On Second Thought(23)

This wasn't really happening. He couldn't break up with me. We were special.

* * *

I spent a restless night, alternating between fury, confusion and the  urge to drive to Greenwich and slap him silly. I also stomped through  the house, with Ollie bouncing after me with his blanket, trying to find  my engagement ring.

I didn't find it. But I did open the box that contained every single  card Eric had ever given me, every note, every funny little drawing.

The notes made my eyes spill over with tears. He loved me. I knew that. It was right there in black and white.

In the garage, I found a huge box from Eastern Mountain Sports,  containing a tent, cooking gear, hiking boots, hiking socks, hiking  shirts, hiking shorts, hiking hat. Eric was nothing if not a man  addicted to gear, after all. There was a subzero sleeping bag, backpack  and trekking poles (to ensure he'd look like a total ass if he did  manage to get on a trail). There was even bear repellent.

So he was Cheryl Strayed now? Taking a hike to find himself? That was so last year!

I resisted the urge to burn everything camping-related, went inside and  turned on our giant TV. Watched Game of Thrones, ate Wheat Thins dipped  in Nutella (I should've taken that lobster, damn it) and tried to  distract myself by lusting after Jon Snow, Ollie in my lap.

It didn't work.

Tears leaked out of my eyes. This was the worst fight we'd ever had. Ever.

I was scared. In eleven years together, we'd never once talked about breaking up.

This had to be a blip on the screen of our life together. This wouldn't  last. He loved me. He loved our dog. He loved our life together. How  many times had he told me that? A hundred? More?

But my heart seemed to be shivering.

I didn't get much sleep that night.

Eric's mother called me in the morning. "He's here," she said. "I don't know what's gotten into him. He's being an idiot."

There was a rattle in the background. "Are you making him pancakes?" I  asked. Judy's pancakes were the stuff of legend, and she made them every  time we came for breakfast.

"He's hungry. Here, Eric," she said, her voice growing distant as she  breasted the phone. Yes, I knew her that well. "There's bacon. I'm on  the phone with Ainsley, you know, Ainsley-" her voice came back louder  "-the woman who loves you? Remember her? Ainsley, sweetheart, I want you  to know that Aaron and I are completely ashamed at how our son has  treated you."

"I appreciate that."

"It's like he's forgetting the most important person in his life," she  boomed. "Here's the butter, honey. Quitting his job? A job that pays him  that salary plus a Cadillac health-care program, plus that office and  his nice secretary? And the gym, Ainsley! Right there in the building?  The gym!" Judy had always been dazzled by Eric's Wall Street office.  "Not so much syrup, baby, it's just sugar, you know. Anyway, we told him  he was being a fool. Alaska! Who lives in Alaska? He'll die in Alaska."         

     



 

"People die in Alaska all the time," Aaron echoed.

"Exactly," I said.

"He'll come around, sweetheart. He's not that dumb." There was a pause,  in which I imagined her glaring at her son, then putting another pancake  on his plate. "Are we still on for shopping on Thursday? I have nothing  to wear for my cruise."

See? Things were fine if she still wanted to go shopping with me. I assured her I was, then hung up.

I was supposed to have lunch with Rachelle. Good, that would be good.  I'd get my mind off things, and who knew? By the time I got back, Eric  might well be sitting on the front porch, waiting for me with a bouquet  of roses in his hand and regret in his heart.

I wouldn't tell anyone about this. It would only make things awkward when Eric and I got back together.

I showered and dressed with care, trying to empty my mind. Put on a cute  checked dress, long silver earrings and strappy sandals. There. I  looked like myself again, slightly plump (curvy, Eric liked to say),  cute as a bug's ear.

Except I could see the shadow of anxiety in my eyes.

We'd never parted on angry terms. We'd never gone to bed mad. We were that special couple, two halves of a whole.

Rachelle and I were meeting at the Blessed Bean, a sweet café in the  historic downtown section of Cambry-on-Hudson, not far from work. I rode  my bike into town, past Kate's still-new studio, photos of brides,  grooms, babies and animals in the window. She liked to say that  photography showed the truth of people, and over the years, she'd taken a  few pictures of Eric and me. We looked happy in every damn one. There  was no I haven't been happy for some time anywhere.

Or maybe there was. Maybe I should check.

As I passed Bliss, the bridal gown boutique, I tried not to look in the  window. The dresses were works of art (especially the short lace one I  saw out of the corner of my eye). But I couldn't be thinking about  weddings right now. No. Eric had some crawling to do.

There was Rachelle, checking her phone in front of the restaurant. "Hey!" I called, plastering on a smile.

"Don't you look cute!" she said. Like me, she loved clothes. Shopping  was one of the ways we'd become friends. "Did you check out the lace  dress in Bliss? Oh, my God, I have to get married just so I can wear  that!"

"It would look great on you. I'm starving," I said. "Let's go in."

We were seated by a window and she flirted with the waiter. Rachelle was single and on the prowl, and he was pretty cute.

"So guess what?" she said after we'd ordered. "I have office gossip."

"Oh, goody! Do tell."

"Captain Flatline went on a date last night. Can you believe it?"

"Really?" I drank some water to cover. Of course, I'd seen Jonathan last  night-not that I'd realized it was a date. It had looked about as  romantic as a bunion    ectomy. But I didn't want to tell Rachelle. After  all, Jonathan had seen me in my moment of humiliation. He'd ignored me  as I left the restaurant, and I was grateful. I knew he'd never talk  about it with anyone.

Rachelle chattered and speculated away, and I nodded and smiled but  didn't comment. We then moved on to where she could meet a nice guy-her  last date had tried to convince her to become a Druid-and I promised to  give her the number of one of the Wall Street crew she'd met at Eric's  party.

"I could use a rich boyfriend," she said. "I had to cancel my cable and  I'm in deep mourning. And what's-his-name was pretty cute."

God, if only we could do that party over. I'd make sure Kate's glass was full. Nathan would still be alive, and I'd be engaged.

When the bill came, I grabbed it, handed over my Visa and subtly checked my phone.

Nothing from Eric. Maybe he was home by now.

"What are you guys doing tonight? Anything fun?" she asked.

"Oh, no plans yet." I forced another smile.

The cute waiter came back with the bill. "I'm so sorry," he said, "but your card's been declined."

My mouth fell open, and humiliation burned its way up my chest and  throat, into my cheeks. "Oh...uh, right! I...I forgot, our card number  was hacked. I'm so sorry. I was supposed to throw that one out. Here."

Our credit card had not been hacked.

I dug in my wallet and handed him two twenties. "Sorry. Keep the change."

Eric had canceled the card. I knew it in my bones.

Holy guacamole. Fear pricked my knees. "Listen, I should check in on my sister, so I'm gonna cut this short," I told Rachelle.         

     



 

"Of course," she said. "Give her my best, okay?"

"Will do. See you Monday!" My heart thumped erratically.

I'd like you to move out.

I raced home, burst through the front door and went straight to my  laptop-the latest Mac, a Hanukkah gift from Eric-and logged into our  bank account, the one I used to pay the household bills.

My password was accepted, thank God. The dread didn't lift. Ollie  whined, and I petted him automatically, waiting for my bank account to  appear. Our bank account.

There.

Checking Account Ending in 7839: Balance: $35.17.

A cold sweat broke out on my forehead and back.

Last week, there'd been more than twenty grand in there.

Savings Account Ending in 3261: Balance: $102.18

Last week, fifty grand and change. My breathing was fast and shallow.

All our-his-other money was held in a conservative stock portfolio. He  kept some aside to play with; it was what he did for a living, after  all. He liked to take some chances on new companies, always on the  lookout for the next Google.

I sat back and tried to take a calming breath.

Back when Eric started making more than I did, I insisted on paying for  half of our expenses (except rent, because there was no way I could've  afforded our second apartment). But I paid for half the gas, half the  electric, half the building fees. I didn't want to seem like a kept  woman, even if his job on Wall Street had boosted us into another tax  bracket. And now, please. I didn't earn enough at Hudson Lifestyle to  live in the area the magazine covered. The irony was not lost on me.