The Swap(45)

“Why do you keep looking at your phone?” my husband asked.

My eyes snapped up, met his intense gaze. I had been checking it unconsciously. “I’m waiting for a message from a glassblower,” I said, setting aside my phone. “I’m doing my summer ordering. You’re not the only one with a career, you know.”

My defensiveness made me sound guilty, I realized. But I was stressed, worried, on edge. And my husband’s inquisition was making it worse.

Brian kept his voice level. “Is that really who you’re waiting to hear from? A glassblower?”

“Who do you think I’m waiting to hear from, Brian?”

“I don’t know. . . .” He stirred the vegetables in the wok.

“Oh my god!” I barked. “Are you still worrying about Max?”

“Max who you had sex with?” he sniped. “Maybe a bit.”

“I haven’t seen him in months. I haven’t talked to him—or to Freya—because of you.”

He set down the wooden spoon. “Are you seriously blaming me for what happened that night? You’re the one who was desperate to have sex with someone else.”

“I wasn’t desperate,” I growled. “But you seemed pretty quick to jump into Freya’s bed.”

“Only because she told me it was what you wanted.”

“I’m sure it was a real hardship for you.”

“It was, actually. I don’t take sleeping with another person lightly. Unlike you.”

“I don’t take it lightly, but it happened! And now it’s over! You’re the one who can’t get over it!”

“I’m over it! You’re the one trying to hang on to a sick, toxic friendship.”

“It’s not sick and toxic! Freya is my best friend. She’s my only friend on this stupid fucking island that you made us move to!”

“I didn’t make you move here,” he said, but I had already grabbed my glass and the bottle of wine, was already stalking down the hall to our bedroom.

“Dinner’s almost ready!” he hollered after me.

“I’m not hungry!” I slammed the bedroom door.

As I settled onto the bed, glass of wine in hand, Freya’s words rang in my head. If you and Brian are too uptight to handle what we did . . . It was becoming clear that we weren’t handling it, we weren’t handling it well at all. This was not the first time these jealousies and insecurities had resurfaced. The distance between us had been growing, the tension and resentment simmering for months. Brian still blamed me for instigating the couples’ swap, and I blamed him for ruining my friendship with Freya.

I’d been worried about losing that friendship, but now I realized: my marriage was at risk, too.





40


My mood was not improved the next morning when I opened the store. The hangover didn’t help. I knew better than to drink over a half bottle of red wine on an empty stomach. But my condition that morning was irrelevant. There would be few, if any customers. Low would come in at noon to allow me a lunch break and take care of the cleaning duties. I filled the kettle and plugged it in, knowing I had nothing to do but stand behind the till and stew about the mess that was my life. At least I could avoid Brian.

He had slept on the sofa in his office last night. In our eight years of marriage, we’d only spent a handful of nights in separate beds. When we were young and passionate and learning to live together, we’d had some huge fights. Those issues seemed so frivolous now, our outrage back then so misguided and naive. This felt different. There was a gravitas to our anger now. We had broken our vows, slept with other people, betrayed each other’s trust. This was real.

I suddenly felt a wave of homesickness—not for the life Brian and I had shared in Seattle, but for my life before I even met him. I wanted to leave the island and go back to Vancouver, to my parents, my high school friends, to a simpler time. It wouldn’t be easy, but I could start over there, get back into marketing or even go back to school and learn something new. Rents were high in Vancouver, the price of real estate astronomical, but my parents would let me stay with them until I was on my feet. I could close the door on this messy chapter, this fucked-up experiment, and reinvent myself.

The kettle whistled then, jarring me from my thoughts. As I poured boiling water over a tea bag, I shook away the fantasy. I wasn’t ready to leave the island. And I certainly wasn’t ready to leave the man I had loved my entire adult life. What Brian and I had was worth fighting for. But I was angry at him. He put all the blame for what happened that night on Freya, Max, and me, and he needed to accept his share of responsibility. If Brian had known the couples’ swap would cause such damage, why had he gone along with it? Why hadn’t he rejected Freya’s seduction? Why hadn’t he come to the guest bedroom and taken me home before we’d done things that we couldn’t take back? Brian had no right to act so innocent, so holier than thou. He had slept with my best friend. The thought made me even queasier.

The door tinkled then, and I hurried out of the back room to greet a welcome customer. But it was only Low, arriving for her eleven thirty shift.

“’Morning,” I muttered.

“Rough night?”

Shit. Did I look that bad? Were my anger and hangover so obvious? I was about to deny it but then thought . . . why? Low wasn’t going to judge me. Low didn’t care about me at all.