Page 88 of Faultlines

“A little.”

“What did you do Saturday night?” The question leaves my mouth before I’ve decided to ask it, unplanned and too loud.

“Saturday night?”

I nod. “Wasn’t there some kind of conference dinner? I saw it mentioned in the brochure you printed out.” The lie comes so smoothly it almost scares me.

“Yeah.”

The rain outside intensifies into a steady downpour.

“How was it? I hope they fed you something good. I fondly remember the food last time we visited.”

He avoids my gaze. “Fine.”

“What did they serve? If there wasn’t sourdough bread, the trip wasn’t even worth it.”

His answer comes too quickly, too practiced.

“It was at the restaurant attached to the hotel. I don’t remember what I ordered.”

I grip the edge of the counter, the cold granite biting into my palms. Because now I know.

Thank you for celebrating with us.

The words flash before my eyes, blue pen against a white background.

“What is this? An interrogation?” he asks.

I force a smile. “Just making conversation.”

He can’t remember what he ate four days ago. This is the man who can recall the name of a waiter from an anniversary dinner a decade ago. The exact shade of blue of the dress I wore to a party fifteen years back.

“You seem different lately.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means you seem distracted.”

“I’m busy.”

The reaction tells me I’ve hit a nerve. “I just feel like you’ve pulled away.”

“Claire, not everything is a problem you have to fix.” His voice is patronizing.

“I didn’t say it was.”

“You’re seeing distance between us that doesn’t exist. I just think you’re under a lot of stress.” He closes the distance between us, his footsteps soft on the hardwood floor, and tilts my chin up to look at him. “Claire.” His voice softens. “You need a day to yourself.”

I hate how badly I want him to be right.

“Nothing is going on that should concern you.” He kisses my forehead and turns to walk away.

Before he gets too far, I remember I need to tell him about tomorrow night. “Lucy, Sloane, and I are having a girls’ night tomorrow.”

“That sounds dangerous.”

“You’re not wrong.”