Page 37 of Fault Lines
He stiffened, fingers tightening around my sleeve. “That woman that just left? Are you serious?”
Then I said everything. The infertility. Cam’s distance. The open marriage, the rules, the Thursdays. The raw painof overhearing the truth spilled out. Once I started talking, I couldn’t stop, and when I finished, I was breathless.
Nate was quiet, letting the truth hang between us. Then, finally: “Let’s go to lunch.”
It was so normal, so plain, I almost laughed. “That’s all you have to say?”
He smiled a little, like he didn’t want to push. “Of course not. But your stomach just rumbled, and I think better with food anyway. Come on.”
“Okay,” I said, letting him help me to my feet. “Just need to clean up first.”
In the bathroom I stared at my reflection, trying to repair the damage. My eyes were red and swollen, impossible to hide. I splashed water on my face anyway, then headed back out where Nate waited with his keys.
“Anywhere you want to go?” he asked.
I shrugged. “You choose.”
He suggested the Italian place a block away, and I agreed. We’d eaten there before, back when things at home felt a little easier.
The place was nearly empty, which felt like a relief; the last thing I wanted was an audience for my misery. I picked at my spaghetti while Nate tried to figure out what to say.
“It’s okay,” I told him. “You can call me an idiot. I know it already.”
He shook his head. “Not at all. Livi… that’s a lot. But I need you to know—I don’t think you’re an idiot, or weak. I think you’re in love, really in love, and you’re trying to make sense of something that doesn’t make sense. I think you feel guilty, like you owe Cam for something you can’t control, and you’re willing to do anything for his happiness.”
The waiter came, giving me a moment to think. Was that true? Was I letting Cam get away with this because I felt broken myself?
I twirled pasta on my fork, hoping the answer might float to the surface.
“Do you blame yourself?” Nate asked softly.
I looked up, surprised. “For the infertility?”
He nodded.
“I mean, I know it’s not my fault. But it hurts. It hurts because Cam wanted that so badly, and I couldn’t give it to him. He doesn’t blame me, but I think he blames fate, maybe. Or the universe.”
“Did you ever think about adoption?”
I nodded. “I did, but Cam shuts down when I try to bring it up. Or surrogacy. He just won’t talk about it. The doctor suggested both, but he can’t seem to go there.”
“Why do you think that is?”
I studied my plate. “I think he just had this vision, you know? That we’d get pregnant the old-fashioned way, have a big birth in the hospital, bring home a baby that was both of us. He isn’t against adoption—I don’t think. But he can’t let go of the dream.”
“So instead, he runs off and loses himself in another woman.”
I flinched, but it was true. “Yeah. That’s pretty much it.”
“So what do you want, Livi? For your marriage?”
I looked at him, feeling empty. “I just want him to stop this. The open marriage. But he told me he’s not ready to let go yet.”
“And you’ll just wait?”
“What choice do I have? If I push, I’ll lose him. I’m not ready for that.”
“What if he never stops?”
