I sit across the table from Brittany, doing my best to pretend that everything is okay. Inside, however, I'm alternating between sadness and rage. Sadness that my marriage is about to end and rage – well – for the myriad of reasons my marriage is about to end.
The night is cool and it's drizzling outside. Which is perfect for the mood I'm in. I look out the windows and see the lights of the Space Needle in the distance, the soft rain outside casting a halo around the structure as it juts upward into the dark sky.
“You okay, baby?” Brittany asks.
“Fine,” I say and take a sip of my wine.
“You just seem a little – off.”
I shrug. “Just a lot on my mind.”
We're sitting at a table near the windows inside Savato's, a wonderful Italian restaurant that I've been coming to for years. It's where I took Brittany on our first date. And now, it will be the place I end things with her. I figure it gives a nice symmetry to our whole relationship. Closing the proverbial circle, so to speak.
It has been a few weeks since my meeting with Adam. I had him put together a nice, thick file for me to reference as needed. It has all the pertinent information and facts that he'd managed to gather together – along with copies of the emails that I'd discovered on my own.
In those few weeks, I'd already made all the necessary arrangements. I want this to be as quick and clean as possible. I'm not an over-sentimental kind of man, but I'm not going to lie – this hurts. It hurts like a son of a bitch. I love Brittany with everything in me and I tried to give her the best life possible. I doted on her and catered to her every whim. Her every need and desire. Her happiness and contentment were the only things that mattered to me and I did everything in my power to ensure she had both.
And what I get in return was lies. Deception. Unfaithfulness. For years, she'd played me like a fool and I never saw it. My love for her blinded me to all the terrible shit she was doing behind my back. To the fact that she was using me. Taking advantage of the lifestyle I had provided for her. Took advantage of my trust.
“Care to talk about it?” she asks.
I can tell by the look in her eyes that she actually couldn't care less about what's on my mind. It's something I never noticed before, but once I started to uncover the truth about Brittany, I started paying more attention to her behaviors. And as I did, it hit me that she was simply playing a role – the role of the dutiful, caring wife. She says and does all the right things, and always acts like she cares. She's good at her role, I’ll give her that.
Of course, I'm always so consumed with work and trying to make her happy that I've been blind to the fact that she's been playing a part. That she has a second life completely separate from the one we'd built together. At least, the life I thought we'd built together.
Clearly, the only thing we'd built was a house of cards. And now, it was about to all come crashing down.
Brittany sips her wine and sits back, giving me a small smile. Even though outwardly, she looks like she's focused on me and is being attentive, I can see that her mind is clearly somewhere else. Probably with her lover. Probably recalling the things they do together when I'm not around. It's morbid and serves no actual purpose, but that doesn't stop me from wondering if she's ever brought him into our home. Fucked him in our bed.
Part of me still loves the woman sitting across from me. Still sees her as the sweet, soft, college co-ed I met all those years ago. And yet, another part of me hates her. Despises her for the deceitful, unfaithful, money-grubber she's become.
The tension and sense of expectation in the air between us is thick. She can obviously tell that something is up with me and it's making her nervous. She's great at hiding it, terrific at playing things off and pretending that everything is okay.
But then, I suppose she's had a lot of practice at leading a double life. At hiding things from me. There are always tells though. Subtle clues that give her away. Things I hadn't noticed until recently – things I really hadn't thought to look for because I believed in our marriage. Believed in her.
Obviously, I'm a bigger idiot than I ever thought.
“So, Savato's,” she says, clearing her throat, and giving me a wide smile. “It's not my birthday. It's not our anniversary. What's the special occasion?”
I take a sip of my wine and set the glass back down. “I suppose you can call it the start of a new chapter.”
“Oh?” she asks. “What sort of new chapter?”
A busboy arrives before I can answer the question and clears our dishes. Our waitress, Maggie, arrives right behind him, her smile bright. She's a sweet girl who is very good at her job and normally serves us whenever we come in.
“And how was your meal, Mr. and Mrs. Anderson?” she asks cheerily.
“Excellent,” I say. “As usual.”
“My veal was kind of on the dry side, to be honest,” Brittany says, not even looking at the girl. “Not up to your usual standards, I'm afraid.”
“Oh, I'm very sorry to hear that,” Maggie says quickly. “Let me go get Wes –”
I hold up my hand and cut a quick glare at Brittany. “It's fine, Maggie,” I say. “Really, everything was excellent.”
She looks at Brittany – who rolls her eyes – for a moment and then back at me uncertainly. I give her a smile and a small shake of the head. It's one of Brittany's tells. When she is nervous and feeling uncertain, she always finds something to complain about. When we're out for dinner or another occasion, she tends to be rude and dismissive of people she considers to be beneath her – like waitresses.
She's always been like that. Honestly, that probably should have been a red flag for me. In my opinion, treating somebody like they're a second-class citizen because of their occupation or because they haven't been able to enjoy the advantages you have, is reprehensible. And, it shows a lot about a person's character. Shows you who they really are.
But again, it's one of those things I've always been blind to because I was so head over heels in love with her.
“Well, is there anything else I can get for you?” Maggie asks, her face still a mask of uncertainty. “Cappuccino? Dessert?”
“No, thank you, Maggie,” I say. “We'll just finish our wine. You can bring the check whenever you're ready.”
She looks from me to Brittany and then back again. Perhaps sensing the tension in the air between us, she just gives me a nod and then turns on her heel, walking briskly away. Brittany looks at me and I can see a mild trace of irritation in her eyes. But, always the master of her expressions, the look is quickly gone, replaced by the feigned good cheer she'd forced onto her face all night.
“I was actually interested in a piece of their tiramisu,” she said.
I shrug. “We're just about done here,” I reply. “Besides, I'm sure you would have found something to complain about and wouldn't have really enjoyed it anyway.”
She looks at me, slack-jawed for a moment before composing herself again. Her face tightens up and a small frown tugs at the corners of her mouth, but as quickly as it appeared, it's gone again. Although her expression isn't nearly as warm as it had been earlier, at least she doesn’t look like she's been sucking on lemons.
“What's going on with you tonight, Liam?”
I sigh and lean back in my seat. Picking up the bottle of wine, I pour the last of it into my glass and set it back down. Never taking my eyes off my wife, I pick up my glass and take a long swallow of the merlot. Brittany shifts in her seat and avoids my eyes, her discomfort growing by the second.
“So,” I finally say, setting my glass down on the table. “Why don't you tell me about Travis Waltham.”