One Night Only by Catherine Walsh
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.
He looks tired. There are dark smudges under his eyes and a slight blush of razor burn on his cheek. His jeans are creased and so is his T-shirt and he smells like deodorant, as if he just put it on. As if he didn’t even go home and shower before coming to see me. That theory is further backed up by the black leather travel bag in his hands, which he dumps casually inside the door as if he’s done this a million times. The realization that he came straight here, as if he couldn’t wait to see me either, only makes me more confused.
I want to kiss him. I want to hold him and make him hold me.
But I can’t.
Not yet.
“I got you airport gin,” he says by way of greeting. He holds up the bottle. “It was on sale. Also…” He pulls out a large packet of candy from the bag. “Airport pretzels. You’re welcome.”
I close the door behind him. “How was your flight?”
“Delayed but I’ve had worse. Glad to be back.”
I see the exact moment he realizes something’s wrong. Or maybe he senses the weird energy in the room. I can certainly feel it. A strained tension that only heightens the odd feeling inside of me.
He puts the gin and pretzels down on the counter, not even trying to pretend. “What’s up?”
Nothing. Everything.
“Sarah?”
“I, um, lost my job.”
His expression is an instant mask of concern and his arms reach out as if to draw me into a hug. “What happened?”
“It was coming,” I say, stepping back. He takes the hint and doesn’t try and come any closer. “I should have started looking as soon as I didn’t get the promotion. Harvey has been acting standoffish ever since and…” I trail off at the look on his face.
“I’m pulling out. I’ll ditch the firm.”
“No,” I say quickly. “You don’t need to.”
“Yes, I do,” he says. He looks furious. “This is ridiculous. They can’t do that.”
“They can and they have. Please don’t pull your business. There’s no point anyway, we’re too far along. You’ll just have to start all over again.”
“I’m not having that guy—”
“Someone else is going to take over the plans,” I interrupt. I’m not going to tell him about my conversation with Matthias. Then he’ll definitely leave.
Declan looks like he’s going to say something more, but he stops himself. “I’m sorry,” he says. “I didn’t mean to make this about me.”
“I’m dealing with it. It sucks but I’m dealing with it. I’ve got enough savings to last for a few weeks, so I’ve got time to find something.”
“Of course, you will.”
I nod, not looking at him.
“Do you want to go for a walk?” he asks. “Or if you don’t feel like talking, we could catch a movie or—”
“I want to talk,” I interrupt. “We need to talk. I want to ask you about something.”
He waits but I can’t seem to get the words out.
“Sure,” he says finally. He sits on the sofa, leaving space beside him, but I aim for the armchair against the wall. He’s surprised but he masks it quickly, turning to face me.
“I had lunch with Paul and Annie the other day,” I start, ripping off the Band-Aid. “Paul told me about Fiona.”
Declan goes completely still, his eyes never leaving my face. The silence stretches on for so long I start to worry if he even heard me. Whatever he expected me to say, it obviously wasn’t this.
“Well,” he says eventually. “He shouldn’t have done that.”
“Because you told him not to?”
“Because it’s private.”
“I made him tell me,” I say. “So don’t blame this on him. I found an old blog post about the two of you.”
“You looked me up?”
“That’s what you’re focusing on?”
“What else should I be focusing on?”
“How about the fact that you’re married?”
“Separated.”
“But not divorced. You don’t think there’s a difference between the two things? You knew,” I say. “You knew what happened with my parents. I told you how it messed me up and you kept this from me. You went to Chicago to see her?”
“I did. I had some work to do as well. I didn’t lie to you about that.”
“You told Paul you were in Boston.”
“Because I didn’t want him to worry about me and her. He worried about us a lot before.”
“And should he be worried about you now?”
He leans forward. He looks pissed off again. “The last time Fiona and I spoke before this week was a year ago when her grandmother died. I called to offer my condolences. The last time I saw her in person was two years ago when she returned her engagement ring. It’s a family heirloom and she didn’t want to put it in the mail. I gave it back to Mam who gave it to Paul who eventually gave it to Annie. We are not in touch.”
“So why did you go see her?” It’s impossible to keep the hurt from my voice. Declan stays quiet and I can’t take it. “Answer me.”
“I don’t want to.”
“You don’t want to?”
“This is not how I want to talk about this.”
I stare at him in disbelief. “Well, tough shit, because that’s what we’re doing.”
“You’re upset, Sarah. Not only are you upset about me not telling you about Fiona, you’ve just lost your job, which is a pretty big, terrible thing. So again, no, I’m not having this conversation right now.” Sometime in the past few moments, his face has gone very pale, his body tense in a way I’ve never seen before.
“Do you still have feelings for her?”
“Of course, I do. But not what you— Sarah.”
I stand, running my hands up and down my thighs. I can’t sit still. I can’t look at him. I’d been so careful. So careful to do this right and yet he comes along and ruins everything and now I’ll get hurt. I’m getting hurt. The pain is intense. A sharp throb in my chest, a punch of disappointment that’s worse than losing the job. That’s almost as bad as when I lost Josh.
“Please sit down,” Declan says even though he rises too. “This is why I don’t want to talk about this now. You’re upset.”
“I’m not upset over you,” I lie, fleeing to the relative safety of the kitchen.
“I know.” The calm mask slips from his face, alarm creeping in. “I meant upset about your job.”
“I don’t want to talk about my stupid job,” I snap. “If you don’t want to tell me, then why are you still here?”
My knee is shaking. My hand is shaking. I want to scream at him. I want to hit something. All this energy is building inside of me and I don’t know what to do with it. He wants to break this off. That’s the only reason for all of this. Maybe he thought he would go see her and tell her about me to make her jealous. It’s the only thing I can think of. The only explanation for why he’s refusing to tell the truth. Maybe he thought he could string this out a bit more. Keep his options open.
“You’re really not going to talk to me?” I ask finally.
He says nothing.
“Then go.” My voice is calm. Thank God for that at least. “If you don’t want to tell me what’s happening, then go.”
He watches me for a long moment, assessing me. Maybe waiting for me to change my mind. “If that’s what you want.”
“It is.”
“I’ll call you in a few days.”
“I won’t answer.”
“I’ll still call. And if you want to see me before then—”
“Just go,” I snap and this time he does, giving me one last look before he grabs his bag and walks out, closing the door softly behind him.
I can’t believe it.
What the hell just happened?
I let out an angry breath, tears threatening. That was not how I wanted it to go at all. I wanted him to sit there and explain and let me be angry and maybe yell at me and then we’d kiss and move on.
Instead, he sat there. He sat there and he refused to tell me how he really felt.
Because he loves her.
He loves her and he’s married to her, separation or not, and how the hell am I supposed to compete with that? I knew it was too good to be true. I let him play me with his teasing and his sunrises and I really like you in that dress, Sarah, all the while he was married.
He’s married.
I pace around the apartment, glaring at the pretzels, glaring at the spot on the sofa where he sat. The pressure still rises inside, squeezing my chest. In my bedroom, I pick up a pillow and scream into it for a few long seconds until I have nothing left to give.
It’s only when I stop do I hear the knocking.