Chapter 15

The following night, Evelyn wanted to play a game where we split into teams and entered names of famous people into a large bowl.

You drew a name out of the bowl and your teammates had to ask yes or no questions about the name until they figured out who it was. It was dark and we were sitting in the living room with the lights on and the shutters open. Occasionally a moth would fly in through the window and Nick would catch it in his hands and throw it back out again, while Derek encouraged him to kill it. Bobbi told Derek to stop and he said, don’t tell me animal rights extend to moths now, do they? Bobbi’s lips were stained dark with wine, she was drunk.

No, Bobbi said. Just kill it yourself if you want it to die.

Melissa and Derek and I were on one team together, and Nick and Bobbi and Evelyn were on the other. Melissa brought out another bottle of wine while we were writing down the names and putting them into the bowl, though we’d already had a lot of wine at dinner. Nick put his hand over his empty water glass when Melissa offered. They seemed to share a look of some kind before she went away to refill her own.

First it was the other team’s turn, and Nick was drawing out the names. He read the first one and frowned and then went oh, okay.

Bobbi asked if it was a man and he said no. Is it a woman? she said. Yes, yeah. Evelyn asked if she was a politician or an actress or a sportsperson, she wasn’t any of those. Bobbi said, a musician? And Nick said, not that I know of, no.

Is this person famous? Bobbi said.

Well, define famous, he said.

Do we all know who this person is? said Evelyn.

You both definitely do, Nick said.

Oh, said Bobbi. Okay, so, is this someone we know in real life?

He said it was. Melissa and Derek and I were sitting wordlessly watching this. I became very conscious of the wine glass in my hand, holding the stem too hard against my thumb.

Is it someone you like? Bobbi said. Or don’t like?

Me personally? Yeah, I like her.

And does she like you? said Bobbi.

Is that really going to help you figure out who it is? he said.

It might, said Bobbi.

I don’t know, he said.

So you like her, but you don’t know if she likes you, said Bobbi.

Do you not know her very well? Or is she mysterious?

He shook his head and laughed to himself, like he found this line of questioning extremely stupid. I sensed that Melissa and Derek and I had all become quite still. No one was talking or drinking any more.

I guess it’s a little of both, he said.

You don’t know her very well and she’s mysterious? said Evelyn.

Is she smarter than you? Bobbi said.

Yeah, though a lot of people are. These questions don’t seem very strategic.

Okay, okay, said Bobbi. Is this person more emotional, or more rational?

Oh, rational, I guess.

Like, unemotional, said Bobbi. Emotionally unintelligent.

What? No. That’s not what I said.

A dull heat rose into my face and I looked into my glass. I thought Nick seemed faintly agitated, or at least not cool and relaxed like he usually pretended to be, and then I wondered when I’d decided he was pretending.

Extrovert or introvert? said Evelyn.

Introvert I would think, Nick said.

Young or old? said Evelyn.

Young, definitely young.

This person is a child? said Bobbi.

No, no, an adult. Jesus.

An adult woman, okay, said Bobbi. And do you think you’d find her attractive in a swimsuit?

Nick looked at Bobbi for an excruciatingly long second, and then put the piece of paper down.

Bobbi already knows who it is, said Nick.

We all know who it is, Melissa said quietly.

I don’t, said Evelyn. Who is it? Is it you, Bobbi?

Bobbi grinned a little mischievous grin and said, it was Frances.

I watched her, but I couldn’t figure out who this performance had been aimed at. Bobbi herself was the only person who found it amusing, but that didn’t seem to bother her; she looked like it had played out just as she intended. I realised, stupidly late, that she had almost certainly put my name into the bowl in the first place. I was reminded of her wildness, her tendency to get inside things and break them open, and I felt fearful of her, not for the first time.

She wanted to expose something private about how I felt, to turn it from a secret into something else, a joke or a game.

The atmosphere in the room changed after that round ended.

At first I was afraid that the others knew about us, that people had heard us at night, that even Melissa knew, but then I realised it was a different quality of tension. Derek and Evelyn seemed instead to feel awkward on Nick’s behalf, like they thought he had been trying to conceal his feelings from me; and toward me they expressed a kind of unspoken concern, maybe that I would be offended or upset. Evelyn kept glancing at me with a sympathetic expression. After Melissa correctly guessed the name Bill Clinton, I excused myself to go to the bathroom, which was across the hall.

I ran cold water over my hands and dabbed it under my eyes, then dried my face with a clean towel.

Outside in the hallway, Melissa was waiting to use the bathroom. Before I could step past her she said: are you all right?

I’m fine, I said. Why?

She drew her lips together. She was wearing a blue dress that day, with a low scooped neckline and a pleated skirt. I had a pair of rolled-up jeans and a crinkled white shirt on.

He hasn’t done anything, has he? she said. I mean, he’s not bothering you.

I realised she was talking about Nick, and I felt faint.

Who? I said.

She gave me an unwelcome look then, a look that suggested she was disappointed in me.

It’s okay, she said. Forget about it.

I felt guilty, knowing that she was making an effort to care for me, an effort that was probably painful to her. Quietly I said: no, look, of course he hasn’t. I don’t know … I think it’s nothing. I’m sorry. I think it’s just Bobbi.

Well, it’s a crush or something, she said. I’m sure it’s probably harmless, I just want you to know you can tell me if anything happens to make you uncomfortable.

I appreciate that, it’s very kind of you. But really, it doesn’t … it doesn’t bother me.

She smiled at me then, like she was relieved that I was all right, and that her husband had not been doing something untoward. I smiled back gratefully and she wiped her hands on the skirt of her dress.

It’s not like him, she said. But I guess you’re his type.

I looked down at our feet, I felt dizzy.

Or am I flattering myself? she said.

I met her eye then, and I realised she was trying to make me laugh. I did laugh, out of gratitude for her kindness and her apparent trust.

I think I’m the one who should be flattered, I said.

Not by him, he’s completely useless. Great taste in women, though.

She pointed at the bathroom. I moved out of the way and she went inside. I wiped my face with my wrist and felt it was damp. I wondered what she had meant by calling Nick ‘useless’. I couldn’t tell whether she was being affectionate or vitriolic; she had a way of making them seem like the same thing.

We didn’t play for very much longer after that. I didn’t talk to Bobbi at all before she went to bed. I sat on the sofa until everyone else had gone too, and after a few minutes Nick came back. He closed the shutters and then leaned against the windowsill. I yawned and touched my hair. He said hey, that was

weird, wasn’t it? With Bobbi. I agreed it was weird. Nick seemed cautious on the subject of Bobbi, as if he wasn’t sure how I felt about her.

Have you given up drinking? I said.

It just makes me tired. And I prefer being sober for all this anyway.

He sat on the arm of the sofa, as if he expected we would be getting up again shortly. I said: what do you mean all this? And he said, oh, all this stimulating late-night conversation we have.

You don’t like having sex when you’re drunk? I said.

I think it’s probably better for everyone if I’m not.

What, it’s like a performance issue? I don’t have any complaints.

No, you’re very easy to please, he said.

I didn’t like him saying that, though it was true and he probably did think so. He touched the inside of my wrist with his hand and I felt myself shudder.

Not really, I said. I just know you like it when I lie there telling you how great you are.

He grimaced and said: that’s harsh. I laughed and said, oh no, am I ruining the fantasy for you? I’ll go back to sighing over how strong and masculine you are if you prefer. He didn’t say anything then.

I should go to bed anyway, I said. I’m exhausted.

He touched his hand against my back, which felt like an uncharacteristically tender gesture. I didn’t move at all.

Why haven’t you had any affairs before? I said.

Oh. I guess because I didn’t really meet anyone.

What does that mean?

For a second I really thought he would say: I never met anyone I desired, the way I desire you. Instead he said: yeah, I don’t know.

We were pretty happy together for a long time, so I never really thought about it then. You know, you’re in love, you don’t really think about these things.

When did you stop being in love?

He lifted his hand away then, so no parts of our bodies were touching any more.

I don’t think I did stop as such, he said.

So you’re saying you still love her.

Well, yeah.

I stared at the light fixture on the ceiling. It was switched off. We had put the table lamp on instead, before the game started, and it cast elongated shadows toward the window.

I’m sorry if that hurts you, he said.

No, of course not. But so, is this like a game you’re playing with her? Like you’re trying to get her to notice you by having an affair with a college student.

Wow. Okay. To get her to notice me?

Well? It’s not like she hasn’t seen you looking at me. She asked me earlier if you were making me uncomfortable.

Jesus, he said. Okay. Am I?

I didn’t feel in the mood to tell him no, so I rolled my eyes instead and got off the sofa, smoothing down my shirt.

You’re going to bed then, he said.

I said yes. I put my phone into my handbag to bring it downstairs and didn’t look up at him.

You know, that was hurtful, he said. What you said just now.

I picked up my cardigan from the floor and draped it over my bag. My sandals were lined up beside the fireplace.

You think I would do this just for attention, he said. What makes you feel that way about me?

Maybe the fact that you’re still in love with your wife even though she’s not interested in you any more.

He laughed but I didn’t look at him. I glanced in the mirror over the fireplace, and my face looked awful, so bad it shocked me. My cheeks were blotched like someone had slapped me, and my lips were dry and almost white.

You’re not jealous, Frances, are you? he said.

Do you think I have feelings for you? Don’t be embarrassing.

I went downstairs then. When I got into my own bed I felt terrible, not so much from sadness as from shock and a strange kind of exhaustion. I felt like someone had gripped my shoulders and shaken me firmly back and forth, even while I pleaded with them to stop. I knew it was my own fault: I had gone out of my way

to provoke Nick into fighting with me. Now, lying on my own in the silent house, I felt I’d lost control of everything. All I could decide was whether or not to have sex with Nick; I couldn’t decide how to feel about it, or what it meant. And although I could decide to fight with him, and what we would fight about, I couldn’t decide what he would say, or how much it would hurt me. Curled up in bed with my arms folded I thought bitterly: he has all the power and I have none. This wasn’t exactly true, but that night it was clear to me for the first time how badly I’d underestimated my vulnerability. I’d lied to everyone, to Melissa, even to Bobbi, just so I could be with Nick. I had left myself no one to confide in, no one who would feel any sympathy for what I’d done. And after all that, he was in love with someone else. I screwed my eyes shut and pressed my head down hard into the pillow. I thought of the night before, when he told me that he wanted me, how it felt then. Just admit it, I thought.

He doesn’t love you. That’s what hurts.