Page 58 of Come Back To Me

That’s when I know it was her, that ashen haired bitch with her love-drunk eyes. She’s the only one I’d ever said that to other than David.

“Petra,” I say.

David doesn’t confirm or deny. He looks on, his face expressionless. He’s rehearsed this, I realize. You don’t just march into a conversation like this one without considering every possible outcome.

“Was it going on before I left?” I ask.

He looks momentarily taken aback. “Of course not. She’s—we’ve been together for almost a year now. She came to a show…”

He’s already told me more than he was planning to.

“All right,” I say. “So you’re here for a divorce.”

“Don’t, Yara,” he says. “Don’t say it like that. Where you’re suddenly the victim. I’m just giving you what you’ve wanted since the beginning.”

“What you want,” I correct him.

He leans back in his chair. The stem of his wineglass is perched between two of his fingers. I’m afraid he’s going to drop it and get it all over his shirt.

“We both know that’s not true.” His voice is low, angry.

“Why didn’t you find me then? Before now.”

He says nothing. We’re staring again. Our server reappears. She wants to know if we’ve looked at the menu. I can’t look at her for fear I’ll burst into tears.

“We’ll both have the rib eye,” he says. “Medium rare.”

It’s what I would have chosen for myself. He knows that, but it was still unnecessary to order for me. He’s showing me that he still knows all those small things about me, like how I like my steak cooked. What he’s doing works, because I feel another pang of deep loneliness.

Finally he says, “So, you were never in love with me. You just wanted to play God with my emotions.”

I can see the muscles in his jaw working. He can’t play this game with me. We both struck our deal that night in Seattle. Words were exchanged. He’s acting like he had no part of it.

“That’s how it started. You know that, David. It was a game, but then all of a sudden I was very much in love with you. Very much. It got to be too much. I didn’t know what to do with it.”

He nods slowly. “Why didn’t you talk to me about how you felt? You could have told me and I would have understood.”

“Would you have?” It’s the first time I have to actually think about that. David was so sure about everything back then he rarely checked to make sure I was sure too.

“Well, it worked, didn’t it? A platinum album. I guess I should thank you for that.”

“Don’t,” I say. “You were always worth a platinum album—”

“—Not quite. Not according to you who needed to break my heart for the sake of art. Not worth anything unless I was as jaded as you.”

My eyes well with the tears I swore to myself I’d not cry.

“You’re right,” I tell him. “I left because I’m a jaded coward and I tried to pretend I was doing you a favor.”

He’s quiet as he considers what I’ve said, then he reaches into his back pocket and pulls out his wallet, tossing a hundred pound note on the table and standing up.

“I’ll be in touch,” he says.

After he’s gone I stay to drink the rest of the wine, but leave the food untouched.

For days after I’ve seen David at the restaurant I can do nothing but cry and wander around my flat touching the boxes that were taped shut and stacked near the doorways of each room. I feel restless, unsettled. I haven’t told Ethan that I’m still married to David, and I know that’s a conversation we should have already had. I keep expecting David to show up at my door with the papers he wants me to sign. I send Ethan’s calls to voicemail until he leaves messages saying he’s worried about me. I text, tell him I’m under the weather and I’ll call soon. I don’t want him to hear my voice. He’d know right away that something is wrong and I’m not ready to tell him that I’ve seen David. I make more excuses—a sore throat, exhaustion, packing—but finally after a week, he shows up at my door wearing a look of deep concern.

“David. You’ve seen him then?” he says once I step aside to let him in.

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