Page 52 of The Thinnest Air
“Greer, that’s right,” she says, her head tilted and her smile frozen. “How did you get a name like that, anyway? I’ve always had a thing for names. Growing up, there were four other Ericas in my grade. Always swore I’d never give my children a name they’d have to share. If you can find your name on a souvenir shot glass at a drugstore, it’s far too common.”
She doesn’t wait for me to answer her, but that’s fine. I don’t need to explain the intricacies of my mother’s misshapen logic to a woman who’s essentially a stranger with a take-it-or-leave-it mentality toward my missing sister.
In the seventies, there was a Manhattan “society girl” named Greer Forbes. She was the talk of the town, a fixture in most gossip columns, and the woman other women whispered about when they weren’t busy idolizing her.
My mother always loved the juxtaposition of a harsh, masculine name on a gorgeous woman. She thought it was equal parts classy and interesting. Years later, she went on to admit she should’ve named me Emily or Elizabeth, something timeless and easy to spell.
I step onto the landing beneath Erica’s front porch, realizing I haven’t yet called a cab, but rather than lingering like some weirdo, I hit the road and prepare to walk for miles along the snowy pavement until I find a place to grab a hot drink.
When I’m two blocks down, their black limousine crawls to a stop beside me. The back window rolls down, and Erica leans forward.
“There was this one time,” she says. “Maybe ten, eleven years ago. Andrew thought I was cheating on him with my personal trainer.” Erica’s red lips curl at the sides. “Which is hilarious in retrospect because he was gay. Anyway, Andrew about lost it. Had the poor man fired and basically blacklisted from every gym in a sixty-mile radius, which was a big deal because he was one of the most sought-after trainers in the area. But my point, Greer, is that the man has a jealous streak. Do with that information what you will.”
And just like that, she gives a little wave, rolls up the window, and speeds away.
CHAPTER 23
MEREDITH
Twenty-Two Months Ago
“Mer.” Ronan’s lips pull up at the sides, flanked by dimples when he sees me. Pulling me inside, he peers out the door before closing it, catching a glimpse of the taxi parked in his driveway. “Where’s your car?”
“I took a cab.”
His face twists. “Why?”
I haven’t seen him in over a week. A weekend with Andrew and the kids turned into an extra week with them when Erica decided to extend her Jamaican girls’ trip by an extra six days.
He takes my hands in his, bringing them to his lips and warming them with his breath. “You’re freezing.”
“The heat was broken in the cab,” I say.
“And you’re trembling.” He leads me to the sofa, pulling me into his lap. “What’s going on?”
The number of times I had sex with this man last month, I can’t even begin to count. The number of times I thought of him while lying next to my husband is disgraceful. Sitting here, beside him, my body is tense and electric, wishing I could let him ravish me one more time and knowing that I can’t.
“We can’t do this anymore.” I blurt out the words I came here to say before I lose the strength to say them.
He’s quiet, which is exactly the reaction I expected from my even-keeled Ronan.
“Are you happy, Meredith?” he asks, breaking the uncomfortable silence.
“What are you talking about?”
“In your marriage. With Andrew. Are you happy?” His brows meet.
“That’s beside the point. This is wrong. And we have to stop.”
“You’re miserable,” he says. “If you weren’t, you wouldn’t have been coming here.”
“You were my escape,” I say. “I’m a bored, pathetic woman, and you were exciting.”
“You and I both know I’m more than that to you,” he says. “And you’re not pathetic.”
“I’m pathetic for getting caught up in something I had no business being caught up in.”
“You’re only human.” There’s compassion in his voice, and I don’t deserve it.
