
Speaker 1: his own pockets, shivering theatrically before catching himself. He wants
Speaker 1: to fill the air with apologies. I can see it
Speaker 1: once to ask after me to slip back into those smaller,
Speaker 1: better roles. Instead, I let the silence widen between us
Speaker 1: until he SAgs hrs on me. About the expenses, he says,
Speaker 1: almost before hello. They need official documentation, they know some
Speaker 1: of them mind for clients. They'll fix it. I could
Speaker 1: fix it. The agency partner wants to speak with you.
Speaker 1: Make sure you are not in any His voiceages any
Speaker 1: trouble because of me. I don't work with the agency.
Speaker 1: I never did. I say, tell them what you want,
Speaker 1: but leave me out of it. His lips pressed together
Speaker 1: at a grimline. I know, I just god, I'm so sorry, Lauren.
Speaker 1: You have no idea, No, I say, eyes on the ground.
Speaker 1: I don't, and I don't need to any more. He nods,
Speaker 1: scraping his shoe at the edge of the path. It
Speaker 1: all feels so thin now, like I ruined everything for
Speaker 1: for nothing. I keep waking up thinking you'll just walk
Speaker 1: out of the kitchen, or that I'll hear the sound
Speaker 1: of your keys next to the ball. I know, I know.
Speaker 1: I don't deserve that. Aye, he stops. I don't expect it.
Speaker 1: I just want you to know I'm handling things as
Speaker 1: best I can. The strange part is I almost believe him.
Speaker 1: He looks defeated, not combative, exhausted, not self righteous. For
Speaker 1: a second, I almost reach for him by old habit,
Speaker 1: but I hold back. The gravity that once kept us
Speaker 1: in tidy orbits is gone, replaced by this widening, hot,
Speaker 1: earning distance. I steady myself, No longer afraid of my
Speaker 1: own voice. He made your choices, Matt. There's nothing here
Speaker 1: for you to fix. I'm moving forward now. He stares,
Speaker 1: then dips his head, palming his face as if to
Speaker 1: hide fresh tears. I know, I know, I wish God,
Speaker 1: I wish everything was different for both our sakes. I
Speaker 1: don't ask which party wishes different, to the secrecy or
Speaker 1: just being found out. I hand him the file folder
Speaker 1: with separation paper is unsigned, our agreement to begin the
Speaker 1: mechanics of entangle in. Give this to your lawyer. Let's
Speaker 1: avoid more damage. He takes it, hands trembling, knuckles white.
Speaker 1: Or you are you sure this is what you want?
Speaker 1: The words are so simple, so innocent, coming from someone
Speaker 1: who's only ever half way lived in consequences. I'm sure,
Speaker 1: I say, with the gentleness that surprises me, because it's real.
Speaker 1: I can't stay in something that became a lie. He
Speaker 1: nods slack jot, finally seen the end for what it is.
Speaker 1: There's nothing left to barter with, no story, no nostalgia,
Speaker 1: not even anger. He hugs the papers to his chest,
Speaker 1: then tucks them under his arm, looking tiny and lost.
Speaker 1: For a moment, we stand there, two adults in a
Speaker 1: city full of other endeurings and near misses. Finally ready
Speaker 1: to stop pretending, A soft beat from my phone signals
Speaker 1: a calendar reminder, one of the last for Thursday triviae
Speaker 1: still programmed from the life I'm leaving behind. I let
Speaker 1: it fade, not reaching for the pahn, not offering a
Speaker 1: single word more to math. When he turns to leave,
Speaker 1: I watch his back receed down the gravel path, shoulders hunched,
Speaker 1: the color of his jacket blending with the early evening sky.
Speaker 1: The wind works the last of my resolve into something
Speaker 1: lighter than grief. It's not closure, not really, but the
Speaker 1: closest I'm ever likely to get. I pause, then pivot
Speaker 1: toward my own street, my own new set of keys.
Speaker 1: Waiting back at the sublet in my hand, I toy
Speaker 1: with the corner of my phone screen, still dark, the
Speaker 1: well both smaller and infinitely more open at the same time.
Speaker 1: That night, in the nearly empty sublet, I shed my coat, boots,
Speaker 1: and scarf, then allow myself finally to cry, once deeply
Speaker 1: but briefly, into the scratch. He throw a pillow on
Speaker 1: the unfamiliar bed. The storm passes quickly, clarity rising behind it.
Speaker 1: I wash my face, brush my teeth, and sit by
Speaker 1: the window while the city moves on below. On my phone,
Speaker 1: another calender notification appears, a trivia night, now a relic.
Speaker 1: For a moment, my hand horvers thumb uncertain, but then
Speaker 1: I swipe and hold, deleting the recurring event with the
Speaker 1: finality that's both trivial and immense. It disappears, a small
Speaker 1: streak of blue, vanishing from the tapestry of my former life.
Speaker 1: I turn off the phone, exhale, and let my eyes
Speaker 1: close against a rain vale glow drifting up from the city.
Speaker 1: There's nothing left to solve, nothing left to mon just
Speaker 1: a single, quiet, undeniable certainty that the rest belongs to
Speaker 1: me alone.