Page 2 of Minted

I’m still not sure why the suit was cast off, but it’s definitely symbolic. I chose that suit. It was the one prize that came from this miserable excuse of a year. But now that I’ve recognized that something’s off, I can’t pretend, not even for a second.

That’s just how I’m wired.

A moment later, I race after my fleeing husband, barefoot, no jacket against the cold. To add insult to injury, it’s raining outside, and when he sees me racing toward him, instead of being worried, instead of having concern for my health or fear that something might be wrong, my darling husband’s jaw locks up. His eyes flash.

Because he’s annoyed.

I wonder, in that moment, what caused it. Was it the weight I gained that changed his regard for me? Was it my chronic neediness over the last year, clinging to him like he was oxygen in a hostile, unfamiliar world I no longer recognized? Did I treat him like I treated chocolate, as a life preserver in the face of a terrifying flood?

Did my mother’s death destroy us? Or maybe it was my father’s, which followed closely after. If not that, was there something about me that would have destroyed us no matter what else damaged our bond?

The rain has plastered my hair to my forehead, my cheeks, and my neck by the time I reach his side. He still doesn’t look concerned.

He looks tired.

“How many times?” I ask.

“What?” He’s scowling now. “Barbara, what are you doing out here? Go inside.”

“Just tell me how many times.” Even to my own ears, I sound crazy. There’s probably no possible way I could be sane in this moment.

“What are you talking about?”

My voice rasps the words, “How many times have you slept with her?”

I expect him to deny it. I expect him to lie, just as he’s lied with every small action, with every story about a meeting that didn’t exist, and just as he’s lied with every missed touch and kiss he owed me as my husband.

I expect him to lie, straight to my face.

So when he doesn’t, when he asks, “How did you know?”

It hurts more.

I start to shiver then, as the rain sluices between my neck and my blouse, as my unprotected feet are sliced by the rough shape of the malicious gravel underneath them. “It’s true.”

He sighs, finally pulling out an umbrella and holding it over his own head. “How did you find out?”

“It was the suit.” My lips are shaking as raindrops hit them and run down to my neck. “You donated the suit.”

“Maybe it was symbolic.” He laughs, but this time he’s not even trying to mask his frustration. “I tried to donate it, but you brought it back. So I threw it away,” he says. “It’s what I was wearing when—” He cuts off in disgust. “It kept accusing me, making me feel the same way you are right now.”

He was wearing my suit when. . . “We’re over,” I whisper.

In the movies, couples argue. Every disgusting, lousy cheater fights for the love they’ve clearly already abandoned. The heroine retains a shred of pride, because the guy pretends to care that he screwed up. But not my husband. James just nods slowly, turns around, and gets in his car. He has a meeting, after all, and later today, he has a thing.

What he doesn’t have any more, apparently, is a wife.

No, I’ve clearly been on my own for a while. I’m just so stupid that I’m finally realizing it.

2

Barbara

When I was ten, I wanted to be a ballerina. By twelve, I realized that was never going to happen, and I decided to set my sights on becoming a pop star. Since I couldn’t carry a tune, it only took a few months for that bubble to pop. I’ve changed my mind about my career more than a dozen times since then, and I’ve often started new jobs to follow my new path.

About eight years ago, I wound up working at a marketing firm that specialized in social media marketing. It’s grown by leaps and bounds, even doing good business during the COVID mess. A lot of that was thanks to some initiatives I spearheaded, like bringing in micro-influencers who can grow our brands on a budget, and as they grow, so do our clients.

Sometimes it feels like the micro-influencers aren’t worth the trouble. I’ve had two of them on a list for needing updated paperwork for months, but one of them finally came through. That means the only holdout account for year-end reporting is Twinning.

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