Chapter 24
CHAPTER
TWENTY-FOUR
JULIE
I feel like I'm living in a sea of false normality.
Asher acts like the trip fixed everything.
Like we reconnected. Like we're good now.
Monday morning, he kisses me goodbye before work.
He tells me he loves me. He asks what I'm doing for dinner.
When I say I'm not sure, he suggests we cook together.
"We can make that pasta you like."
"Sure," I say. "That sounds nice."
He smiles and leaves for work. I stand in the kitchen and listen to his car pull out of the driveway. Then I hear footsteps on the stairs. Devon appears in the doorway, already dressed for the day in expensive athleisure. Her hair is pulled back in a sleek ponytail. She looks rested.
"Morning," she says.
"Morning."
She goes to the coffee maker and pours herself a cup. She adds cream and sugar, stirring slowly. The spoon clinks against the ceramic. "Did you guys have a nice time while you were gone?" she asks.
"It was fine."
"I'm glad you got away for a bit. You both seemed like you needed it."
I don't respond. I'm not sure what she wants me to say.
She takes a sip of her coffee and leans against the counter. "It was nice of Ryan to stay."
"He’s a good guy."
"I told him I felt bad that you guys had to come back early. He said it wasn't a big deal, but I still feel terrible."
"It wasn't your fault."
"I know. But still." She pauses. "Asher texted me Thursday night to check in. I told him everything was fine and he didn't need to worry, but I think he felt guilty about leaving me."
My jaw tightens. So he was texting her too. Not just the phone call at three in the morning. "He worries about you," I say.
"I know. He's been so good to me. I don't know what I'd do without him." She says it like it's a compliment. Like she's grateful. But there's something underneath it. A claim. A reminder that she needs him in a way I apparently don't.
I finish my coffee and rinse the cup in the sink. "I need to get to work," I say.
"Okay," she smiles. It doesn't reach her eyes.
The smile I return doesn't reach mine, either.
That night, Asher comes home at six with groceries. He's in a good mood. He kisses my cheek when he walks in and starts unpacking ingredients on the counter. Pasta. Fresh tomatoes. Basil. Garlic.
"I’m about to make you the most kickass dinner," he announces.
Devon is sitting at the kitchen table with her laptop open. She looks up and smiles. "You’re such a dork."
Asher glances at her and laughs. "You can help if you want."
"Oh, no. I don't want to intrude. This is your thing."
"You're not intruding," he says. "You live here."
She hesitates, then closes her laptop. "Okay. If you're sure."
I don't say anything. I pour myself a glass of wine and sit at the table while Asher cooks. Devon sits across from me. She's scrolling through her phone, occasionally showing Asher something funny. He laughs. She laughs. I drink my wine.
Dinner is fine. The pasta is good. Asher is attentive. He refills my glass. He asks about my day. He tells a story about a difficult client that makes Devon giggle.
After dinner, Devon offers to clean up. Asher tries to help but she waves him off. "You cooked. I'll clean. You two should relax."
Asher takes my hand and leads me to the living room. We sit on the couch. He puts his arm around me. I lean into him because that's what I'm supposed to do.
"This is nice," he says.
"Yeah."
"I'm glad we went away. I think it helped."
I don't know what to say to that. It didn't help. We came back early. He spent the middle of the night on the phone with Devon. We didn't have sex. We didn't reconnect. We just went through the motions and came home. But he’s acting like it worked. Like we're fixed now.
"I've been thinking," he says. "Maybe we should plan another trip. Something longer. Maybe a week somewhere warm."
"What about Devon?"
"Ryan can stay with her again. Or she can stay at his place. She'll be fine."
“When?”
“Maybe the weekend after the Living Trust is distributed? We can celebrate having that off the to-do list. It’d be great to actually get away, just with you. We could go back to the Maldives or go somewhere different, like Paris.”
I want to believe him. I want to think that we could actually get away. That Devon wouldn't call. That Asher wouldn't sneak into the fucking bathroom to talk to her at three in the morning. "We can talk about it," I say.
He kisses the top of my head. "Sounds good."
Devon comes into the living room a few minutes later. She sits in the armchair across from us and tucks her legs underneath her. "What are we watching?" she asks.
Asher picks up the remote. "I don't know. What do you want to watch?"
She shrugs. "I'm easy."
He scrolls through options. Devon makes suggestions.
I sit there and watch them negotiate what to watch like I'm not even in the room.
Eventually they settle on some thriller I've never heard of.
Asher keeps his arm around me. Devon curls up in the chair with a blanket.
We watch the movie in silence. Halfway through, Asher's phone buzzes.
He pulls it out and frowns at the screen.
"Work?" I ask.
"Yeah. I need to respond to this." He gets up and goes into his office. I hear the door close.
Devon and I sit in the living room. The movie plays. Neither of us speaks. After a few minutes, she glances at me. "He's been working so much lately."
"He always works a lot."
"I know. But it seems like more than usual. I think he's stressed."
I don't respond.
"I'm glad you guys are doing better, though," she says. "He seems happier."
I look at her. She's watching the TV, her expression neutral. But there's something in her tone. Something that feels like a test. "We're working on it," I say.
"That's good. Marriage is hard." She says it like she knows. Like she has experience. She's eighteen years old.
Asher comes back twenty minutes later. He sits and plays around on his phone. When the movie ends, Devon says goodnight and goes upstairs. Eventually, Asher and I go to bed, too. He kisses me. He tells me he had a good day. He falls asleep within minutes.
I lie awake and stare at the ceiling. He acting like we're fine. Like the trip worked. Like we reconnected. But we didn't get the chance to. And him acting like we did reads false. He’s not this stupid. No one is. Which suggests that he’s pretending.