I waited for her to say more, but when she didn’t, I started fidgeting with my cigarette until I burned my hand. I sucked on my knuckle, wondering if we’d sit here all night in silence, or if I should say something else.
“Is there a but to that statement?” I asked, after a while.
“No,” she said. And then, “I’m not good at monogamy.”
My heart rate sped up. Was she confessing something to me? Was I supposed to press or just let her speak? I decided to tell her something I heard on the radio.
“Humans are monogamous creatures. We stray when our happiness is threatened. Happiness is tied to survival. We feel as if we are failing if we aren’t happy, especially when we open any social media panel and see our friends hashtagging all the good things in their lives. It’s all fake. We are all more in limbo than we are happy.”
She stubbed out her cigarette and pivoted her body to face me. “He does everything right. He’s the best father, he lets me be me. He’s kind and gentle and spends his life helping other people be healthy humans.”
“Is there someone else?” My voice was low and conspiratorial. It reminded me of high school, how girls always had their heads together discussing the various dramatic happenings of their lives.
“No … not really…” Her voice dropped off and I knew there was something she wasn’t telling me. I decided to change tactics.
“Did you go somewhere tonight? You’re dressed up,” I said, pointing at her boots.
“Yes,” she said, lighting her third cigarette.
I shifted my butt around on the stair, starting to feel numb. I didn’t have as much cushioning as I did before.
“Do you not trust me, is that why you’re giving me one word answers?” I tried to look as wounded as possible, which I sort of was anyway. I’d not given her any reason to doubt me.
“I don’t trust anyone, Fig. Not even myself.” She sighed, stubbing out her cigarette before she had a chance to smoke it. “Come on,” she said, standing up. I watched her dust off the back of her jeans and walk through the door into the kitchen before I stood up and followed her. She was making tea, setting out the mugs and sugar cubes. She didn’t bother to turn on the light, choosing instead to fumble around in the dark.
“I saw an old friend today,” she said, setting down a mug of tea in front of me. “From college, actually. He was in town visiting his best friend and invited me to have dinner with them.”
“Oh?” I said, trying to sound nonchalant.
“Did … something happen?”
She waved away my question, furrowing her brow. “No, nothing like that. It was lovely to see him after all this time, you know? I think I’m having some sort of young and free college nostalgia.”
“Are you attracted to him?”
She paused. “I’d be lying if I said no. He’s very attractive.”
“Is that why Darius took Mercy to his parents? Was he upset that you went?”
She appeared to grow uncomfortable at my question.
“He didn’t like it. But, we have an agreement. He doesn’t try to change me; I don’t try to change him. I’m not that girl who locks herself up after she’s married. If a friend comes into town, I see my friend. End of story.”
I imagined she’d said those very words to him.
“You shouldn’t have to change,” I said. “He married you for who you are. When you start changing little things, the big things change, too.”
“Exactly,” she said. “That’s exactly right.”
I felt excited. I was speaking her language and she was trusting me a little more with each sentence we exchanged.
“A relationship should have complete trust. If he truly knows who you are then he should feel comfortable with you having dinner with an old friend.”
“Thanks, Fig. I needed to hear that.”
“The guy you had dinner with … did you ever…?”
She was shaking her head before I’d even finished.
“No, nothing like that. We barely know each other. In college we ran in separate groups. We connected more after we graduated. Checked in every year or so on Facebook. It’s a loose friendship.”
“Then why in the world would it make you question if you were monogamous?”
Her hand stilled over her mug of tea. She didn’t look at me, but even in the near dark I could see the muscles working in her jaw. She was into this guy. No matter what she said. Or maybe she just wasn’t into Darius anymore. She was constantly complaining about how little he was around. She didn’t know how lucky she was. Darius worked hard, and it wasn’t like he was working some shallow, soul-sucking job. He was helping people. She should feel proud of that.