Chapter 22 Sienna
Chapter 22
Sienna
They’re walking down the mountain toward the parking lot, and she’s worried. She’s worried about Lucy. And she’s worried about the gnawing in her gut that has her analyzing Adam, which in and of itself is troubling because that’s always been Lucy’s job.
Her husband is handsome. That’s a given. Charming. Always the life of the party. Devoted. But something’s off. She hears the niggling doubt that she’s been trying to quiet. Fine. So maybe it was the conversation in the van about last summer. She thought they were all on the same page, that they’d continue to act as though it didn’t happen. Maybe they should have discussed it at some point. Instead, they’re all skipping around some land mine that feels like it’s about to blow.
She knows her best friend. Lucy’s been distant, noticeably passive-aggressive with Adam. And isn’t she acting just as uncomfortable around Henry? They all have their roles. Lucy with her psychobabble. Henry and his sensibilities, always even-keeled and pragmatic. Adam being the overly friendly extrovert. And then there’s her. The pretender. And it’s getting exhausting.
Or maybe it’s the darkness.
She didn’t sleep last night. The minute Adam shut off the light, her heart raced, and she panicked, a heaviness smothering her chest. She gasped for breath and had to turn the light back on, which sparked an argument. He demanded answers; she didn’t have any.
She knew what everyone said about them. She used to relish the praise. I wish I had a husband who loved me like that. You guys are perfect. You’re so lucky. Because she once felt that way, until she didn’t. She doesn’t want to blame it on the money, but as soon as Adam started making the kind of living that set them apart from the rest of the world, he changed. She tells herself that because she can’t imagine she would have chosen this. Chosen this Adam: the entertainer. Adam who pours on the PDA when they’re in a crowd, bragging, flaunting his elite connections and exclusive access to the very best perks.
At first, she enjoyed being able to breathe a little easier without the financial pressure, and she’d be lying if she said she didn’t love their large Colonial, with its sprawling backyard and pool. They’d christened the pool house that first night, sipping champagne while he explored her body. They’d been so happy.
She’s not sure when she started to notice the subtleties that turned into big blots on their marital screen, but now she can’t unsee them. The affectionate Adam who’s all over her in public, bragging about his “hot wife,” disappears as soon as they’re out of range. He’ll drop her hand and bury his face in his phone. The rejection magnified the rumblings she’d already overheard at cocktail parties and sporting events.
“What a douche.”
The first time she’d heard someone call her husband that word, it was at the annual ESPN Christmas party. Handsy Adam had been showing her off to anyone he could. She’d smiled on cue, careful to make the right impression, but even so she’d cringed when she heard that word, douche , whispered in their wake. Adam wasn’t a douche—she thought—until they got in the car to go home, and he fell silent away from an audience. His mood spilled over when they got into bed. Rote and performative. The passion and desire diminished. The disconnect carried over the next morning after she carted the kids off to school. She caught him before he holed up in his office, trying her best to explain how he made her feel. And that’s the thing. There was nothing left to feel. Not when someone treated you as though your entire being was predicated upon glossy hair and a tight ass.
Now here’s Adam, on the phone with someone as he works his way down the mountain. She and Henry support a whimpering Lucy; the pill Cassidy gave her hasn’t kicked in yet. They all stare at Adam, screaming into the speakerphone as though he’s cordoned off in his private office. Lucy glares the hardest.
Her conversation with Lucy will have to wait. She hates feeling at odds with her closest friend, their little family scooting through life with a broken wing. They’ve relied on one another for so much, their first steps toward independence and adulthood taken side by side at college. They were a team, a package deal, and they coasted through those years with the assurance and understanding that they had each other’s back, a loyalty that strengthened with time.
So why does it feel as though their team has broken up?