Who Do You Love(108)
Author: Jennifer Weiner

“Rachel, honey.” The hand jiggled me. I let my body wobble bonelessly on the mattress. Today was . . . I thought. A school day. Maybe a Wednesday. I could detect a Wednesday feel, a middle-of-the-week lassitude, the good intentions of Monday faded, the excitement of the weekend yet to come.

“Rachel.” The hand was not moving. The voice was getting more insistent. Not Brenda, this time, but Nana, who’d come all the way from Florida, the way she had after each of my daughters was born. “Come on, honey. The girls are going to be home soon.”

“Send ’em in,” I sighed, and forced myself to sit up and open my eyes.

If Jay had cheated, that would have been one thing. If he’d cheated and left me for his mistress, it would have been humiliating and sad, but I might not have been knocked down as hard as this. But what happened was so much worse. I’d lost everything—my job, my husband, what felt like my whole life—all in one terrible night.

I was at my desk in the office on a Friday morning when a reminder from OpenTable popped up on my calendar. “Don’t forget your reservation at Eleven Madison Park tonight.” I rocked back in my chair, frowning. That morning, in the midst of the usual scramble to get the girls washed and brushed and backpacked, Jay had been talking about something, and I thought he’d said Don’t forget about tonight—but I hadn’t caught the part about what I needed to remember, because I’d been staring into the freezer, hoping that more coffee beans would magically appear, while thinking about a client who needed a new phone so she could put a number on the résumés that she needed to start handing out to potential employers. With a minute left before they needed to go, Adele had gone running up the stairs in search of her recorder and Delaney had used the delay to start going through her lunch—“Mommy, why do you keep giving me wasabi seaweed? I only like sesame!” Jay had given me his usual businesslike kiss and herded the girls out the door.

On my way to the subway, I’d scrolled through my calendar, trying to see if we had plans for the evening. Adele had a recorder concert, but that wasn’t until Thursday, and Delaney’s move-up night at school, which parents were required to attend, wasn’t for weeks. The only thing I’d been intending to do that night was a five o’clock yoga class, until the reservation reminder arrived.

At work, I continued to stare at the screen. Our anniversary wasn’t for three months. It wasn’t his birthday or mine. When Eleven Madison Park had been written up in the Times a few months ago, with a foie-gras-stuffed chicken earning special praise, I’d sighed and said, “I’d love to get dressed up and go somewhere fancy.” Had Jay actually listened?

I texted our sitter to see if she could stay late, thanking whatever gods looked out for working mothers that Meredith had broken up with her girlfriend a few months before and now had most nights free. At lunchtime I took a cab up to Bloomingdale’s and found a flattering fit-and-flare dress on sale, which let me justify the purchase of some Kate Spade heels, which were not. The Drybar at my gym took care of my hair—I’d been planning on pretending that I’d worked out, but my stylist had been deep in conversation with the guy working at the next station and hadn’t even asked. Back at work, I popped into Amy’s office to ask if I could head out early for a special romantic evening that I’d somehow managed to not know about, or know about and then forget, but she’d left early, too.

No matter. At seven o’clock I Uber’d a town car, gave the address, and scrolled through the review on my phone. I had figured out which appetizer and main course I wanted when I reached the maître d’s stand, five minutes before our seven-thirty reservation. “Party of two? Kravitz?” I said. The hostess looked at her book, frowning.

“I’m so sorry, ma’am. The reservation was for two, and both parties have already arrived.”

Huh. “Let me see if I can figure out what’s going on. It’s my husband,” I said, giving her a conspiratorial, you-know-how-men-are look. She smiled politely and led me to the table, and there was Jay, in one of the sharp new suits he’d bought the month before and a dark-blue shirt that picked up on its pinstripes. He didn’t see me coming. He was leaning forward, speaking intently to the woman in the other chair, who was petite and shapely, in a black dress with lacy black sleeves, with jet-black hair pinned up in a twist. Rage and terror rose inside of me. My knees started to shake so that I wasn’t sure I’d be able to close the distance, but I made myself keep walking. I was almost at the table when Jay finally looked up.