Page 47 of That Weekend in Paris
“I don’t know. I was hoping we could talk.”
“About what?”
“About us.”
“There is no us,” she says. “Remember?”
“Yeah, I know. I just—”
“What?” she says. “You just what?”
“I guess I’ve been thinking that it seems a shame to throw away what we had.”
“Oh, and what has you thinking this, Josh?”
“I don’t know. You being gone. I saw that picture of you with Klein in a magazine.”
She makes a sound of disbelief. “So you’re telling me now that you’re jealous after I spent how long throwing myself at you to no avail as your wife? You didn’t want me, Josh. Why would you want me now? Because someone else is trying to play with your toy?”
“Don’t be crude,” I say.
“I’m not being crude. You’re like a little boy, Josh. Even when you’re tired of your toy, you don’t want anyone else to have it.”
“That’s not how I see it,” I say.
“It’s how it is,” she fires back. “Is it so shocking to you that someone else might want me?”
“No,” I say quietly. “It’s not shocking to me at all.”
She’s silent then for a stretch of moments, and I can feel her grappling for words. “Is this really just an attempt on your part to get me to not go into competition against you?”
“No,” I say. “It’s not. People deserve second chances, Dillon. That’s all I’m asking for.”
“So what happened to the fact that you were bringing your lover to Paris less than forty-eight hours ago?”
I hesitate, several long beats of silence hanging between our phones. “I guess I started trying to picture myself there with her, and I couldn’t. I could only see myself there with you.” He expects a sharp comeback from Dillon, but he doesn’t get one.
Her voice is soft when she says, “How am I supposed to believe that, Josh?”
“I don’t know. You have every right not to,” I say, “but it’s the truth nonetheless.”
“You can’t just. . .you’ve hurt me, Josh. Surely you know that.”
“I do, and I can’t even begin to tell you how sorry I am. I was horrible to you. When you were sick, I should’ve been there for you, and I couldn’t get past my own needs long enough to think about yours.”
“That’s true,” she says.
“I am ashamed of myself, Dillon, really. You have no idea. It keeps me awake at night.”
“That’s not going to change anything, though, is it?” she asks. “I don’t want to spend the rest of my life hating you for the bad times in our marriage, but I admit I’ve wondered whether or not you ever really loved me, Josh, because when you love someone, you do want to take away their pain in any way you can.”
“I know,” I say. “You’re right. I wish I could go back and do things over again. Honestly, Dillon, it would be so different. I promise you it would. When you get back, can we talk? It doesn’t have to be anything more than that. Just let me know when you can come, and I’ll meet you at the house.”’
“I don’t want to meet you at the house.”
“Then, somewhere neutral. You name the place.”
“I’ll think about it, Josh, but I have to go now.”
