She pointed the knife at the cutting board.
“That's the controlling thing.”
I stared.
“Lauren, I'm uncomfortable with you discussing our marriage intimately with a man you're clearly emotionally close to.”
“You're uncomfortable because he's a man.”
“That's part of it.”
“Exactly.”
“No. Not exactly.”
She rolled her eyes.
“You always make everything sound like a court case.”
I walked out of the kitchen before I said something worse.
That evening, she slept beside me.
I stared at the ceiling.
I knew.
Not that she was physically cheating.
I did not know that.
But I knew Blake had become more important than she admitted.
I also knew I was terrified to push hard enough to force the answer.
Because I still believed the worst possible outcome was losing my marriage.
I did not yet understand that sometimes refusing to confront the truth is how you lose it.
Then came Friday.
I finished work around six.
Traffic from New Brunswick into Princeton was miserable.
I stopped at a small Italian place Lauren liked and picked up dinner because we had barely seen each other that week.
When I got home, the house felt too quiet.
I called her name.
No answer.
Upstairs, light came from our bedroom.
I walked in.
Lauren stood before the mirror.
Black dress.
Not one I recognized.
Hair curled.
Makeup finished.
Gold earrings.
On the floor beneath the window sat a small leather overnight bag.
I stopped.
She saw me through the mirror.
Neither of us spoke for several seconds.
I put the takeout bag on the dresser.
“Where are you going?”
Lauren turned.
“Out.”
“With the overnight bag?”
She exhaled.
“Ethan, I don't want to do this dramatically.”
That sentence terrified me.
“Do what?”
She looked directly at me.
“I'm going on a date.”
I honestly thought I had misunderstood.
“A date.”
“Yes.”
“With whom?”
“That isn't the point.”
“It seems like the main point.”
Her expression hardened.
“Blake.”
Of course.
The room went quiet.
Somewhere downstairs, the refrigerator compressor started.
That stupid ordinary sound is one of the clearest things I remember.
I looked at the overnight bag.
“Are you sleeping with him?”
Lauren crossed her arms.
“I don't know.”
“You packed clothes.”
“I said I don't know.”
“You're married.”
“I know.”
“To me.”
“I know, Ethan.”
“Then explain this in a way that makes sense.”
She walked toward the window.
“I can't keep living like this.”
“Like what?”
“Contained.”
“Contained by our marriage?”
“By expectations.”
“What expectation am I enforcing right now besides not dating other people?”
She looked at me.
“I need freedom.”
“Then are you ending the marriage?”
“I didn't say that.”
I laughed once.
Not because it was funny.
“You want to date another man while remaining married to me.”
“I want room to figure out what I actually want.”
“With me waiting here.”
“I don't know what waiting means.”
“It means exactly what you know it means.”
She shook her head.
“This is why talking to you is impossible.”