The Wives(27)

Talk soon,

Regina

With Seth snoring softly beside me, I read her message to Will three times before I write my response. There is more I want to know, to confirm, and Will is the only way I can do that.

Hey, Regina,

Since you’ve given me permission to load on the compliments I guess I should tell you that you’re stunning. I’d love to go on a hike with you! And yes, my nieces and nephews are adorable. Do you want kids? I guess that’s a really personal question but somewhat important to know when you’re dating.

Will

It’s been just a few minutes since I hit Send on Will’s message when my phone lights up on the nightstand. I glance over my shoulder at Seth to see that his back is to me as he snores. Lifting my phone carefully from where it lies, I’m surprised to see a notification that Regina has sent me/Will a message. It’s late and I wonder why she’s awake, and then I remember Seth telling me that she’d stay up long after he went to bed, working—always working.

Will, what are you doing up so late? Looks like you’re a night owl like me. I can never sleep. There’s a really great hiking trail near my house. It takes about four hours round trip. Let’s do this!

And yes, I do want children. Let’s have a phone conversation soon.

Talk later,

Regina





      TWELVE


It’s Sunday and I’m at my parents’ for lunch. My mother is nowhere to be found. I’ve just read Regina’s last email to Will for the tenth time and I slam my phone down on the kitchen counter. Worried I’ve cracked the screen, I flip it over to check for damage. To my relief, there is none. I’m still angry enough to slam it again so I walk to the window and stare at the mist rolling across Elliott Bay while I get my feelings in order. Regina is cheating on Seth; the flirtatious tone she uses in the messages to the man she thinks is Will is escalating. And on top of that, I don’t know why she’s lying to him about wanting kids. Just this morning, she’d sent Will a suggestive photo of herself in a bikini (probably because she liked the flattery about her looks). It had really irked me to think the photo was from a vacation she’d taken with our husband. I don’t know if I’m more upset by the fact that she’s going to hurt Seth, or that I have to share him with a woman who can’t even stay faithful, and who orders pizza, for God’s sake. I have to tell him. He needs to know.

My father walks into the kitchen a moment later, a case of Diet Coke under his arm.

“I found a box of Diet in the garage fridge,” he says. “That okay?”

“Fine,” I say. Though it’s not fine. I don’t drink Diet. He pops a can and pours the contents into a glass with ice. I take it from him and sip. Perfume: it tastes like perfume. Or maybe that’s just the bitter taste that’s been lingering in my mouth since breakfast when I read Regina’s fourth message to Will. She finally told Will she was divorced, not expounding on when, or why. It is partly the truth—Seth divorced Regina to legally marry me, but their relationship hasn’t ended.

“Where’s Mom?”

My father pulls a beer from the fridge. He doesn’t offer me one because it’s not ladylike for women to drink this early in the day, or so he’s told me. “At the store. Where else?”

“Ladies’ church group, Nordstrom, the gym, with Sylvie, the spa...”

“Good point.” He winks at me before rummaging around in a drawer for a bottle opener.

“It’s in there,” I say, pointing to the drawer closest to the back door. My parents have lived in this house for twenty years and my father still doesn’t know where things are kept. I blame my mother for this, for never allowing him to open his own bottle of beer.

As if on cue, my mother bustles into the kitchen, plastic grocery bags crackling in her hands, eyeing us like we’re wolves trying to eat her. “What are you two on about?” she asks.

I watch as she sets the bags down and reaches up to pat her hair, something my grandmother used to do when she was nervous. I get a whiff of her perfume: Estée Lauder something or the other.

“We’re gossiping about you, Mom, were your ears burning?” She touches her ear, frowning.

“Where’s Seth?” she asks. “We haven’t seen him in weeks.”

My husband is being someone else’s husband tonight.

“He’s in Portland till Thursday.”

She knows this, I told her yesterday when she called, asking about his whereabouts. She likes to rub in the fact that he puts work before me. I take a sip of my drink, the bubbles fizzing close to my nose. In her mind, it is because I don’t wife hard enough. She once told me that the fact I had a job was probably driving Seth to be away more.

“How do you figure that?” I’d asked her.

“He feels like he needs to compete with you, work more. A woman’s place is in her home. And your father never let a business meeting keep him from being home for dinner on time,” she’d said.

My father doesn’t even know where the bottle opener is, I want to say to her. I think about the last dinner I made for Seth—hadn’t he opened the bottle of wine that was sitting on the table? Yes, and he knew in which drawer I kept the corkscrew.

“You should really think about joining a gym to keep yourself busy.” Ah, we’ve moved on to ridiculing my body. She rinses her hands under the faucet, glancing back to eye my thighs. I push up on my toes, lifting my thighs off the seat of the chair so they don’t look so wide.