After the Concert

I paused, looking at her. "What are your thoughts about that?"

She considered before speaking. "Greg, I think that's a pretty accurate assessment. Hearing the way you've described it, it certainly seems to me that she values her own feelings over yours."

I shook my head. "Wow, now I'm even more pissed at her. But hearing that, I can see some fairly obvious signs of the truth in what you just said. Ways that she has acted selfishly. But all it does is make me feel stupid. I should have seen it coming!"

"Hey." She put her hands on my shoulders and turned me so that I was facing her. Capturing my eyes with hers, she continued, "You trusted her, right? Loved her? Those are the easiest to fool." She looked down before finishing quietly, "Believe me, I know."

I pulled her into a hug, and she tucked her head under my chin.

Eventually, she pulled back. Taking a deep breath and letting it out, she asked, "What's your plan, Master Yoda?"

I snorted laughter, despite myself. I wanted to tell her how good she was for me, how effortlessly she seemed to keep my gloominess at bay, but I had promised to keep things light. We were friends. Right? So I just said, "Tell you, I will," and she rolled her eyes at my godawful Frank Oz impression.

More normally, I continued, "Well, like I said, I don't have any proof, but I do have some pretty compelling evidence. I'm just going to confront her when she comes home. We've been together for over 30 years; I'm pretty sure she won't be able to lie to a direct question. Although, if I'm right, she's been hiding this from me for a while, so clearly, I don't know her as well as I thought."

She considered for a moment. "What will you do if she denies it?"

I sighed and rubbed my eyes. "I... don't think I can answer that until... if... it happens. But I don't feel like I can trust her anymore, and without that... This is probably going to sound bad, but I feel like I've already tried and convicted her, in my mind. She can deny, but... I probably won't believe her. Maybe I'm wrong. We'll see."

"Wow. I'm sorry Greg, this sucks for you. But you're amazing, and you don't deserve this."

"Thanks, Catja, that means a lot. And even if we can't get past it, I still have Rachael, and a good man for a son-in-law, and a grandchild on the way. I can't possibly regret that."

She nodded and looked at her phone. "Crap. I'm sorry Greg, I have to go. I know I promised you my story too, but..." her voice dropped to a whisper, "I'm sorry for chickening out."

Coming to a decision, she said a little more firmly, "Here. Put your number in my phone. I'm sorry, I don't want to give you mine, not... yet. I need to..."

I stopped her. "Shh. You don't need to explain." I entered my number, and as I handed her phone back, I gently grasped her hands in mine. Gazing into her eyes, trying to convey my feelings with my inadequate words, I said, "If I don't hear from you, can I just say that this weekend with you was the best thing that could have happened to me? You've made it very special, and it was so, so lovely to meet you. But do you mind if I hope?" I gave her a tender smile.

She searched my eyes for a moment, then kissed me, just as she had in the Uber, gave me a small wave, and walked away. I watched her, hoping she would turn back. And she did, just once. I could almost see her eyes sparkling as she waved again. Then she was gone.

><><><><><

Catja sat in the back of the Uber, staring out the window, lost in thought. She felt... not confused, but maybe 'surprised' was the word... at how quickly she had grown to care for Greg. She shook her head. He was on his way home to confront his wife, and she... well, she had her own issues. Best to put him behind her.

She felt a tear slip down one cheek, and she was fumbling in her coat for a tissue when her hand encountered something. She drew it out, and let out a short gasping laugh when she saw the strip of photobooth shots. He must have snuck them into her pocket! Looking at them, one finger tracing his face, she began to cry.

><><><><><

I'd been home for a few hours and was sitting on the deck sipping a very good tequila - ironically, another gift from Rachael - when I heard the front door open and close. I chose not to meet her as I normally would have. Sam chuffed once at me in reproach, then got up from his place beside me and trotted into the house. He didn't know what I knew.

I heard her greet him, then she called out, "Honey?"

Again, I chose inaction.

I heard the clicking of her heels as she moved around, then once more, her voice, faintly, from upstairs. Eventually, she tracked me down.

"There you are! Didn't you hear me calling?" she scolded.

I affected mild surprise. "Oh! Sorry dear, no, I guess I was lost in thought."

"Well okay, I guess I forgive you. Miss me?" She bent down to kiss me, and I turned my head so that she caught my cheek. She straightened, giving me a look.

"Is everything all right?"

"Absolutely, why wouldn't it be?" I got up, looked directly at her, and walked into the house. Over my shoulder, I continued, "Have you eaten? Like me to fix you something?"

"N-no thank you; I grabbed a bite on the way home."

"No problem; I'm just going to refresh my drink then. Join me?"

"In a bit? I need a shower first, to wash the travel grime off."

"Oh? Perhaps I'll join you then?" I said, with an eyebrow waggle. Not that I meant it, I just wanted to see what she'd do.

Again, that nervous stutter. "S-sorry honey, I'm a little tired. I'll make it up to you though."

'Yeah, I've heard that before.'

Once I heard the water running, I did sneak up to try the bathroom door.

Locked.

><><><><><

I knew all I had was circumstantial evidence of her lying to me. But knowing her, and thinking back over the years, I was pretty damn certain. But I still couldn't believe it. Up until finding her briefcase, I had no clue. She hadn't acted any differently; certainly not suspiciously, and I trusted her. I mean sure, our love life had slowed down, but not dramatically, just the natural progression of a couple that were getting a bit older and had been married for many years.

Was she bored with me?

I knocked. "Monique, why is this door locked?"

"What?" I heard the water turn off.

"I said why is this door locked??"

"Umm... I... sorry, I didn't realize, I must have done it by mistake."

"Whatever. I just wanted to tell you I'm taking Sam for a walk."

"Greg, wait..."

But I was already headed down the stairs.

><><><><><

She was in her pajamas, hair still damp, and sitting at the kitchen table when I got back. She watched me as I took my time getting Sam out of his harness and giving him a treat.

When I finally looked at her, she blurted out, "Greg, you're acting strangely. Did something happen this weekend?"

I shrugged. "I had a great weekend. Best in a long time. How about you?"

"Uhh, it was fine I guess, not like it was a vacation. I told you I was in meetings the whole time."

"Mm hmm." I didn't bother to hide my disbelief.

"What the hell does that mean?"

"Take it however you like."

She started to get angry. "Greg, why are you being like this?"

I sighed. "I don't know, Monique. Is there anything that you want to tell me? Anything you can think of that would make me act... strangely?" I air-quoted.

"I don't know what the hell you're talking about! You're starting to piss me off!" She was still playing the innocent.

Barely controlling my anger, I held up one finger. "Hold that thought." I got up and went to my closet. Coming back to the kitchen, I gently place her briefcase on the table.

"Must have been quite a productive meeting, what without your laptop or any of your paperwork." I let a little bit of my rage show. "And don't fucking tell me you didn't need it."

I stared at her, as she started shaking her head back and forth. "No, this can't be happening..." she whispered.

Ignoring her, I continued. "I called Sally, by the way." Her head snapped up. "I asked her where you were so I could overnight this to you. Imagine my surprise when she couldn't find anything about any meeting on your calendar."

"It... it was last-minute..."

"Sure. Well, then why didn't Bill Stephens know anything about it either? Or June Smythe?" I had named two other senior managers at her company, who would have also been in attendance - had there actually been a meeting. Yeah, after talking to Sally, I had made a couple of additional calls.

"And then... the locked bathroom door. We've never had a locked door in this house that I can remember. What are you trying to hide?"

She was still shaking her head, face white as January snow.

"Monique, I know there wasn't a conference. Don't lie. Don't bullshit me. We've been together too long; I know when you're lying."

She broke down. It tore at me, to see her crying. All my instincts were telling me to get up and take her in my arms, tell her it would be all right. A month ago - a week ago - I would have. But now... I sat there, looking at her. Finally, I did get up, but just to grab a box of tissues and drop it beside her. I returned to my seat.

"I'm sorry, Greg. I... I don't know what to say. I never meant to hurt you; you have to know that."

"Oh, I see. Well, that's fine, then, you didn't mean it." I rolled my eyes. "Jesus, Monique, you think this just affects me? What about the rest of our family? Our daughter? Jeff? Your mother? My parents?"

Aghast, she begged, "No please... why do they need to know? I... I... it's over. This instant. I'll never see him again, I swear it!"

"Are you going to quit your job?" It was an effort not to scream at her.

"Wh-what? I can't quit Greg, I can't!" She pled.

"I know. So you can't say you won't see him again. I mean, you're fucking your boss, right? How do you plan to avoid him?" I shook my head in disgust. "Jesus, what a cliché."

She gaped at me, and I just stared back at her.

"What now?" I finally asked.

"Wha... what do you mean?"

"I mean, what happens now?" My voice was rising, and she flinched. "Are you in love with him?"

"Oh my God, no! It was..."

I cut her off with a raised hand. With real anger, I growled, "So help me, Monique, if you say it was just sex, I'm leaving right now."

"Greg, I'm so sorry. I don't love him. You're my husband, and I do still love you, you have to believe me!" Tears were rolling down her cheeks.

"I have to?"

"What?" She sounded confused.

I rolled my eyes. "You said, 'I have to believe you.' Why?"

"Because it's true!" she shouted, slapping her hands on the table.

Pinching the bridge of my nose, I replied, "How can you say you love me and do what you did? Monique, you've been going on these 'business trips' for the past nine months! Lying to me the entire time. And if I hadn't finally caught you, it would still be going on!" I bellowed at her.

She just hung her head and continued to weep.

"Aye, there's the rub," I whispered to myself. And I let myself out.

><><><><><

Two days later, my phone rang, again, but for once the caller ID didn't say 'Monique.' It was Rachael. I answered, and straightaway, she asked, "Dad, what's going on with Mom? She sounded really weird the last time I called. Is she sick?"

I sighed. "No, Honey... nobody's ill. We, uhhh... we... are just going through a bit of a rough patch."

"What? Rough patch, what are you talking about? How rough? Dad, you're scaring me." She was three months pregnant; that's the last thing I wanted to do. So, better to tell her now and get it over with, rather than waiting 'til she was closer to her due date.

"I'm sorry, sweetie--" I started, but she cut me off.

"No, no, no, Daddy, tell me she's not cheating on you?" Rachael was very smart. Dean's list her whole life, but more, she was intuitive and clever. From the little information I'd let slip, combined with her mother's recent behavior, she had come up with the right answer. I didn't even bother asking how she'd figured it out.

Dejectedly, I replied, "Yeah, Baby, she is."

All I heard were sobs over the phone. After a moment, my son-in-law picked up the phone. "Dad? What's wrong? Why's Rachael so upset?"

One of the prouder moments of my life was when my son-in-law first called me Dad. He didn't have a great relationship with his own father, and I was honored that he felt strongly enough to gift me that title. So, when he asked, I told him.

"Jesus, I can't believe it! You guys always seemed..." His voice trailed off.

"I'm sorry Jeff, I don't have any answers for you."

After Rachael calmed down a little, he put the phone on speaker, and I talked to them both. Rachael was badly shaken, and asked, "I don't understand! How could she do this to you? To us??"

My daughter's pain was breaking my heart. This is exactly what I had warned Monique about; the impact of her actions on her family. I felt another surge of rage toward my wife.

All I could say was, "I didn't bother asking why, Sweetie. I suppose it might matter to some people, but I really don't care. She did it. She says she's sorry and she loves me, but if that's what she calls love..." I stopped, struggling with my emotions, but realized that I needed to be there, to be strong for Rachael. "Sorry, Baby. I'd rather not talk about it." Softly, I added, "Maybe you can figure out what the hell she was thinking about. Because it certainly wasn't us."

Gathering myself, I pressed on. "Even so, Honey, I'm sure she still loves you; this is between me and her. I know it probably seems unlikely at the moment, but you still have your own relationship with your mother."

"No, you're wrong; it's more than just you two. How could she be so... so selfish!" Rachael spat the word out. "This affects me, Jeff, our baby... Oh my God, Grandma and Grandpa, Nana... they'll be devastated! Oh, Dad, nothing is going to be the same!"

She was right. There were going to be some hard times ahead.

"What a mess," I sighed.

Jeff asked, "Are you still at home?"

"No, I'm in a hotel for now. I guess I'll start looking for a place to rent. I can't live in that house anymore."

"Well, you know you can always stay with us," Jeff offered.

"Thanks, but I don't want to do that to you guys. I know you're just trying to help, but it would be like taking sides - at least that's how Monique would see it."

He sighed. "Yeah, you're right. But you know I have your back, right? Whatever I can do."

I knew he meant it. "Thank you, son."

I heard a forlorn, "Love you, Daddy. Will you be okay?"

Taking some strength from her words, I replied, "Love you too, Baby. Yeah, I will be... eventually. Try to get some rest, okay? Take care of each other, and my grandbaby." I tried to sound cheerful, but they knew it was forced.

"Okay, Dad. Talk to you soon."

><><><><><

So, for the next few weeks, I worked, looked for a place to live, and thought about my life.

Monique would call and ask when I was coming home so we could talk, and I would deflect. But I knew I would eventually have to do something. I'd already contacted a divorce lawyer and had followed their advice.

Now, nearly a month after confronting her, I found myself knocking on my own front door, still wondering what I was going to do.

"Greg, why are you kn-knocking..." She backed away from the door, and I made a show of looking around.

"Didn't want to disturb you, in case, you know, you had your boyfriend over."

It was a cheap shot, but she took it. "I deserve that. But I told you, it's over. I told him the next day."

"What about his wife? Did you tell her too?" I had thought about this a lot. Plus, I wanted some revenge on the bastard.

"What? Why?" Her confusion shouldn't have surprised me.

Patiently, I explained. "Wouldn't you want to know, Monique? If I was cheating, wouldn't you want to know?"

"I... I didn't think..."

"Yeah, that's obvious." Sarcasm; anger's ugly cousin.

"Okay, Greg, I will; I'll talk to her. It will kill her, but I guess you're right. I'd want someone to tell me." She took a shuddering breath. "But can we please talk about this? About us? I love you and want to be with you!" She sounded like she hoped I would just get past her 'little indiscretion,' and I found myself getting annoyed. More than annoyed.

"What's to talk about?" I snapped. "It's pretty clear, isn't it? I wasn't enough for you, so you found someone else. Like when we were first dating, right Monique? Our summer apart? As much as I hated it, you made it clear that it was your decision. But I'm asking now. Did you sleep with anyone?"

She nodded miserably.

"I was pretty sure, but I never asked. I gave you that. I agreed, reluctantly, but you don't know how close I came to ending it with you then. But I decided I loved you, and somehow, I figured out a way to put it behind us."

I looked out the window, then back at her. "But this time? I don't even care why. You've ripped my heart out, and it's never going to be the same. You can't fix this."

"Please, I'm begging you, let me try! I do love you! I don't know why I did it, I'll go see someone, get help! Can we get counseling?"

"Knock yourself out, but why do I need counseling? I'm not the one who cheated," I snorted.

A little more desperately, she asked, "Oh... okay, can we please not talk about getting divorced until I can figure out why..." She was pleading, tears rolling down her face. "I'm so sorry..."

Looking at her, my anger slowly faded, to be replaced by sadness. "I don't know, Monique. You've been treating me like shit for a while now, and when I tried to talk to you, to tell you what I was feeling, you deflected. Downplayed. Even got angry with me! But this last time, Monique. It was so callous! You just scoffed at me. Like I was a sulking child!

"I wanted to give us a chance. I had a whole weekend planned for our thirtieth, and you completely blew me off. Just disregarded everything I said, so you could go spend your own romantic weekend with someone else. Do you understand how I might be a tiny bit upset?

"And then I put two and two together. This was the fourth trip in the past nine months. If you hadn't left your briefcase, I would probably still be in the dark. Because I trusted you. Why would I suspect? But when you made your fuckboy more important than our anniversary - more important than us - I don't know how to get past that. Do you?"

When she just kept sobbing and couldn't respond, I left.

><><><><><

She did go to therapy. She told me all kinds of shit she had found out about herself; hormonal imbalances due to early onset menopause, empty-nest syndrome, getting older, self-esteem issues that her smooth-talking boss took advantage of, and on and on. She sounded almost gleeful about it, like it wasn't actually her fault that she cheated. Like she was just sick, and I should accept her fucking her boss as a symptom of her illness. But she was "better" now, and those "symptoms" were gone! Wasn't it wonderful, it wasn't her fault!

After she finished spewing all that psychobabble at me, I just felt like I needed to get away from her. My response was, "Well, hoo-fucking-ray for you, Monique. I'm glad you feel better. But I still get to live with the thought of you fucking another man. I'll never be able to trust you again, don't you understand? I'm questioning everything about our relationship now!

"Remember after Rachael was born, and you struggled with postpartum? It was nearly a year before our physical relationship got back on track, and although I did my best to be understanding, you were pretty distant, and not very nice to be around. I basically took care of her that whole first year, giving you space and time. But now, looking back, I'm questioning who you were talking to, who you were going to for affection then, because it sure as hell wasn't me.