Page 59 of The Illusion
But tonight, I'm not really focused on anyone aside from the people I live with. So I'm watching Devon and Asher.
Jamie arrives a few minutes later with a salad and a bottle of wine. She pulls me into a hug and whispers, "You look exhausted."
"I am."
"We need to talk later. Just you and me."
Devon is mostly quiet through dinner. When Jamie asks how online school is going, Devon gives one-word answers. Wynona attempts conversation once—something about a documentary she watched—and Devon offers a tight smile that doesn't reach her eyes before turning back to her plate.
But the moment Asher speaks, everything changes. She lights up. Leans toward him. Laughs at things that aren't funny. Touches his arm when she talks. I watch it happen. The shift in her body language. The way her entire focus narrows to him and only him. And I watch him too.
The way he looks at her when she laughs. The way his hand lingers on her shoulder when he reaches past her for the wine. The way he smiles at her—soft, indulgent, like she's the only person in the room. My stomach twists. Something is wrong here. Something is very, very wrong.
I insisted on this dinner even though Asher said it wasn't necessary. I baked the cake myself—cherry vanilla, which she said was her favorite—and spent an hour on the frosting. When I set it down in front of her, she stares at it for a long moment like she's never seen a cake before. Then she giggles. "Oh my God. Homemade. How… adorable."
The word hangs there. Adorable. Like a puppy. Like a craft project from a child. Like something quaint and small and beneath her. Jamie's eyes flick to mine and I can tell she’s furious. Ryan's jaw tightens. Wynona shifts uncomfortably in her seat. My cheeks burn.
Instead of telling her she was rude, Asher laughs. "Yeah, you know how Julie loves her normal things. Just ignore the rough icing job, focus on the candles, and make a wish."
Normal things. Rough icing job. I want to pick up the cake and shove it into his goddam face. I stare at him, angry, but he's not looking at me. He's looking at Devon. She closes her eyes and makes her wish. Asher watches her like she's the most important person in the room. My radar is pinging like crazy.
When Ryan and Wynona finally leave around ten, there's relief in my chest. Ryan hugs me goodbye and Wynona thanks me for having her. She's so sweet. So genuine. And I know I'll never see her again. After everyone leaves, I'm alone with Asher and Devon again. Devon excuses herself to bed, thanking Asher profusely for "such a wonderful birthday." She barely glances my way.
I stay downstairs and clean like I do each night. Alone. Ignored. I shove the remainder of the normal birthday cake I made into the garbage disposal, never wanting to think about it again. When I'm finished, I decide to go upstairs. I normally watch TV, but tonight, I'm tired and need to go to sleep. I need to put this shitty day behind me.
The shower is running when I reach the bathroom. I can hear water against the tile. I open the door—just the bathroom door—and through the frosted glass of the shower, I can see him clearly.
His hand is wrapped around himself. He's hard and he's about to come. He groans, his forehead resting on the tile in front of him as he jerks off. He finishes with a loud grunt.
So he can get hard. Just not for me.
He doesn't see me. I quietly close the door and leave. I stand there for a long moment, processing. It's not that he can't. It's that he won't. With me.
A horrifying thought slams into me. What if he's thinking about Devon? There's been a fundamental shift. What began as a slit in the fabric of our lives has become a tear, straight down the middle. There are only a few stitches left holding the fabric together. I don't think it will take much more for it to be torn entirely, irrevocably.
I go back downstairs and sit on the couch in complete darkness. No TV, no phone. Just sitting. I think through everything. The distance. The coldness. The way he lights up around Devon. How I'm disappearing from my own marriage. It’s time for me to confront him.
The next morning, I'm waiting for him in the garage when he leaves for work. His briefcase is in one hand, his phone in the other. He's scrolling through it as he comes through the door from the house and walks toward his car, not looking up.
"Asher."
He jerks to a stop, looking surprised when he turns around. "Hey. I thought you went to take a shower."
"I need to talk to you."
Something in my voice makes him pause. He glances back at the door, then at me. "Okay. What's up?"
I cross my arms because I'm tense. I've been awake since four, thinking about what I saw last night. "Do you want a divorce?"
The question lands between us like a stone. His jaw drops. It takes him a moment to recover. "What?"
I note the fact that he hasn't said no. It’s a flashing red light, a giant neon arrow that’s unmissable.
"Do. You. Want. A. Divorce?" I repeat. My voice is steady. "Because it seems like you're done with this marriage."
"Goddammit Julie, what are you talking about?"
Still not a no. So much is said when questions go unanswered. "Don't play dumb, Asher. It’s not a good look for you, especially when we both know I'm talking about the fact that you haven't touched me in months. You can't look at me and you come to bed after I'm asleep and face the other direction. You avoid me."
