“Why not?”
“I have to work, remember? I’m not married to a plastic surgeon. I only sleep with one when his wife’s out of town.”
Jason clears his throat and says her name as a “buck up, sis” reprimand.
“What?” she replies.
“Don’t let this thing sour you.”
“Too late.”
“Happiness is the best revenge, you know? Just be happy. It’s a choice.”
“Be happy, huh? Like Nick’s wife?” Valerie snaps. “Did Hank tell you how happy she is?”
Jason hesitates and then says, “Actually, he said she’s very pleasant. Down-to-earth.”
“Great. Fantastic,” she says, the guilt and remorse from Saturday morning replaced by a thick, strangling jealousy. “Is she gorgeous, too?”
She braces herself, realizing that there is no answer Jason can give her that would satisfy her. If Nick’s wife is unattractive, she will feel used. If Tessa is gorgeous, she’ll feel inferior.
“No. She’s not gorgeous. He said she’s attractive. But not gorgeous by any stretch.”
Valerie groans, feeling queasy and light-headed.
“Just remember, Val, she’s married to a cheater. You should feel sorry for her. Not jealous of her,” Jason says.
“Yeah,” she says, trying to convince herself that her brother is right, that she is better off without him, without any man. That he is Tessa’s problem, not hers. But in her heart, she knows that the only thing that has changed since Saturday morning is that he stopped calling her. She knew all along that he was married. She knew all along that he had a wife. She knew all along that she wanted something—someone—that didn’t belong to her and probably never would. This is what she gets. This is exactly what she deserves.
Jason blows his nose and then asks her if she’s going to be okay. She tells him yes, and hangs up, willing herself not to cry as she swivels her chair and stares up at a watermark on the ceiling.
Seconds later, the phone rings, the screen lighting up “private caller.” She answers it, assuming it is Jason with some follow-up Nick bashing, some nugget of relationship wisdom.
“Yeah?” she says.
“Hi, Val. It’s me,” she hears. She catches her breath, realizing that it is still her favorite voice in the world.
Rage and relief battle inside her as she says, “Hello, Nick.”
“How are you doing?” he asks.
“I’m fine,” she says as quickly and convincingly as she can. Her voice is cold—too cold to indicate indifference.
“I’m sorry I haven’t called . . .” he says.
“It’s okay. I understand,” she says, even though it isn’t and she doesn’t.
“I’ve just been confused . . . trying to work through some things . . .”
“You don’t have to explain. It’s really not necessary,” she says, hoping that he will anyway.
“Val,” he says, anguish in his voice that gives her a small degree of comfort. “Can I see you? Can you meet me somewhere? I need to see you. Talk to you.”
Her mind races. She knows she should say no. She knows she must protect her son’s heart, even if she isn’t willing to protect her own. Charlie is attached to Nick now—fiercely bonded—but if she continues to see him, it will only be worse when Nick disappoints her again. Her chest tightens as she prepares to tell him that it’s not a good idea, that Friday night was a mistake, and that she can’t afford to make another one. But she can’t do it. She can’t make herself shut the door completely. Instead, she opens her mouth and tells him she was just about to go for a walk in the Common, that he is welcome to join her.
“Where?” he says. “Where can I meet you?”
“By the Frog Pond,” she says as nonchalantly as she can, pretending that it isn’t a hopeful, sentimental choice. That it isn’t because she wants to walk with him in a place she loves, breathing in the cold winter air together. That it isn’t because she imagined the two of them taking Charlie there, ice-skating and drinking hot chocolate afterward. That it isn’t to create a vivid backdrop to the memory she hopes he wants to make. The explanation, the affirmation, the promise of what’s to come.
***