Page 42 of Drowning Erin

“Not Christina from Denver.” It’s not a question, it’s a fucking warning, because it hadbetternot be Christina fromDenver.

“Well, yeah,” he stammers. “I mean, she’s a key player in themerger.”

I say nothing, because honestly, I just can’t believe he’s managed to keep this fact to himself for solong.

Can. Not. Believe.It.

“Erin…” hesays.

“Has she been there the wholetime?”

“Well, we needed to have her herefor—”

“I did not ask you, Rob, what herroleis there. I don’t give afuckwhat her role is there. I asked you if she’s been there the whole goddamntime.”

He huffs in irritation. “And I was trying to tell you. Yes. We needed her herebecause—”

“So Christina, the little whore who’s hit on you in front of me more times than I can count, is among this group of people you’re wining and dining everynight.”

“It’s not like that. It’s a whole group ofus.”

“And it’s taken you sixweeksto share that withme.”

“It isn’t a big deal,” he says with a groan. “I’m shocked you care. You don’t even act like you miss me half thetime.

“Did she go to Belgium with you?” I remember him telling me about the trip—that only a few of them went. I remember how oddly vague he was aboutit.

“It was a group thing. You know I’d never cheat,” he replies. His non-answer is an answer in and of itself. I can’t believe he went away with her. I can’t believe he’s been lying all thistime.

“So nothing has taken place with Christina since you left?” I ask. My voice is like ice. “Absolutelynothing.”

He is silent, and in that moment of silence I realize that a whole world of possibilities exists in a place where I believed there was only one. I’ve believed so thoroughly in his loyalty that it never once occurred to me there was another option. He was the person who would always do the right thing and wouldn’t ever hurt me the way Brendanhad.

I gave up everything for that, and it was anillusion.

“One night we kissed,” he says on an exhale. “I was drunk, but I stopped it, and that wasit.”

“But you wantedmore.”

“I never saidthat.”

“You didn’t have to say that, Rob. She’s hot, and the two of you are over there together and not sleeping with anyone, and you wanted to do it. And you still have an entire month more of thisbullshit—”

“Three,” he interjectsquietly.

“What?”

“They’re saying late August now. But I’m going to try to come home at the end of June tovisit.”

I gave up myself for him. I gave up the things I loved. I hid and scurried to present him with the version of me he’d find most palatable, andthisis what I get in response: lies by omission and months spent alone and him throwing me this littleboneof a weekend back here, as if that could possibly make up foranything.

“No.”

The word bursts from my mouth with six weeks of rage behind it.No, Rob. No, no, no, no, no to all of it. To your stupid job and your three more months with Christina, to all ofit.

“You don’t want me tovisit?”

“I can’t do this. Us. I can’t do it. Not separated like this. Which you’re now telling me isn’t going to end until August. This is miserable, and you know what? I don’t even trust you right now. You kept something like that from me for six weeks, and as long as I’m here and you’re there, and we’re doing nothing but arguing, I’m notgoingto trustyou.”

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