Good Time(43)

Measure twice and cut once is what a carpenter would tell me, which is completely irrelevant to the issue at hand, but it’s a nice sentiment, isn’t it? It’s a nice way of saying, Do your research. Which, now that I think of it like that, makes it totally relevant. Plan and prepare in a thorough manner before taking action.

I know just what to do.





Chapter Twenty-One





“So then he’s all ‘it’s more of a hobby,’ and I’m not the hobby police, right? I’m not that girl. I’m very reasonable, in case you didn’t know that about me. It’s true. People say it.” I pause there and hold up a hand in a very casual stop gesture. “Maybe not a lot of people, but it’s been said at least a couple of times.”

“I can only imagine.”

“But then I thought, maybe he has other hobbies. Maybe he builds model trains or plays softball. I’ve seen him naked so softball is much more likely than model train-building, but I don’t know for sure do I? Maybe it’s golf or running that he’s into. I know he’s a good cook, but is that a hobby or a chore? I’m his wife and I should know these things, take an interest in his interests. Do a little research so I can impress him with my knowledge.”

“Payton?”

“Wait! One other thing. Then he took the envelope with him! When he left the envelope was gone. Like what does that even mean?”

“Payton.”

“Yes?”

“Why in the hell are you in my officer telling me all of this? And why did you”—Lawson glances down and back to me—“put a dollar in change on my desk?”

“Oh, that’s your retainer. I didn’t have any singles. You can count it though, it’s all there.”

“My retainer?”

“Yeah. So you can tell me everything you know about Vince, because now we have attorney-client privilege.”

“That’s not what a retainer is for. Nor how attorney-client privilege works,” Lawson replies with a slow shake of his head and an expression that indicates he thinks I’m very, very incorrect.

“But you’re a lawyer.”

“I am.”

We stare at each other for a moment.

“And now I’m your client.” I nod towards the pile of change on his desk.

“Nope.” Lawson shakes his head back and forth. “First of all, I’m a corporate lawyer, and I’m employed by the Windsor so I don’t take on clients. Secondly, I believe you’re under the misapprehension that attorney-client privilege means I’d tell you everything I know about Vince.”

“Right! And I won’t tell him anything you said. Because we have the privilege!”

“Lastly, what you need for your annulment is a family law attorney.”

I slump in the chair across from Lawson’s desk. “So you think he’s going to annul me? I was hoping he’d changed his mind when he left with the paperwork.”

“Payton, I have no idea what’s going on between the two of you and I don’t know Vince well enough to guess. If it helps any, I don’t think he can serve you with annulment paperwork himself so maybe he wanted to go over it with you so you’d know what to expect.”

“Yeah, okay.” I sigh as I stand up. “Thanks anyway. You’re fired.” I get the first real smile of the day out of Lawson as I swipe the pile of change off his desk and into my palm.

“Canon golfs with him. He’d know more and that fucker loves to gossip.”

“Thanks. By the way, did your parents name you Lawson because they hoped you’d become a lawyer?”

“It’s my mother’s maiden name.”

“Oh.” I nod. “I suppose that makes more sense.”

“A little bit.” He nods. “Good luck, Payton.”





Chapter Twenty-Two





On Thursday Vince texts because he has a late meeting. He texts because he’s been over every night but tonight he has to work late. It’s downright domestic, right? The way he checks in. The way he shows up every night after I arrive home from work, arriving with a bag of groceries or takeout. We cook and eat and play games. Then we fuck like rabbits and he spends the night. It’s domestic anarchy. I think? A domestic revolution? It’s playing house while ignoring the elephant in the room, is what it is.

So on Thursday he texts first telling me he’s got a late meeting and asking if he should still come over, or if I want to eat without him. Of course I still want him to come over. I even volunteer to make dinner, like some kind of housewife. By housewife I mean a shitty one, not a Lydia one. I don’t have chicken-roasting skills in my wheelhouse. I make scrambled eggs and cinnamon French toast because other than opening boxes of Cheez-Its, it’s my specialty, but Vince doesn’t seem to care. Instead he thanks me. Then we eat breakfast for dinner at nine PM before playing a children’s board game because it’s the only game in the stack we haven’t played yet.

The envelope doesn’t make another appearance. I start to wonder if it was ever real to begin with, if I ever saw it at all. Maybe it was just a figment of my overactive imagination? Or maybe hoping I never saw it is the delusion? I know the wedding really happened because I have this gold band on my finger to remind me, same as Vince, because we’re both still wearing them.