Page 2 of Two Couples

“Thank you so much for the little gifties in our room,” Emily said. “You’re so sweet. Only you could make me feel welcome in my own home.”

“Your home?” Patrick said. “I thought it belonged to all of us?”

TWO

SAMANTHA

Emily laughed. “You know what I meant, Patrick.”

He opened the freezer to put a package of chicken and a carton of ice cream inside. “All I know is what I heard,” he said. “Not what you meant.”

The headache that had dissolved whispered at the edge of my temple, threatening to return. Why was Patrick snapping at her? She hadn’t meant the house belonged solely to her. Our names were on the deed right beside theirs. Her comment didn’t require us to assert our ownership rights.

I tried to catch his eye, to nudge him to let it go, but he carefully avoided my gaze. Even after nearly seven years hanging out as couples, Patrick didn’t feel as close to Emily and Keith as I did. It was understandable because Emily and I had been friends for twice as long. We had a rhythm with each other that was deeply entwined, a connection that started when we were more malleable, and a synchronicity in our conversations and habits that couldn’t be fully understood. I knew this made Patrick feel like an outsider at times. Emily and I had both gone out of our way to help our husbands connect, and they had. To a point.

Patrick tended to overreact to Keith, partially because he didn’t approve of Keith’s profession as a divorce attorney. Patrick didn’t believe in divorce. Although how you can refuse to believe in something that objectively exists as a matter of law, I never understood. That’s all he would say—I don’t believe in divorce. It made me happy that he was one hundred percent committed to our lifelong marriage, but the comment still struck me as odd every time he repeated it.

Keith pushed open the front door and the bags he was carrying thudded to the floor. He came into the kitchen. “I’m glad I got everything out. That wind is kicking up. I wonder if rain’s coming sooner than they forecast.”

“I thought it was getting cold in here.” Emily closed the window in the breakfast nook. “That’s better.”

“I’m not sure I should barbecue the steaks tonight,” Keith said.

“The rain isn’t due until tomorrow,” I said. We’d almost delayed our trip because of the expected showers, but decided we didn’t want to miss a single day in our new house.

“The wind says something different,” Keith said. “No barbecue. We can grill them in a pan.”

“They won’t be as good,” Patrick said.

Keith shrugged. “What are ya gonna do?”

By the time the groceries were put away, we’d decided to go out for pizza, leaving the steaks for the following day.

“I got this,” Keith said as we crossed the parking lot.

“We’ll split it down the middle,” Patrick said.

Keith slapped Patrick’s back. “It’s not a problem. I imagine it can be rough living on the inconsistent income from real estate.”

“It’s not a problem,” Patrick muttered. “You don’t know anything about our—” I put my hand on his arm, hoping he’d read the signal to let it go.

Over medium meat-lover’s and veggie pizzas, we sipped beer and solidified our plans for the next ten days—several half-day hikes, renting a motor boat, sunning and swimming from the sandy shore, and lots of good food. Game nights and cocktails.

I took a bite of pizza and turned my attention away from Emily and Keith. Since we’d slid into the booth, Keith’s arm had been draped across Emily’s shoulders. She leaned into him, a dreamy smile on her face. When the pitcher of beer arrived, Keith had filled Emily’s glass first. When the pizzas were delivered to the table, Keith took a paper plate and asked Emily how many slices she wanted.

Meanwhile, Patrick pulled out his phone twice, checking our neighborhood social media group to see how everyone was doing back at home. I didn’t say anything. When I commented on his attachment to his phone and to what everyone else was doing, his response was instant annoyance. Watching Keith dote on Emily had lodged a sharp pebble in my throat. I needed to look somewhere else, think about something else.

I loved Patrick so much. But I wanted him to notice me in a deeper way—not just as the person who was always there, his wife. I wanted him to feel more intensely. I wanted him to pay attention to me without me asking. I loved that he was so friendly and willing to help everyone. I loved that he was a firefighter, an absolute hero by any standard. Still, I wanted more of him.

Trying to get Patrick distracted from his phone and more connected to Keith, I asked Patrick to tell us about the man he’d rescued from a construction site this past week. “It was terrible. They were remodeling a house that was almost seventy-five years old. The floor collapsed and one of the workers was trapped under a beam that fell into the crawl space on top of him,” I said.

“How awful.” Emily put down her beer without taking a sip.

Patrick told them the details of the story with a lack of enthusiasm. I’d probably spoiled it by giving away the ending. But I’d hoped Keith would feel the danger and risk Patrick had experienced.

Keith nodded politely, sipped his beer, and then said, “Worker’s comp should take care of that for him.”

“He might have died if Patrick hadn’t been there,” I said.