So, when she called me one afternoon with news that she was finally pregnant, I cancelled my family BBQ and relocated our celebration to her and Barry’s home.
Six months later, Barry called me while I was leaving work. He was talking so fast that I could only make out every other word.
“Barry?” I tried to sound calm. “I can’t...I can’t understand you...Are you crying? Is something wrong with Amanda? Is she okay? Did something happen with the baby?”
“The baby,” he said, and then he was quiet for a while. “The baby...The baby’s not mine. It’s not mine...”
“What? Barry, you’re being ridiculous. You two have been trying to have a baby in every way possible for years. You’re just nervous because he’s almost here. You’re going to be a great father and—”
“I was going back and forth to Texas in May...We might’ve had sex once during that month. Maybe.”
I stilled. I remembered that.
Amanda had been complaining about how little he was at home due to his job. He’d been demoted and his company was making him do all the grunt work, denying his request to attend out-of-state meetings via video chat.
I remembered her crying about how alone she felt, how she didn’t think Barry was as serious about having a natural born baby as she was because he’d started talking about adoption.
Still, I refused to believe that Amanda’s baby wasn’t his. Who else could it have belonged to?
“Barry, I think you’re being paranoid...That one time could’ve been the time you know? I think you should call and discuss this with her. I don’t think I’m the right—”
“It’s not mine.” He groaned. “Meet me at the Marriott around the corner from your job. I know you two are supposedly great friends, but I need to show you something.”
“Okay...” I hung up and called Ryan.
“Hey baby,” he whispered. “I’m in a meeting. What’s going on?”
“I need you to pick the girls up from dance practice today.”
“Okay, not a problem. Is something wrong?”
“No, I—” I was about to tell him that Barry had called me crying about Amanda, but there was a strange voice in the back of my head telling me not to. “I need to run a few errands and I won’t be able to pick them up on time. That’s all.”
“Okay babe. See you at dinner.”
When I made it to the Marriot’s lobby, I saw Barry hurling pennies into the wishing well, cursing at any one who dared to stare at him.
His eyes were swollen and bloodshot, and he reeked of stale cigarette smoke and alcohol.
I tapped him on the shoulder and he turned around in a rage. But then his eyes softened and he hugged me tightly. “Thank God you’re here...Come with me.”
He motioned for me to follow him inside the hotel’s upscale lounge and ordered a bottle of the most expensive champagne on the menu. Sighing several times, he shook his head over and over.
“I’ve never really liked wine, Claire.” He filled his glass until it slightly overflowed. “It was always Amanda’s thing. I always thought it tasted like horse shit. The more expensive it is, the worse it tastes.”
He’s losing it...I knew I should’ve called Amanda on my way over here... I’ll go call her in the restroom...
“Barry, I’m going to run to the—”
“She insisted on having this very brand at our wedding. Did you know that?”
I shook my head.
He took a large gulp and exhaled. “Yep. 1975 Chateau Trotanoy—it’s a Bordeaux...And it’s still as disgusting as it was on the day I married her.”
“Barry...”
“That’s why I find it quite fitting to drink now, especially since I’ll be filing for a divorce in the morning.”
WHAT!
“I don’t feel comfortable with you telling me this.” I stood up. “You need to go home and talk to—”
“My wife? My philandering, lying, ‘doesn’t-give-a-shit-about-me’ wife? I don’t think so.” He pulled an envelope from his breast pocket and slid it to me. “I hired someone weeks ago to follow her, to find out where the f**k she was spending all her extra time.”
I sat down and opened the envelope, flipping through the pictures: Amanda was shopping at a few boutiques, hanging out with me, and attending first time mommy classes.
I stopped flipping and put the stack down. “Okay. I need you to listen to me. I really don’t think—”