Eight
Susanna
"No," I admit. "But I need to get out of that house. I need to feel like a human being again instead of a ghost haunting my own life."
"Then let's get you fed and drunk. Not necessarily in that order."
We're going to Jumo's, the upscale Italian place downtown that Hillary's been wanting to try. It's supposed to have amazing pasta and even better wine.
When we walk in, the hostess leads us to a table near the back. The restaurant is busy, filled with couples and groups laughing over wine and candlelight.
I'm scanning the menu when Hillary goes still.
"Sus," she says quietly. "Don't look now, but..."
Of course I look.
And there, three tables away, is Teller.
With Frank.
And two women.
My heart stops. Actually stops. I can feel it—the moment when everything inside me freezes, crystallizes, shatters.
Teller is laughing at something one of the women said. She's beautiful—dark hair, elegant dress, the kind of woman who looks like she belongs in a place like this. The other woman is leaning close to Frank, but her eyes keep drifting to Teller.
They look like they're on a double date.
"Oh my God," Hillary breathes. "Sus, I'm so sorry. I didn't know—"
"It's fine," I hear myself say. "It's fine. They're just friends, right? That's what he keeps telling me."
But it doesn't look like "just friends." It looks like Teller is on a date with another woman while his wife sits at home.
Except his wife isn't at home. His wife is right here, watching him flirt with someone else.
"What do you want to do?" Hillary asks. "We can leave. We can go somewhere else."
I watch Teller lean back in his chair, completely relaxed, completely comfortable. He says something that makes both women laugh. One of them—the dark-haired one—touches his arm.
Something inside me snaps.
"No," I say, standing up. "We're not leaving. I'm going over there."
"Sus—"
"I'm going over there, and I'm going to ask my husband what the fuck he thinks he's doing."
Hillary grabs her purse. "Then I'm coming with you."
My legs feel like they're moving through water as I cross the restaurant. Teller doesn't see me coming. He's too busy being charming, being helpful, being everything to everyone except his wife.
I stop at their table.
"Teller."
He looks up, and the color drains from his face.
"Susanna. What are you—"
"What am I doing here?" My voice is surprisingly steady. "I'm having dinner with my sister. What are you doing here?"
"I told you. Dinner with Frank."
"And?" I gesture to the two women, who are watching this exchange with wide eyes.
"And Clarissa and Emmaline. You remember, I told you about them. Frank's friends."
The dark-haired woman—Clarissa—extends her hand. "You must be Susanna. It's so nice to finally meet you. Teller talks about you all the time."
I don't shake her hand. I'm staring at Teller, watching him squirm.
"This looks like a double date," I say quietly.
"It's not—" Teller starts.
"It's so funny running into you here!" Emmaline interrupts, her voice bright and oblivious. "Teller and I were just talking about you. He's been so helpful with my work situation. I don't know what I'd do without him."
"Helpful," I repeat. "Right."
Frank clears his throat. "Susanna, why don't you and Hillary join us? We can pull up some chairs—"
"No, thank you." I'm still looking at Teller. "I wouldn't want to interrupt your... dinner."
"Susanna, you're being ridiculous," Teller says, and I can hear the edge in his voice. He's embarrassed. Good.
"Am I? Because from where I'm standing, my husband is having dinner with two women and didn't think to mention it. That seems pretty fucking ridiculous to me."
"They're Frank's friends!"
"Then why are you here? Why are you always here, with them, instead of home with me?"
Emmaline shifts uncomfortably. "I'm sorry, I think there's been a misunderstanding. Teller has just been so sweet, giving me advice about my ex and my job. We're just friends."
"Just friends," I echo. "Right. Just friends who text my husband at all hours. Just friends who monopolize his time. Just friends who—"
"This is so nice!" Clarissa interrupts, raising her wine glass.
"Teller, your wife is even more beautiful than you described.
And it's so great that you're comfortable enough in your marriage to have female friends.
My ex-husband was so jealous, he couldn't stand me talking to other men.
But you two clearly have a really trusting relationship. "
She smiles at me, and there's something in that smile—something knowing, something triumphant.
And that's when Emmaline says it.
"I'm just so glad Teller agreed to this date. I was so nervous, but Frank said Teller was a great guy, and he was right."
The world stops.
"Date?" I hear myself say.
Emmaline's smile falters. "I mean... dinner. This dinner. That's what I meant."
But it's too late. The word is out there, hanging in the air like smoke.
I look at Teller. Really look at him.
And I see the exact moment he understands.
The exact moment he realizes what Frank has been doing.
The exact moment he realizes what he's been doing.
His face goes white. "Susanna—"
"You're on a date." My voice doesn't sound like mine. "You're on a fucking date."
"No! No, I didn't know—I thought we were just—"
"Just what? Just having dinner? Just being friends?" I'm shaking now, my whole body vibrating with rage and hurt and betrayal. "How many times, Teller? How many times have you been on 'dates' while I sat at home waiting for you?"
"I didn't know!" He stands up, reaching for me. "Susanna, I swear to God, I didn't know. I thought—"
"You thought what? That it was normal to spend every night texting other women? That it was okay to blow off your wife to have dinner with them? That it was fine to—"
I can't finish. I can't breathe.
Hillary's hand is on my arm. "Sus, let's go."
But I can't move. I'm staring at Teller, and he's staring back at me, and I can see it in his eyes—the horror, the realization, the understanding that he's fucked up in a way that might be unforgivable.
"Susanna, please," he says. "Let me explain."
"Explain what? That you've been cheating on me?"
"I haven't! I swear, I haven't touched anyone. I didn't even know these were dates!"
"How could you not know?" My voice breaks. "How could you be so fucking stupid?"
And then Teller turns to Frank.
The look on his face is murderous.