Page 77 of Happy Wife

“Among other things,” Will said, noncommittally. “I’ve been swamped. And I’ve had to pull a few favors with the courts to keep up with all of the deadlines.” There was another look in Fritz’s direction.

For his part, Fritz was completely unaffected by Will’s veiled swipes. But everyone else at the table seemed to be aware of the tension. Will was mad at Fritz for something, and it was bigger than just a crass joke.

While Gianna had thrown out superficial topics—the weather, Mia’s schooling, rising property taxes—to keep the conversation going, I had listened for clues about what was really going on. But Will was polite, engaged on each topic and kept a sort of distance from anything that might draw Fritz into the conversation. That didn’t keep Fritz from chiming in in his usual big way, taking up any available space and calling the attention back to himself.

Fritz trying to take control of the conversation only for Will to wrench it back was an unusual tug-of-war. Usually, Will gave Fritz all the rope he wanted, shrugging off the wild stories and lewd language as “just Fritz being Fritz.” That night, though, he wasn’t laughing Fritz off, and when Fritz had piped up to add a comment, Will had diplomatically and firmly changed the subject.

When the tension got to be too much to bear, I had excused myself for the bathroom, and took my time walking through the restaurant. In no hurry to return to the conversational standoff atthe table, I checked the news on my phone as I’d stood by the sinks in the ladies’ room.

After I had wasted the maximum time allowable—enough time that it was plausible I had used the bathroom, but not so much time that Gianna could start a rumor I had some kind of digestive disorder—I emerged and bumped squarely into Marcus.

“Sorry,” I sputtered as we collided.

He put both hands on my arms to steady me. “Hey, Nora! I read the note that this was a work thing. That’s too bad. I would have pulled together a Yellow Submarine tasting menu.”

I smiled. “Yeah. It’s for my husband.”

We were in a narrow hallway, set back from the dining room. He looked behind himself to see if he could spot our table.

“By the window.” I pointed surreptitiously.

“Ah,” he said. “So that’s the elusive Mr. Nora.”

“Will. And Fritz and Gianna, the witch.”

“Witch, like she’s got powers?”

“Witch, like if she had powers she’d use them to make me disappear.” I shrugged. “I’d love to see her turned into a newt or something.”

“Got it.” He turned back to me. “So, if you two can’t stand each other, why are you at dinner together again?”

As if it’s that simple.

“I don’t know. I haven’t seen Will in, like, a hundred years, so I said yes to spend some time with him.” I bit the inside of my cheek. Complaining about Will to Marcus felt like a betrayal. I looked back at the table and saw Will watching us.

His face was inscrutable, but as I caught his sight line, he winked, his face softening into a smile.

I turned to Marcus. “I should get back.”

—

“What was that?” I asked as we were driving home at the end of the night.

The tension at the table had not gotten any better. In their own, conflict-averse ways, Will and Fritz covertly sparred with each other for the entire meal.

Will just shrugged and said, “It’s complicated. And what was with the conversation between you and the chef?”

“Don’t turn it around, Will. Marcus is a friend. What’s going on with you and Fritz?”

“Fritz and I aren’t seeing eye to eye at work.”

“About what?”

“Almost everything.”

Another nonanswer.

“You know you can talk to me about work stuff, right? I am happy to be a sounding board. I’m your wife—”

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