Page 35 of Woman on the Verge

She smiles. “I can’t.”

“Well, if you change your mind, here’s my number,” he says, handing her a blue Post-it.

She recalls a stack of blue Post-its on his kitchen counter at his apartment and says, “Did you really write your number on this and have it in your pocket to give to me?”

He nods. “I did.”

“You’re an old soul.”

“So I’ve been told,” he says.

“Well, thanks,” she says, holding the Post-it.

Maybe she’ll enter the number in her phone, under the name E. It could be fun just to have it there, to confirm his existence and reinvigorate herself with the memory of their dalliance. It would be like a little bump of cocaine to her system, not that she’s ever done a little bump of cocaine. She’s always been a good girl. Until now, at least.

“It would make me feel better if we saw each other again,” he says. “I really don’t know if I can live with myself for having a one-night stand.”

“We had sex this morning, so technically it was more than one night.”

“You’re killing me.”

“I’m sorry.” Another truth.

He goes to her, pulls her body close to his, and she feels that jolt of desire again. He wraps his arms around her so tightly, and she feels suddenly like crying—not a few tears, but surging sobs of both sadness and gratitude. He has given her life. He will never know this, not fully, but he has.

They pull apart, and he takes her face in both his hands and kisses her.

“Goodbye, Ms. Katrina,” he says, his farewell words, the false name, reminding her that he doesn’t really know her at all.

“Goodbye, Elijah.”

She gets in her car, despite everything in her body telling her not to. As silly as it is, she misses him before she even puts the key in the ignition.

Chapter 7

Nicole

When I got home Sunday evening, the girls were naked in the kitchen, and there were several open containers of Play-Doh on the floor. I’d bought a twenty-pack from Walmart, and it appeared Kyle had given them all twenty, thinking that more containers would equate to more time they would be entertained on their own. I was already annoyed.

“Mommy!” they screamed when they saw me. That moment was probably the closest I’ll ever get to feeling like Mick Jagger taking the stage at a concert.

Their little naked bodies jumped up and down as I crouched next to them. Their hair smelled sweet, a familiar scent. After a moment, it clicked:

“Do you have yogurt in your hair?”

“Yogurt!” Liv shouted.

Just as I was about to ask where Daddy was, Kyle appeared in the kitchen wearing his softball shirt, the dumb team name—Bat Intentions—across the chest.

“There you are,” he said. “I’m sorry to have to run, but my team will have to forfeit if I don’t get there.”

Well, hello to you too! My drive was great, thanks for asking. It only took me seven hours, and I’ve had to pee for the last two, meaning I’ll probably get a UTI. Nobody knows what’s wrong with my dad, thanks for asking again. I’m so sorry I forgot about your stupid fucking softball game.

“Have the girls eaten?” I asked.

It was almost six. They usually eat around five.

“Not yet,” he said. “I’m sorry.”

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