Chương 9
A cyclist shouted at someone turning too close.
Life continued with offensive efficiency.
Rebecca said, “Every day I waited made telling you harder.”
“Yes.”
“I know how pathetic that sounds.”
“It sounds human.”
She looked surprised.
Daniel met her eyes.
“That does not make it acceptable.”
“No.”
“Did you plan to go through the ceremony?”
Her mouth opened, then closed.
“Rebecca.”
“Yes.”
The word barely reached him.
Daniel felt his hands go cold.
“Knowing.”
“Yes.”
“Knowing you were still legally married.”
“I thought the new case might be completed in time.”
“It wasn’t.”
“No.”
“And yesterday morning?”
“I knew.”
Daniel sat very still.
“Then what was the plan?”
Tears slipped down her face. She wiped them away quickly.
“I don’t know.”
“That is not true.”
“I thought the ceremony could happen and we could delay the paperwork.”
Daniel stared at her.
“You were going to let me stand there believing I was marrying you.”
“Yes.”
“While you knew I wasn’t.”
“I knew there was a legal problem.”
“A husband is not a legal problem.”
She looked down.
“I know.”
“You keep saying that after everything.”
“I don’t know what else to say.”
For several seconds neither spoke.
Then the espresso machine screamed.
A barista swore softly.
Someone laughed.
Daniel almost did too.
The normality of it felt obscene.
Rebecca wiped her face again.
“Hannah told you about the emails.”
“Yes.”
“She told me.”
“Why did you involve her?”
“She found the first one.”
“And then you asked her to help hide the rest.”
Rebecca looked at him sharply.
“I never asked her to hide them from you.”
“You asked her not to mention them.”
Silence.
“That’s hiding.”
“Yes.”
Daniel pushed his chair back slightly.
Rebecca reached across the table, then stopped before touching him.
“What happens now?”
He stared at her hand.
“You finish your divorce.”
Her face shifted.
“And us?”
“I don’t know.”
She nodded slowly.
“I’ll wait.”
“No.”
Rebecca blinked.
“Don’t make waiting another strategy.”
“What do you want me to do?”
“I want you to make decisions that aren’t designed around keeping me.”
That landed.
She withdrew her hand.
“I don’t know how.”
“That isn’t something I can teach you while I’m deciding whether I trust you.”
Rebecca stared down at the table.
Daniel stood.
She looked up quickly.
“Is this goodbye?”
“I don’t know.”
“That’s cruel.”
He almost answered sharply.
Instead he sat again.
“You’re right.”
Rebecca looked surprised.
Daniel rubbed his beard.
“It would be cruel to leave you guessing if I already knew.”
“Do you?”
He thought about the apartment. The mug. The travel bag. Lily missing her. His mother admitting she still liked her. The photograph. The six weeks.
“No.”
Rebecca closed her eyes.
“Then I can live with that.”
Daniel shook his head.
“That’s not what I said.”
She opened them.
“What do you mean?”
“I mean I’m not promising a possibility because it makes today easier.”
Rebecca nodded.
For the first time since he sat down, she looked less like someone negotiating a loss and more like someone enduring one.
“Okay.”
Daniel left the café alone.
Outside, he walked six blocks in the wrong direction before noticing.
He did not correct himself immediately.
He stopped at a hardware store and bought a replacement hinge for a kitchen cabinet that had been crooked for three months.
The hinge had nothing to do with his wedding.
He bought it anyway.
That evening he repaired the cabinet.
It still sat slightly uneven.
Daniel swore at it and left it that way.
Three days later, the twelve-second wedding video passed half a million views.
Then interest began to fade.
Daniel learned this from Marcus, not because he checked.
“People are arguing about whether you were already married,” Marcus said.
“That doesn’t even make sense.”
“Welcome to strangers.”
“Anything about Lily?”
“Not much. Whoever posted the original cut didn’t include her.”
Daniel felt a small, private relief.
“Good.”
“Your mother wants to know who posted it.”
“She thinks I know?”
“She thinks I know everything involving phones.”
“She thinks printers are suspicious.”
“She may be right about printers.”
Daniel almost laughed.
Marcus hesitated.
“You coming back Monday?”
“Yes.”
“Good.”
Daniel returned to work.
For two days nobody mentioned the wedding directly.
Then a junior architect named Eli walked into his office, placed a set of drawings on the desk, and said, “For what it’s worth, I always hated the navy tie.”
Daniel looked at him.
Eli went pale.
Then Daniel laughed so hard he had to remove his glasses.
The laughter hurt.
It also helped.
Human beings could not remain perfectly tragic for long. Somebody eventually insulted your tie.
That Friday Aaron drove back into town alone.
Daniel met him at a diner halfway between their apartments.
Aaron ordered coffee and drank three cups before the food arrived.
“You look terrible,” Daniel said.
“So do you.”
“I’m wearing a clean shirt.”
“Congratulations.”
The exchange felt familiar enough to be dangerous.
Daniel waited.
Aaron looked at the sugar packets.
“I started seeing my counselor again.”
“Good.”
“I talked to Lily’s therapist too.”
Daniel looked up.
“She has a therapist?”
“Since Maya moved to Seattle.”
Daniel had forgotten.
Lily’s mother, Maya, was not dead, not absent, not a villain. She had moved for work after years of an unstable relationship with Aaron and saw Lily during school breaks under a custody arrangement both adults complained about. Daniel sometimes forgot this because Lily rarely spoke about it.
“What did the therapist say?”
“That involving Lily was wrong.”
“You needed a therapist for that?”
Aaron smiled faintly.
“No.”
“Good.”
“She also said I should stop asking Lily to keep adult information private.”
Daniel frowned.
“What else has she been keeping?”
Aaron looked ashamed.
“She knew I was going to the wedding.”
Daniel stared at him.
“For how long?”
“Three days.”
“And you told her not to tell me.”
“Yes.”
Daniel sat back.
“You’re unbelievable.”
“I know.”
“No, stop saying that.”
Aaron looked up.
May you like
“What?”
“Everybody keeps saying ‘I know’ after telling me something insane.”
