Other People's Houses(34)

“Not sure. Not much.” Breaking up with my boyfriend.

“Do you want to have lunch?”

“Sure, that would be nice. Where?” Assuming I stop feeling nauseous long enough to eat.

He named somewhere they’d been before, close to his office. She nodded, and went to get herself more coffee, too. I can barely see for panic.

Charlie watched her turn the corner of their bedroom door, and smiled all the way down to his toes. He was a lucky man. He turned around and sat down on the edge of the bed to put on his shoes. Maybe he’d stop at the little hipster jewelry store Anne loved so much, and pick her up a gift he could give her at lunch. She was a sucker for pretty things, always had been. When they’d first met she’d not been all that interested in him. She was an art student, he was a law student, they couldn’t have had that much in common. She was a free spirit but, it soon became clear, a free spirit with a serious penchant for silk underwear and vintage jewelry. He blandished her with gifts until he could charm her into falling in love, and here they were, a decade later, still together.

Charlie tied his shoelaces, and stood, shaking his suit into place, satisfied with his lot.



* * *



? ? ?

It turned out that breaking up really was hard to do. Anne called Richard and explained the situation. As soon as she heard his voice she’d stopped feeling anxious and sick. She was going to end this, and she was going to be free of it. End of story.

“But nothing has changed,” he protested. Why had she never noticed how whiny he was?

“Yes,” she said, firmly. “You texted me the other night and my kid saw it and I suddenly realized I don’t want to do this anymore. It’s very simple, Richard, it’s over. Please just accept it.” She was in her underwear in the bathroom, choosing an outfit to have lunch in. She wanted to make an effort for Charlie. She needed to turn this ship around. She looked at her body briefly; it was still good. The best side effect of infidelity, it turned out, was improved core strength and muscle tone. Young men were so energetic. Her particular young man was still talking, so she dragged her attention back.

“I’ll be more careful. I won’t text you at all anymore. Please come see me. I miss you so much.” He was in his office at school, having gone in early in the hope of talking to her before his day began. He woke up thinking of her, went to lunch thinking of her, held his dick and peed thinking of her, washed his hands thinking of her. He knew it was getting dangerous, he could feel himself losing control, knew on several levels that payback was going to be a bitch. He just couldn’t handle it being over now. He needed more.

“No, Richard. I’m not going to see you again. It’s been fun, but you knew it was never going anywhere. I never wanted to leave my family. I never lied to you.” Everyone else, yes, but not you.

“I know.” Silence. “I’m coming to see you.”

“No.”

“Please. Let’s go to bed. We can talk about it after I make you come like a million times.”

She wrinkled her nose. “No. This is it, Richard. We’re done. Goodbye.” She hung up and went back to her closet. The celadon dress, which said elegant woman of a certain age, or the overalls, which said hip young mother who still gave blow jobs? Such a tough call.

Three miles away in his office, Richard put his head on his desk and sobbed.



* * *



? ? ?

It just so happened that when Sara walked into the restaurant where she was meeting her agent for lunch, the first person she spotted was Charlie, the guy who lived up the road and was married to that cool drink of water whose name she couldn’t remember right away. He saw her, too, because he was watching the door. He raised his hand in greeting.

“Hey, Charlie, how’s it going?” Sara leaned down for a kiss, and suddenly remembered his wife’s name. Anne, her name was Anne. They didn’t really know each other, but they had a kid in Wyatt’s class . . . ? Iris took care of all of that stuff.

“Hi, Sara.” He was pleased he’d remembered her name. “Everything’s good with me, how’re things down the street?”

She smiled. “Good. Are you meeting Anne for lunch?” Look, see how casually I display my knowledge. I do know you, we know each other, we are friends and neighbors, and I didn’t just screw up the social contract.

He nodded. “Yeah, although she’s late. Mind you, she’s always late, so that’s not a big deal. Are you meeting Iris?” Five points for remembering the other lesbian’s name. He didn’t consciously think of them as “the lesbians,” but that was one of their many tags: neighbors, parents, women, hot women (this one in front of him, the other one not so much), famous people (again, this one, not the other one), parents of a son, a friend of Milo’s, people in the kids’ carpool, people one saw at the holidays, people one saw at soccer practice . . . It was a long list of tags.

Sara shook her head, and then made eye contact with her agent, whom she’d spotted at a table in the back. “No, I’m here for work. I see my person. I’d better go.”

“Sure, well, see you in the ’hood.” He smiled, pleased to have navigated their little exchange without messing up anyone’s name. Anne took care of all that stuff. As he thought that, Anne walked in the door and his head turned, along with several others. She had her own set of tags in his head, of course, but the most important one was Best Friend, and he was pleased to see her. He stood up as she approached the table and she smiled her incredible smile, the one that touched him to the core, the one that made him think of the birth of his children, the first time he’d kissed their little wet heads and then looked up into Anne’s eyes and felt that nameless connection nothing could explain or express sufficiently. Nothing would take that away; that was in their bones.