Page 62 of The Thinnest Air
“At first it was this hot and cold dynamic that I couldn’t wrap my head around,” I say. “But earlier today, I found a letter addressed to me, from an attorney, and he had opened it and hid it.”
“What did it say?”
I draw in a deep breath, harboring the air as I decide whether or not to share this information with him. As far as I know, Greer’s never mentioned a word to Harris about my trust fund. I swore her to secrecy years ago, and I trust her.
But this is relevant.
This is a game changer.
“He found out I’m coming into some money next year,” I say. “A decent amount. And I hadn’t told him that before we got married because I didn’t want him to look at me differently. Plus, he already has money. He doesn’t need mine. I didn’t think it was relevant.”
“Going into a marriage with secrets—especially ones that revolve around money—you’re just setting yourself up for failure,” he says. “Unless the both of you can be brutally honest and up-front about everything, you have no business being together. You may as well go your separate ways now. Once that trust is gone, you’ve got nothing.”
“I’m angry at him, Harris,” I say. “But I don’t know if I want to throw in the towel yet. It’s not fair for me to be angry at him.”
“Why not?” He scoffs. “Opening someone else’s mail is a federal offense. Hiding it from them takes it to a whole other level.”
“I haven’t exactly been the perfect wife myself.”
“Explain yourself.” The metallic swirl of a whisk against a stainless steel pan fills the background.
“A few months ago, I had a ... fling.”
“Affair, Meredith. You had an affair. Let’s not sugarcoat. You won’t do yourself any favors if you can’t own up to your choices.”
“Fine. Affair. I had an affair.” I keep my voice down despite the fact that Andrew’s an entire house away. I’ve never said that word ... “affair.” And I let it settle into my marrow for a second. “I regret it. I got caught up. I made a mistake. But I’ve never told him.”
“You should.”
“That would be the end, don’t you think? I don’t think we can come back from that,” I say. “He’d never look at me the same. He’d never trust me again.”
“Do you see yourself married to him the rest of your life?” he asks. “I mean, for the love of God, you’ve been with him, what, a year and a half? And you’ve already had all these issues? Wake up, Meredith. You married the wrong man. Probably for the wrong reasons. Also, you have some serious daddy issues, and now you have to deal with the consequences of your actions.”
Harris speaks to me the way I imagine my father would. Or the idea I have of my father. I’ve only seen him in pictures, but he seems like the kind of guy who didn’t make it to the top by sheer luck. He’s intelligent. People don’t mess with him. They respect him. They write about his success in articles. He mentors people. He’s accomplished so much, at least from what I can tell. People respect the hell out of him in Israel.
I’ve always wondered how he treats my half siblings. Whether he’s father of the year, there for them more than just financially.
He didn’t have to take care of me in the monetary sense, but he did.
He may not have wanted to meet me, to acknowledge my existence, but the fact that he set me up with a trust fund shows that on some level, he cares, and in a weird way, it sort of breaks my heart every time I think about it.
“And let’s face it, you’re young. Some might even call you a typical millennial. You refuse to accept that you don’t know anything about anything, and every decision you make revolves around your fragile little ego,” Harris continues, “so let’s start there. Accept that you made a mistake. Accept that there are going to be consequences.”
“Should I come clean about everything?” I ask.
“Yes. He’s your husband. He has the right to know if you’ve recently had the pleasure of another man’s cock inside you.”
“No need to be vulgar.”
“How do you think he’ll react? Is he going to make your life a living hell and go crazy on you?” he asks. “I’ve seen men do that before. They seem totally fine, and then they ... snap. The ones with the biggest egos snap the hardest.”
I glance at my wrist. It’s red, and it’s going to bruise. The throbbing has mostly subsided.
“I have no idea,” I say. “I don’t know him as well as I thought. I’ve seen him get upset about things, but this ... this is big.”
“Just be careful,” he says. “Anyway, I’m going to eat my dinner now. Is this all you needed?”
Pulling the covers up to my chin, I lie back. “Yeah.”
