Chapter 6 My Seat #2
"You have a right to speak to him when he can actually respond." Her voice is patient, reasonable, infuriating. "Right now he can barely keep his eyes open. Do you really want to have this conversation while he's like this?"
I look at Rafael, at the heaviness of his limbs, the way his head has lolled against the cushion.
She's not wrong. He's clearly not capable of a real conversation. But that doesn't explain why she's the one making that determination. It doesn't explain why she's standing guard over my husband like I'm a threat to be managed.
"How long has he been like this?" I glance at the untouched papers on his desk. "When did it start?"
"A few hours ago." Marisol adjusts her position slightly. "He was working late, trying to finish some paperwork. Then he lay down here to rest."
"And you didn't call me then?" I let the question land. "When it first happened?"
"I didn't want to worry you." She smooths the sleeve she adjusted when I walked in. "It's your anniversary. I thought I could get him home to you."
"By keeping him here?" I gesture at the sofa, at him. "By sitting with him for hours while I waited at home?"
"By taking care of him until he felt well enough to drive." Her voice sharpens again. "I was trying to help, Sera. That's all I've ever been trying to do."
"You've been trying to help." I repeat it back to her, hearing how it sounds. "That's what you've been doing. Helping. Every late night, every missed dinner, every promise he broke. You were helping."
"Someone had to." She meets my eyes without flinching. "You wanted him home at seven. I wanted him to have an estate worth coming home to. We don't always get what we want."
The words hit harder than she probably intended. Or maybe exactly as hard as she intended. I'm not sure anymore.
I'm not sure of anything except that my oldest friend is standing between me and my husband, defending her presence here like it's self-evident, like I'm the one who needs to justify walking into my own marriage.
"You know things about us." My hand slips from the sofa. I hadn't meant to admit how much that hurts. "Things you shouldn't know. The way I wait for him. The way he forgets to come home. You talk about it like you've discussed it with someone."
"Rafael tells me things." She glances toward him, as though he could confirm it for her. "When he's tired, when he's stressed. He talks to me because I'm here. Because I listen."
"I listen." I swallow, hating that she has made me defend something he used to love about me. "I've been listening for months. But he doesn't talk to me. He talks to you."
"Maybe because I don't make it about me." Marisol's expression is almost pitying. "Maybe because when he's struggling, I don't add to the weight by demanding he pay attention to my feelings too."
I stare at her.
This woman I've known since we were young. This friend who used to borrow my jacket at parties when she got cold, who could once make me laugh just by catching my eye across a room, who laughed harder than anyone at my wedding.
Something has shifted between us, something I didn't see happening until it was already done.
"I don't know what happened before I walked in.
" I look from her to his open shirt and back again.
"I don't know why his shirt is open or why you were bent over him or what any of this means.
But you promised to make sure he came home tonight.
Instead, I waited without hearing from either of you until you called me to this room. How did you expect me to feel?"
"To come see him." Marisol's voice rises. "I called you because he needs you. I thought you'd want to be here."
"I wanted to be with him hours ago." I press my fingertips against the seam of my coat, trying to steady them. "We planned an evening together. He knew why it mattered. I would have come if you'd called earlier, but you decided you didn't need me until now."
"I was taking care of him." She draws herself up, her expression closing against mine. "That's all I was doing."
"You were taking my place." Saying it hurts more than keeping it in. She was the person I would once have called about this. "Maybe you didn't mean to. Maybe you really were just trying to help. But somewhere along the way, you stopped helping our marriage and started replacing me in it."
"That's not fair." She grips the armrest, holding her place beside him. "I never wanted to replace you. I just wanted to make sure everything didn't fall apart."
"Everything has fallen apart." I look around the office, at the papers on the desk, at the man on the sofa, at the friend who's become a stranger. "Everything that mattered to me has been falling apart for months, and you've been here the whole time, holding pieces I wasn't allowed to touch."
Marisol opens her mouth to respond, but Rafael makes a sound, something between a groan and a murmur. His eyes open again, finding me with obvious effort.
"Sera." His gaze catches on me before his eyes close again. I wait for the rest, but nothing follows.
He sounds so far away. I can't tell how much of this he has heard, and I don't want to mistake that murmur for an answer.
I want to take his hand and tell him we'll figure this out together.
But Marisol is still there, still positioned near him, still occupying the space that should be mine. I need to speak to him when he can answer me, somewhere I don't have to argue with her to get near him.
"I can't stay here." I step away from the sofa, leaving the space beside him empty. "Not like this. Not with her standing between us like she belongs here more than I do."
"Sera, please." Marisol reaches toward me. "You're making this into something it isn't."
"Am I?" I step back from her outstretched hand. "Then answer the question I asked when I came in. You've had plenty to say about me. You still haven't explained what I walked into."
She doesn't answer. She just stands there, her hand still extended, her face arranged in an expression of wounded concern.
"I came here expecting to take my husband home.
" I pull my coat tighter around myself, a small gesture of containment.
"I came because you asked me to. But you haven't stepped aside once since I arrived.
You haven't made room for me. You've just stood there explaining why your presence makes sense while mine doesn't."
"That's not what I was doing." She finally moves away from the armrest, but only to follow me.
"You could have left us alone when I asked." I wait for her to move toward the outer office. She stays where she is. "Even now, you won't."
"Sera." Rafael turns his head toward my voice, his eyes still closed. "Please."
I look at the man I've loved most of my life. On Saturday he carried my equipment into my workshop, listened to where I wanted it, and stayed until we were finished. I enjoyed him that afternoon. It was real, and I won't pretend it wasn't just because tonight hurts.
But I can't keep living on the strength of an afternoon. I need a husband I can reach without going through someone else, and I need to hear from him why that became too much to ask.
I'm not going to stand here and fight for a spot at his bedside while she guards it. I'm not going to beg my own friend for permission to speak to my own husband.
"I'm leaving." I put my hand in my pocket and close it around my keys. "Whatever this is, whatever happened here tonight, I can't untangle it while she's standing there watching."
"You can't just go." Marisol moves toward the door, toward me. "He needs someone with him."
"Then stay." I meet her eyes. "You're so good at that, aren't you? Staying when I can't. Being here when I'm not. You can have the seat at his table, since you've already taken everything else."
I turn and walk through the front room, past the desk with its scattered papers, past the lamp casting its familiar shadows. Behind me I hear Marisol saying my name, and underneath that, softer, Rafael's voice calling something I don't stop to hear.
The night air is cold when I step outside. The office door falls shut behind me, and I keep walking toward my car.
I don't look back.