6. Luisa
— ? —
Luisa
Saturday.
The word had weight again. For the first time in months, Saturday had a shape again, the gym, our music, the mat where I’d first taught him to waltz. The place where Wade Buckley had learned to waltz just for an excuse to hold me.
I rehearsed the words in the car.
I have something to tell you. We’re going to have a baby. I’m pregnant.
My hand kept drifting to my stomach, protective and proprietary. There was nothing to feel yet, no bump, no flutter, just the invisible promise of the baby to come. But I felt it anyway. Felt the weight of it, the promise of it.
This changes everything.
Wade had texted that morning: Meet me at the gym at 3. I have something planned. Just us. And I’d read those words, just us, and for the first time in a year, I let myself believe them.
He’d come home the night before, after midnight, smelling like rain and regret.
I’d pretended to be asleep. He’d crawled into bed behind me and whispered I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry into my hair until his breathing evened out.
And I’d lain there in the dark with my secret burning in my chest and thought: Tomorrow.
Tomorrow I’ll tell him, and everything will change.
The gym was on the third floor of the old textile building. I climbed the stairs slowly, savoring the anticipation, imagining his face when I told him. Would he cry? Wade cried at everything, commercials, wedding speeches, that scene in Up with the balloons. He would definitely cry.
I pushed open the door.
The music hit me first. Our song, the one we’d danced to at that party in Nantucket, the slow waltz where he’d finally stopped thinking about his feet and just moved. It was playing from the speakers in the corner, filling the empty gym with memory.
And then I saw them.
Wade and Dolores. On the floor I’d spent three years treating like sacred ground. His hands on her waist. Her arms around his neck. Moving together in the steps I had taught him.
The same dance. The same exact dance.
He was patient with her, guiding her through the movements, correcting her posture the way I’d corrected his all those years ago. And she was laughing, a light, musical sound, missing steps on purpose, stumbling into him so he’d catch her, looking up at him with that expression I knew too well.
His hands on her waist.
Her body pressed against his.
The music I’d chosen for us playing while he danced with someone else.
Whatever had been holding me together let go.
“Wade.”
His name came out wrong, too loud, too raw, scraping against my throat like gravel. He spun around, his face going pale, and for a moment neither of us moved, the whole width of the gym between us, the gym where we’d promised this was sacred.
“Luisa.” He stepped away from Dolores like she was on fire. “It’s not what you think-”
“And what the fuck am I supposed to think?”
My voice echoed off the high ceilings. Dolores had the decency to look uncomfortable, but she didn’t leave. She just stood there, hand pressed to her chest, watching me come undone.
“She wanted to learn to dance,” Wade said, moving toward me with his hands up like I was a wild animal he was trying not to spook. “Her mother’s charity gala is next month and she didn’t have anyone to teach her, and I thought. I thought I could help-”
“You thought you could bring her here?”
“Lu-”
“This is our place!” I was shaking. My whole body was shaking, and I couldn’t make it stop. “This is the one thing that was supposed to be ours, and you brought her here, and you taught her our dance-”
“It’s just a waltz. It’s not-”
“It’s not just a waltz! It’s…” I couldn’t breathe. The room was spinning. “I taught you that dance. The summer we met. The summer you told me you’d find me in every life. And now you’re teaching it to her?”
Dolores shifted behind him. “Maybe I should go-”
“Don’t you fucking move.” I pointed at her, and my hand was trembling so badly I could barely hold it up. “Don’t you dare leave before I say what I need to say.”
“Luisa.” Wade’s voice was sharp now, protective. “That’s enough.”
“That’s enough?” I laughed, and it sounded unhinged, and I didn’t care. “You’re defending her. Of course you are. Because that’s what you do, isn’t it? You defend her. You choose her. Every single time, you choose her over me.”
“That’s not true.”
“Your hands were on her waist, Wade. I watched you. I watched you hold her the way you used to hold me, and you were smiling, and you looked-” My voice cracked. “You looked happy. When’s the last time you looked that happy with me?”
He didn’t answer. That was answer enough.
“Seeing your hands all over another woman.” I backed toward the door, and he followed, reaching for me, and I couldn’t let him touch me. If he touched me right now I’d break. “Fuck you. Fuck you, Wade.”
“Luisa, please. Let me explain-”
“There’s nothing to explain. I’m done. I’m done.”
I turned and ran.
Down the stairs, my feet pounding on the metal steps, my vision blurred with tears I couldn’t stop. Out the front door, into the afternoon sunlight, gasping for air that didn’t seem to fill my lungs.
I made it to my car. Got the door open. Got inside.
My hands were shaking too hard to put the key in the ignition. I sat there, pressing my palms flat against my stomach, thinking about the baby I hadn’t told him about, the words I’d rehearsed in the car, the future I’d been stupid enough to imagine.
I’m pregnant. We’re going to have a baby. This changes everything.
It didn’t change anything. Nothing changed anything. He’d made his choice over and over, and it was never me.
The engine finally caught. I pulled out of the parking lot, blinking through tears, not sure where I was going. Home felt like a trap. The brownstone was full of him, his shirts in the closet, his coffee mug in the sink, the burgundy dress that was never meant for me.
I couldn’t go there, couldn’t be anywhere he might be.
My phone buzzed. Wade’s name on the screen. I rejected the call.
It buzzed again. And again, and again.
I turned it off.
The city blurred past my windows. I drove without thinking, without planning, just moving, trying to outrun the image of his hands on her waist, her arms around his neck, the way he’d smiled at her like she was the sun.
I made it three blocks before I heard the engine behind me.
His car. That stupid Tesla he’d bought last year, the one that was too quiet for a man who made submarines for a living. It was following me, staying close, matching my speed when I accelerated.
He was following me home.