Page 130 of One Night Only
“What?” she asks. “What happened?”
I burst into tears.
“Oh God,” Mark says as she hurries over to me. “What did I say?”
“Nothing. I’m sorry,” I cry into Claire’s shoulder.
“What happened?” she asks, more alarmed now as I sob.
“I got fired. They fired me.”
“Oh, honey.” Her arms clench tighter around me. I feel her head shift and know she’s communicating something with Mark.
“I’ll go,” he says a moment later.
“No, stay,” I wail. “Or don’t stay. Both of you go.”
“Don’t be stupid, Sarah. Of course, I’ll stay with you.”
“I’ll call Annie.” I push against her until she releases me. “She’ll come. I’ll only feel worse if you stay,” I say. “Please go. Enjoy your dinner even though I’ve just ruined it.”
“Of course, you haven’t.”
“We can order in,” Mark offers but, of course, that scenario is even too ridiculous to contemplate. I’m not ready to play the third wheel just yet.
“He’s leaving tomorrow,” I say quietly to her. “And I’m embarrassed enough as it is. Go. Please.”
“You’re going to call Annie,” Claire says, holding my arms to keep me in place. “And she’s going to come over. Promise me you’ll call her.”
“I will. I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be sorry,” she says. “Are you sure you’re alright?”
“I’m going to eat a lot of ice cream.”
“Text me if you need me to come back.”
“I will,” I lie. “Go.
It takes a lot more convincing to get them both out the door but by the time they are my tears have stopped, leaving me sore and dehydrated. I immediately crawl into bed, miserable and feeling inordinately sorry for myself.
A text message comes through an hour later from Declan, confirming what Paul said.
He’s coming back.
And he can’t wait to see me.
27
I am not going to confront him. I am going to talk to him. I will ask him politely about his beautiful wife, who he’s loved since they were children. I will gently interrogate why he didn’t tell me about her and he will tell me everything and we will clear the air. There’s no reason for the conversation not to end in an adult, reasonable manner. There is no reason from what Paul has said, as twisted as it makes me feel, that we can’t move past this.
No reason for me to feel nothing but dread, even though I do.
I call in sick to work and invite him over that afternoon, hoping the words sound terse enough that he doesn’t think it’s an overnight invitation.
Maybe we should meet on neutral ground, but I prefer the safety of my apartment. I clean, I shave, I curl my hair and then straighten it again, not wanting to look like I’ve gone to any effort. I want to appear confident and capable except he’s fifteen minutes late and I’m a complete mess by the time the buzzer goes. It seems to take him an insanely long time to climb the one flight of stairs, the few steps to my door. In reality, it can’t be more than a few seconds.
I hate the sudden dip inside at the sight of him. I hate the way my body reacts to him even now.
