“Fair?”
I could finally feel anger arriving.
“You stood in our apartment and told me you were going to fuck your ex, then told me to be generous.”
“I shouldn’t have said it like that.”
I stared at her.
“That is your defense?”
“No.”
“You think phrasing was the problem?”
She began crying harder.
“I don’t know what I was thinking.”
“Then tell me.”
She could not.
I waited.
Eventually she said:
“Alex coming back stirred things up.”
There it was.
The first honest sentence.
“What things?”
“Old feelings.”
I nodded slowly.
“And you told me he meant nothing.”
“I wanted that to be true.”
That hurt more than I expected.
Not:
It was true until recently.
I wanted that to be true.
I asked:
“How long have you been talking to him?”
Lauren closed her eyes.
“A few weeks.”
“How few?”
“Five.”
Exactly when he returned.
“How much?”
“Messages.”
“Every day?”
“Most days.”
“Did you delete them?”
“Yes.”
I looked toward the yard.
Lauren whispered:
“I know.”
“You know what?”
“How bad that sounds.”
“Sounds?”
“How bad it is.”
I nodded.
“Better.”
She cried silently.
I asked:
“When did you decide you were going over there last night?”
“Three days ago.”
That answer killed whatever tiny uncertainty remained.
Three days.
During final wedding preparation.
During the rehearsal.
During dinner with our families.
While her father toasted us.
She had already planned it.
“Did Alex know you were getting married today?”
“Yes.”
“Did he know your plan?”
“Yes.”
“What did he say?”
Lauren looked embarrassed.
“He said it was a bad idea.”
That surprised me.
“He told you not to?”
“At first.”
“At first.”
She nodded.
“Then what?”
“He said it was my decision.”
I almost laughed.
Everyone suddenly loved calling things decisions after they wanted to escape responsibility for them.
I asked:
“Did he think I knew?”
“No.”
“So he knew you were cheating.”
“Yes.”
“Did that bother you?”
“Yes.”
“Enough to stop?”
No answer.
There it was.
Lauren said:
“I thought if I did it once, I could put everything behind me.”
I looked at her.
“You thought sleeping with him would make you more ready to marry me.”
Her face twisted.
“When you say it like that—”
“How else is there to say it?”
She put both hands over her face.
“I was confused.”
“You were entitled.”
She lowered her hands.
That word hit.
I continued.
“You believed you could take one last thing for yourself and then come back because I was guaranteed.”
“That isn’t—”
“Yes, it is.”
“You told me tomorrow you’d be mine.”
I hated even repeating the phrase.
“Like marriage was some prize I should be grateful to receive after you spent the night testing whether you still wanted your ex.”
“I wasn’t testing.”