One of Us Is Dead(53)

I shut off the lights and closed the door to Riley’s room, quietly whispering, “Good night, my sweet boy.” I tied my hair back into a low ponytail as I made my way down the hallway into the kitchen. Grabbing a bottle of opened red wine, I poured two glasses. I drank one and refilled it again, letting out a sigh of relief. I had been waiting for that glass of wine all day, something to numb the worry, the anxiety, the confusion, the heartache—all of it.

The eight miles I ran earlier that morning did nothing but aggravate my knee. Playing in the park all afternoon with Riley only helped busy my mind for brief moments: when he would ask me to watch him jump off the swings, cross the monkey bars, or run as fast as he could to some inanimate object ahead of him. Doing an extravagant house showing this evening just made me feel emptier and more confused. They were brief reprieves from the worrying. I tried reading a book when I put Riley down for a nap, but no matter what I read, the words on the page kept rearranging themselves into questions: Is Mark cheating? Is he sleeping with Olivia? Would Olivia do that to me? Did I even love Mark anymore? Did I really care if my marriage was over? Was my marriage over? Who would I be without Mark? How would Riley react? Did Keisha and I have something real? If we did, could we make it work? How would people treat me as a gay woman? Would it affect my business?

I felt so alive when I was with Keisha, like I was truly living the life I was supposed to live, like I was me for once. So it had to be real, and if it were, could I be mad at Mark if he was cheating too? I took a deep breath, followed by a long sip of wine. I tossed the empty bottle in the trash, grabbed both wineglasses, and made my way to the living room. Mark was lying on the couch waiting to start an episode of Dead to Me.

“Hurry up, I’m going to press Play.” He turned his head to look over at me.

I handed him his glass and took a seat at the end of the couch. He pulled in his feet to make room for me. His hair was a scruffy mess, and he was already dressed for bed in flannel pants and a white T-shirt. Despite the way I was feeling about Mark and Keisha, he was still handsome to me. He still had that boyish charm to him.

“Ready?”

I nodded, and he pressed Play.

The colors swirled on the television. Noise emanated. But nothing of substance registered with me. I was in a trance, my mind trapped within thoughts of what would be. I brought the glass to my lips and took another drink. It didn’t go down smoothly. It got caught in the back of my throat as if I had forgotten how to swallow. I coughed violently, struggling to breathe, struggling to get it down or get it out—much like the lies I had been telling myself all these years and the truths I hadn’t been telling Mark these last few weeks. Mark paused the television and sat up. He grabbed the glass from me, set it down on the table, and patted my back as I tried to catch my breath and clear my throat. Swallow. Breathe. Cough. Mark disappeared and returned moments later with a glass of water. He propped it up to my lips and tipped it back. I gulped half of it down. He pulled the glass away and placed it on the table. I could breathe again. The liquid free from my throat. The lies still buried within me. Rubbing my back, he asked if I was okay.

“Yeah, I just swallowed wrong,” I said breathlessly, not looking at him.

Was he, too, holding on to lies? We were husband and wife, vowed to love one another till death do us part, but we couldn’t even be truthful—or perhaps it was just me. Had I not held up my end of the deal?

“Are you sure you’re okay?” He pushed loose pieces of my hair from my face.

I looked over, surveying him, trying to find the deception. Was there any?

“Are we okay?” I asked.

Mark pulled his head back as if he were caught off guard by my question. Maybe I was wrong. Maybe I was the only one in the wrong.

“Yes . . . at least I think so. Why do you ask?” He returned his hands to his lap and leaned back a little, increasing the space between us.

“I don’t know. You’ve just been distant, and we haven’t been intimate in months,” I confessed. I needed to put it all out on the table, or at least most of it. I needed to make sense of my feelings for Keisha and my lack of feelings for Mark.

“I know. I’ve been overworked, and I haven’t been the best husband. I was planning to cut down my hours in the Miami office come the New Year, and I was going to surprise you for Christmas with a vacation for just the two of us.” He let out a deep breath.

“Really?” I felt entirely guilty now. A little over a week ago, we got into a fight over the idea of him taking a vacation, and now he wanted to take one and cut his hours. Was he telling the truth? Had I blown things out of proportion? My eyes glistened from the condensation of my guilty conscience.

“Of course.” He reached for my hands and held them, rubbing his thumb tenderly on me.

I wanted to tell him right then and there what I had done, what was going on between Keisha and me. I wanted to talk to him about how confused I was. He was my husband after all. He would understand.

He leaned in and gave me a soft kiss on my lips.

As we pulled away from each other, I looked him in the eyes, ready to tell him the truth. “Mark—”

“Actually, there was something I wanted to talk to you about,” he interrupted.

“What is it?”

“Ya know my cousin, Sal?” he asked.

I nodded.

“Well, he sells life insurance and he’s not doing too hot, so I’d like to switch and up ours, ya know, to help him out.”