Unbreakable (City Lights, #2)(52)

“Of course not. We just won’t be living together, but we’ll still see each other.”

“When?” Antoinette asked pointedly.

My confident demeanor started to erode, but before I could answer, a busboy dropped a huge platter of dishes and silverware somewhere behind us. The cacophony of shattering porcelain was enormous against the exterior floor of the restaurant and propelled me out of my seat. I knocked over my ice tea, my heart clanging madly in my chest.

“Oh my god, I’m sorry.” I tried to wipe up the spill with a hand that trembled violently. “I’m okay…I’m okay.”

Lilah put her hand over mine while Rashida sought a waiter to help clean up the mess.

“Darling,” Minnie said in a soft voice, after the waiter had departed, “I think you need to see someone.”

“She’s right.” Antoinette flipped a lock of blonde hair off her shoulder and leaned over the table, folding her perfectly manicured—un-trembling—hands, one over other. “Alexandra, you aren’t working, you’re not living with Drew, and you’re awfully defensive about an impoverished man who did a heroic thing for you but, for all intents and purposes, is a complete stranger.”

“Not to mention a clear case of PTSD,” Minnie said, as if her degree were in clinical psychology and not art history.

Antoinette nodded solemnly in agreement. “What did you say, Rashida, about returning to normal routines after a crisis?”

“They can help facilitate the healing process,” Rashida—also not a psychologist—said with authority.

“Exactly. And you’re doing nothing of the kind.” Antoinette reached into her purse and pulled out a business card. “This is a friend of Paul’s. I asked for his card the second I heard you were in that bank.” She slid it across the table. “There is no shame in needing help.”

I hesitated. Of course Antoinette was right. Countless people had been helped by therapy, regardless of what my mother’s views on ‘strength’ were. Even so, taking that card from Antoinette Phillips felt like admitting defeat. Not taking it, however, was a different kind of defeat, at least at this table. I straightened my shoulders and put on a thin smile. I’d recovered slightly from the shattered plates and my hand only trembled a little as I reached for the card and dropped it into my purse.

“I’ll think about it.”

#

The other ladies departed at one o’clock, but I had nowhere to go and nothing to do, so I lingered over paying the bill. The others had politely protested that I should be allowed to skip, given my recent circumstances, but I insisted. It was my turn.

Lilah remained behind. I could feel my friend’s watchful gaze on me as I scribbled my signature on the bill.

“Okay, they’re gone, tell me the truth,” Lilah said. Her dark, almond eyes were warm with concern, but stern too. “Are you really okay?”

“If I had a dollar for every time someone asked me that, I could buy the Belvedere.”

“We’re worried about you. I’m worried about you.”

“Don’t be. I can handle it.”

“Handle what? Being kicked out of your office? Because I know that’s what the evil half of your bosses did to you for Munro. Or how about living apart from Drew? The others may have bought that bullshit about the romance of it, but I know Drew’s idea of romance is eating takeout together over your desks as you both pull an all-nighter. So right after this trauma happens, you’re suddenly split?”

I toyed with the pen. A thousand excuses came to my mind, followed by a thousand defenses of Drew. Instead I heard myself say, “We don’t have sex. We haven’t had sex. Not in six months.”

Lilah sat back in her chair, stunned. “Six months.”

“And not for six months before that. And before that, during college and law school, maybe once a month. Maybe.”

“Jesus, Alex…”

I shrugged self-consciously. “I chalked it up to being busy. I still do. Back then, we were busy with getting our degrees and then jumping into intense careers. There were plenty of excuses. But it got worse.”

“Do you think he’s…got someone else?”

“No. He’d never do that. And every single solitary time he’s canceled some plan or stayed out late, I could always call him and he’d be where he said he’d be. Moreover, he doesn’t have it in him to cheat.” Unlike me, apparently.

“But the infrequency isn’t the worst of it,” I continued. “What’s worse is the complete lack of passion. There’s no fire. He usually has to get himself drunk and the entire glorious event lasts a few minutes.” I sighed. “I feel terrible talking about it…about him, like this, but…”

“Did something happen?”

I told Lilah about the incident in the kitchen and the subsequent argument. “He was relieved, Lilah. Relieved. I could see it.”

“He’s gay,” Lilah said. “Right? I mean, that’s the obvious answer.”

“I don’t think so.”

“Why not?”

“For the same reason I don’t think he’s ever had an affair on the side: because I can’t picture Drew being passionate with anyone. Man, woman, no one.”