Chapter Bex #2
“You know what’s more intimidating?” I continue. “Sri Lanka. The Arctic Circle. The River. Those are places most people—Americans, at least—don’t have the first clue about. You’re not planning a jaunt with your three-year-old in tow to any of them without assistance.”
He’s still distracted, this time reading something off his smartwatch. “Planning trips like that is a far greater undertaking and responsibility than you may realize.”
He’s probably right. But I’m also right, just like I was right two years ago when I told my father the brochure should be online, and several months later when I told him a TV show would bring in the publicity the company needed.
Theo is the one who’s made me realize that I’m capable of being an asset, of making an intelligent choice. He doesn’t get to take that back just because the difficulty of what I’ve proposed overwhelms him. Or because he’s too preoccupied by incoming texts.
From Montmartre, we travel to Saint-Germain-des-Prés, where we dine under Café de Flore’s white awning.
I attempt to have a very television-friendly chat about the writers who made the restaurant famous while Theo continues checking his motherfucking watch like it’s a bomb he might need to defuse at any moment.
Maybe I shouldn’t blame him—though I do. Maybe I should blame the fact that we’ve both been here before, that we’re not doing anything especially unique.
And there are so many difficult, interesting trips Families Travel could offer. Sand-skiing in Huacachina. The salt flats of Bolivia or this collapsed cavern in Turkmenistan that’s been continually aflame for decades.
My mouth opens to bring the idea up, and he glances at his watch again.
I fight a ping of irritation. More than a ping, because I was so excited to see him and am thrilled to be sitting across the table from him—positively bubbling over with ideas I want to share and things I meant to say when he was in New Jersey—and he just wants to be somewhere else.
“Do you have a date tonight or what?” I snap. “I’ve never seen someone check their watch as often as you have.”
His gaze shoots to the crew standing just a few feet to our left. “No, actually…I’m meeting Peter. He’s in town, and we’re getting a drink.”
A tiny ache resides in the center of my chest. I know he has other friends, but…can’t he see them in London? If our situations were reversed, I’d have been too greedy for the moments I get with him to willingly give up even one of them.
The crew breaks down. “Thank you, Bex,” Lars says with a pointed glance at Theo, “for carrying that conversation single-handedly.”
Theo simply shrugs in response. Then looks at his watch.
It’s just the two of us as we walk back to the hotel, neither of us speaking.
Him because, I assume, he’s so excited to see the friend he sees constantly.
Me, because I’m pouting. It’s not the first time I thought people cared about me as much as I cared about them only to be proven wrong.
I should be accustomed to it, but apparently I’m not.
We enter the lobby. Theo stiffens beside me and I’m late to realize why: Peter is here, rising from a chair, crossing the room to greet us.
“I thought I was meeting you out,” Theo says, tense and miserable. “Rebecca was heading upstairs.”
This has to be about me, about Theo’s desperation to not include me.
Peter enfolds me in a hug. “I was hoping you’d be here,” he says. “Come have a drink with us. The hotel has a bar.”
I glance at Theo, who shows no sign of agreeing with this suggestion. His mouth is tight and unsmiling; his eyes are flat. God, it hurts so much more than I thought it would.
I step backward. “I should let you guys catch up.”
“Catch up?” Peter asks. “I see this guy every day at the office.”
My head jerks from him to Theo. “You do?”
Theo’s eye twitches, the tiniest sign of discomfort above and beyond the discomfort he clearly already felt. “I hired Peter to take over some of the work in London since I’ve been gone so much this summer.”
What? Why the fuck would he not have mentioned this?
I mean, sure, I’m not really involved with the company beyond my participation in the show but…
we just ran ten miles together a week ago, he stayed at my home, and we spent hours clearing out my fridge, talking.
It seems like somewhere in there, he’d have mentioned it.
Peter smiles awkwardly, glancing between us. “Anyway, I insist, Rebecca. Come have a drink and tell me what kind of husband Theo is. I suspect it’s not a great one.”
“He’s the worst,” I agree, my tone slightly too vicious.
I go to the lounge with them and sip on a glass of wine I really don’t want.
Peter does his best to be charming—he laughs hard at every joke I make and toasts Theo for “marrying the most beautiful woman on two continents,” while Theo’s smiles grow more pinched, his replies more snippy, until I finally take my leave.
“You need to come to London,” Peter insists when I rise. “We’d all love to see you.”
Maybe it’s a British thing, this incredible civility at the expense of the truth…though I haven’t noticed Theo being overwhelmingly civil, especially not tonight.
“I kind of doubt that,” I reply, because I’m suddenly too exhausted and hurt to keep playing this game. “You were the only one of Theo’s friends who was especially pleasant the last time.”
Peter glances from me to Theo. “Well, you know…”
“No,” I reply, pushing my stool in. “I don’t know.”
“Wendy’s husband is dying,” Theo says, the words clipped and unwilling. “He’s got perhaps a year at most.”
I stare at him, and then Peter. Why the hell did he not mention this when we were in London? I’d still have found Wendy unlikable, but I would have faked it better. “I…had no idea.”
Peter’s brow furrows. “It’s been all over the news. He’s quite well-known.”
The number of things Theo should have told me that night just grows and grows, and I am suddenly desperate to be away from him and Peter both, desperate to be alone long enough to recover from the ways this evening has hurt.
I hug Peter goodbye and don’t even look at Theo as I turn toward the elevator. I’ve told him so many things, and he’s told me so little in return. I was excited to see him, but he wanted me gone the second another option presented itself.
I shouldn’t be surprised. It’s incredibly familiar.