After dinner, we moved into the living room with coffee. Mrs. Miller went back to the kitchen to check the pie, and her husband followed to find the good dessert plates. Robert asked whether we still hoped to buy a house after the wedding. I told him that was the plan, as long as interest rates and our savings made sense by then.
"And kids?" he asked. "Not tomorrow, obviously, but is that in the picture?"
I looked toward Sarah before answering. We had discussed children often, but lately she had avoided the subject, and I did not want to make assumptions. She was looking out the window. I said that we hoped to start a family in a few years, after we felt settled.
Robert nodded, pleased. "You've got a good one here, Sarah," he said. "A real one. A man who plans before he jumps."
I expected her to smile or make a joke about my spreadsheets. Instead, she looked at him with a faintly irritated expression. Then she looked at me, and I watched her face settle into the composed, almost amused look I would remember for months. It was the face she wore when she believed she had decided something for both of us.
"He's right, Alex," she said quietly. "You are a real one. You're safe. You're secure. You've got a plan for everything."
"I'm trying," I said, uncertain where she was going.
She leaned closer, keeping her voice below the level of the conversation at the other end of the room. "But I don't want a man who plays it safe forever. I want somebody who takes risks. Somebody who can give me more than a house in the suburbs and a retirement account."
At first, I thought we were having the same argument we had been circling for months. I tried to stay calm because there were people nearby and because I wanted to understand what she actually meant. "What are you talking about, Sarah?" I asked. "Are you saying you don't want the life we've been planning?"
She gave a short laugh that sounded rehearsed. "I told you about Liam. We've been seeing each other."
I heard every word. Somehow they did not form a sentence in my mind at first. I looked at her face, waiting for the part that would reveal this was a cruel joke or an expression I had misunderstood. Her eyes remained steady, and she did not look ashamed.
"Seeing each other?" I repeated.
"Alex, don't make me spell it out. It's been going on for a while. It started with work, but we just clicked."
A while. The phrase caught in my head, detached from everything else. It could have meant three weeks or three months; suddenly every late night and locked phone carried a different meaning. I wanted to ask when, where, how often, and whether she had ever felt even a second of hesitation before coming home to me. But my throat tightened, and I could barely form the first question.
"You've been sleeping with him?"
She glanced toward the kitchen. "Keep your voice down."