The Winemaker's Wife(2)

“Cool?” she repeated as he gazed around, taking in the apartment she’d filled with furniture they used to share. His eyes lingered on the distressed leather couch anchoring the room, and she wondered if he was thinking, as she suddenly was, of the day they’d bought it, the way they’d argued about the expense, the way they’d fallen onto its unforgiving cushions afterward to make up, sweaty and tangled up in each other. Then again, maybe he was just thinking that he was glad to have a fresh start, with none of the items they’d purchased together infringing on his new life.

His eyes moved back to hers. “I just mean I know this hasn’t been easy.” He rearranged his features into a mask of somber sympathy, and Liv felt a spike of annoyance, which was better than the sadness that had been swirling through her like a storm since they’d officially signed their divorce papers that morning. “I really am sorry about the way things turned out, Liv, but we just wanted different things.”

All Liv could manage was a noncommittal, “Mmmmm.”

“I do want what’s best for you. You know that, right? I’ll always care about you.”

“Just not as much as you care about yourself.” Liv couldn’t resist. “Or your new girlfriend.”

Eric sighed. “Don’t be angry, Liv.” He set the cardboard box down on the floor and brushed his hands off. “I’d like to think that someday we might even be friends.”

Liv snorted, and for a second, Eric’s sympathetic look slipped, and his forehead creased in annoyance, giving Liv a glimpse of the man she now knew lurked beneath the carefully curated exterior, the one who blamed her for everything that had gone wrong between them. Liv had wanted to have a baby, to build a family, and Eric had been seemingly happy to try. But then, after more than a year of disappointments, she had been diagnosed with premature ovarian failure. They’d tried three rounds of in vitro using donor eggs before Eric had abruptly announced he was done—done with trying for a baby, done with trying to understand Liv’s sadness, done with their marriage. Of course, Liv later found out that by then he had already started dating a twenty-four-year-old named Anemone, one of the administrative assistants at the Bergman Restaurant Group, the company he managed. “Friends, huh?” Liv finally replied. “Sure. Maybe you and I and your girlfriend can set up a weekly dinner date. That sounds cozy.”

“Liv, I know you’re angry. But this isn’t Anemone’s fault. You and I just outgrew each other. We weren’t meant to be together anymore.”

“And you were meant to be with a millennial vegan whose hippie parents named her after a species of jellyfish?”

“An anemone is actually a sea polyp,” Eric corrected without meeting her eyes. He shrugged with exaggerated helplessness. “What can I say, Liv? She gets me.”

“What exactly does she get? That you’re a complete cliché? That you’re the walking embodiment of a midlife crisis? That someday, when Anemone becomes inconvenient for you, you’ll bail on her, too?”

Eric sighed and Liv saw pity in his eyes, which made her feel even worse. “Liv, be honest. Did you even love me anymore by the time we split up?”

She didn’t answer, because how could she explain that she would have loved him forever if he’d given her the chance? That was what you were supposed to do with the people you promised your life to. It was just that by the end, she hadn’t particularly liked him. But she’d been willing to work through it, to try to find her way back to who they’d once been. Her own parents had never gotten that chance; her father had died when Liv was just a baby, and her mother had flitted from relationship to relationship ever since. Liv had always vowed that her life would turn out differently. But maybe we were all doomed to repeat the mistakes of those who came before us, even if we knew better.

The thing was, Eric was right. They didn’t belong together. Maybe they never had. And maybe going their separate ways was the best thing they could have done. But it still felt like he’d failed her when she needed him most.

When the silence had dragged on for too long, Eric spoke again. “So what are you going to do now? Are you going to try to get back out there into the workforce? You know you can ask me for a letter of recommendation if you need one.”

Liv bit her lip, hating him a little for the way he was looking at her, like she was pathetic. It had been his suggestion, a year ago, that she quit her job as the VP of marketing at Bergman, the place they’d met fifteen years earlier. They’d worked side by side for a decade and a half, him rising through the ranks in the finance department while she rose to the top of the marketing department. They had been the perfect power couple—until they weren’t.

Look, if we’re doing in vitro for a third time, maybe you should just stay home and focus on that, he’d said last June. Besides, once we have the baby, you’ll want to take a leave of absence anyhow, right? She had reluctantly agreed, but she saw now that following his advice had been a mistake, that it had been the first step in him ushering her out the door of her own life. The result was that when the bottom had dropped out, she was left with nothing—no child, no husband, no job, no savings. She was utterly adrift. “I’ll figure it out,” she mumbled.

“At least you’ve got your grandmother in the meantime.” Eric’s lips twitched. “I’m sure she’s helping you, right?”