Page 59 of Happy Wife

I’m right here.

Every night, I would walk by his home office door, hoping he’d notice me. But most nights, he didn’t look up from his computer. Every now and then he’d raise his head and silently wink at me. I’d smile and wave, trying not to look as pathetic as I felt.

—

“Red rover, red rover,” Este shouted with her hands cupped in front of her face. She barely got the words out before she started snickering at the childish rhyme. “Send Beau right over.”

Este was on one end of their pool with Beau on the other, and on her signal, Beau charged toward her, scooping his arms through the water to gain momentum and trying to tackle her. They seemed to be taking turns mauling each other, but the rules of their game weren’t clear. I was too preoccupied with sulking on a lounge chair near the outdoor kitchen to pay closer attention.

It was a Tuesday afternoon, and Will had been heads down on a medical malpractice case for the better part of a week. I was work-widowed. And while I might have been grateful for their company, watching Este and Beau play like lovesick kids just made the challenges between Will and me feel amplified. Insult to injury.

What a relief it must be to build a life with someone.

Este and Beau had been together for so long that they had each other’s histories down pat, and now they got to enjoy the fruits of their labor by palling around all day, messing around in the pool. Whatever they wanted. On nights it was cool enough, Beau would build a fire in the firepit down by their guesthouse,and Este would snuggle into the same crook of his arm every time. Like she had claimed the spot a lifetime ago. Like it was meant for her. Like they had memorized each other. I was happy for my friends, but some nights, I would pour myself an extra glass of wine just to nurse my own jealousy as I sat with them by the fire.

Our time will come. Will can get past this work stress, and then it will be our turn to memorize each other.

“I’m going to get some more rosé.” I stood up from my pool chair. I had to shout to be heard over their shrieks of laughter. “Anyone want anything?”

They waved me off and went back to dunking each other underwater. Este was growing more outraged with every plunge.

I was padding toward their kitchen when I heard the front doorbell. I looked back toward the pool to see if Este and Beau had noticed. Este was about to put Beau in a headlock, so I guessed not.

I headed for the door and pulled it open, expecting I’d be signing for a package or meeting the mail delivery person. But there was a man carrying groceries instead. He was tall and tan with a boyish grin and a dark brown, tousled surfer haircut.

Oh.

“Hey,” he said. “I’m Marcus, a friend of Este and Beau’s?”

“I’m their neighbor. Nora.”

Will’s Nora.

He raised the groceries up to my sight line. “I come bearing tacos. Can I come in?”

“Sorry.” I shook my head. “Yeah. They’re out by the pool.”

I led him through the house, half expecting to find one or both of them with a bloody nose from all of the roughhousing.

“Marcus,” Beau called from the pool as he fended Este off with a stiff arm. “What’s up?”

“It’s Taco Tuesday,” Marcus said as if he was reminding Beau.

That Beau might have forgotten didn’t surprise me. He had settled nicely into his patrician lifestyle and taken on an absentminded professor’s way of moving through the world. He made plans and then forgot them, counting on Este to keep his calendar and his life in order. With both of them effectively retired, this system seemed to work just fine.

“Let me help you put those groceries down.” Este climbed outof the pool, wrapping a towel around her waist and waving for Marcus to follow her. “Did you meet Nora?” She motioned between the two of us. “Marcus is the owner and head chef at Lemon and Fig on Park Ave. Beau and Marcus met when they were kids at some Lord of the Flies–style summer camp in North Carolina where they had to fend for themselves with just the hiking packs on their backs. Totally normal for nine-year-olds, right?”

“It wasn’t really that bad,” Marcus countered.

“Beau still talks about the food rationing like he was on a season ofSurvivor,” Este said to me. “Anyway, it was a visit with Marcus that inspired us to move to Winter Park after Beau sold the company. Besides you, he’s my favorite person in the city. And he’s taken a night off from his restaurant to teach us to cook fish tacos because he’s an angel.” Este kissed him on the cheek.

“Tuesdays are typically pretty slow anyway,” Marcus said tome.

“Shut up. You love us,” Este said and waved his words away.

—

In spite of her suggestion that this was a cooking lesson, it quickly became apparent that Este was more interested in Marcus cooking for us than she was in a tutorial on cooking anything. When he handed her a head of lettuce to chop, she acted confused before abandoning the task to turn on some music. And as he tried to explain how to bread and fry the fish for the tacos, she claimed she was too busy searching for Tajín for the margaritas.

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