Chapter 9
The rest of the week has been uneventful, but at least Lincoln has been coming home on time for the most part, around nine o’clock.
Still late, but within reason. I’m trying my hardest not to let everything affect me, but after having that talk and then him going to work the next day, it really does feel as though he’s in a better standing, in a much better mood.
Well, today is Friday, a little over a week after we had our argument, and there’s supposed to be some party thing at his job, more like a dinner.
This will be good. He had mentioned he was going to stay late at that time as well, but there’s nothing going on with me, so I decide to invite myself along, waiting to see if my husband would invite me, which he still hasn’t.
He was off today for the most part, only having gone in for two hours.
"So what time's the party?" I ask.
"Seven PM," Lincoln answers.
I smile.
"What do you think I should wear?" I ask.
The look he gives me is so freaking weird. He looks shocked.
"Wear to where?" he asks.
"To the party," I say, confused.
"Wait. Did you think I wasn't gonna go?"
"I didn't think you wanted to go. It's just some work thing."
"Why would you think I didn't wanna go? Furthermore, why wouldn't you ask me?" I smile, not really feeling like it’s funny.
He just stands there shrugging.
"I don't know. I thought that kind of thing bores you."
"No. What?"
"You don't like parties. I know. I grew up with you. You don't like parties."
"You don't like them either?"
"Yeah. But it's for work for me."
"Wait. So you don't want me to come along?"
"Babe, I never said I don't want you to come along," he replies.
I just stare at him.
"I wanna go there if you're going there. We've gotten invited to stuff before when we were younger, and I've always gone with you."
"Not all the time," he says.
Okay. Now this is really getting on my nerves.
"Fine. I won't go. My bad for suggesting it." I snap, upset, storming away before I suddenly feel a hand on my shoulder, Lincoln pulling me back.
"Baby, I'm sorry. I just don't want you to feel as though you're trapped," he says.
"I suggested to go along," I remind him.
"I know, but I'm just saying you don't need to feel obligated to just because you're my wife."
"That's the very definition of why I should go because I'm your wife, unless there's a reason you don't want me to go."
Lincoln looks shocked and then closes his eyes, shaking his head slowly.
"Seriously, we're gonna fight about this?"
"I'm not fighting, but what kind of husband hears that his wife wants to go along to his dinner party at work, and he's trying to talk her out of going? That's really fucking weird."
"You're making it weird. I never said anything. You know what? Never mind. You can go. I'm not saying you can't go. I'm just saying that I know how you are, and you'd be bored by it. That's all. Not everything is something to be suspicious over."
"Well, if you weren't acting so suspicious, I wouldn’t have a reason to feel suspicious."
"Baby, you have so much time on your hands that everything to you looks suspicious. I bet if you were working the kind of hours I was working or the kind of job I was working, you would be more understanding."
I have no idea where all of this is coming from. Then I think maybe I am being unreasonable.
"I'm sorry, Link. If you don't want me to go, I won't go," I say sadly, walking away. He grabs me gently.
"I want you to go," he tells me.
"Do you really?" I ask.
"Yes, baby. I want you to come along. You're my wife. Of course, I want you there, but only if you wanna be there."
I don’t know if I believe him… but he convinces me.
Later that evening, I put on a cute little casual dress; white, with frills at the bottom that almost make me look like a ballerina, and truffles on the sleeves. My long black hair is straightened and braided down my back. Diamond chandelier earrings. I think I look really cute.
When I arrive at his job, everyone talks to Lincoln like they've known him forever. I can tell the coworkers all get along here. I link my arm through his, staying close.
He starts walking me around.
"That’s Dana," he says quietly. "She handles logistics. Don’t mind her, she’s always stressed."
I nod at Dana, who waves politely.
"And that’s Omar. He’s part of engineering. We work on the same floor but he’s mostly in the coding vault."
We exchange tiny, awkward smiles.
Lincoln leads me over to one of the concept models, the robot. The thing is standing there, tall and still.
"It looks really creepy," I mutter.
"It's not creepy," he argues. "Well… okay, sometimes it is. But it's still early prototype. The internal feedback system is still in alpha. The multi-phase neural mapping isn't even half-calibrated yet."
He goes off, and I genuinely try to follow.
He gestures at the torso. "So right now, we're trying to get the latency under two seconds. That’s the biggest hurdle. Once the sensor grid stops lagging, it'll be able to process human expression patterns in real time. And if we can get the behavioral-loop training to sync—"
"Uh-huh," I say, nodding like I understand anything coming out of his mouth.
Then I hear bright chatter.
"Oh, there you are."
I turn and see a beautiful woman, long flowing hair, flawless makeup, the perfect body, ample breasts, bigger than mine, in an exquisite dress with half the back out of it and cleavage spilling forward. She looks like a porcelain doll, so pale you can see faint veins under her skin.
Lincoln’s face lights up in a way that I haven’t seen in a long time.
Sarah walks straight to him and pulls him into a hug, a long hug, and he holds her back before they finally part. They immediately start chattering animatedly.
"Did you see Unit 9 earlier?" Sarah laughs.
They start chatting in tech lingo that makes me feel like they’re speaking a totally different language.
Lincoln laughs with her. "We forgot to lock the secondary protocol. The damn thing thought the drone was a participant."
"We should just program it to crash the party," she jokes, nudging him.
"Honestly? It probably could. In its current state anyway,” he teases back."
“I mean… who would know?”
“With your big mouth?”
They’re giggling like they’re in their own little world. Inside jokes. Work jokes. Technical jargon I don’t understand. And Lincoln… completely forgets I’m standing right beside him.
I tug lightly at his arm. Half to get his attention, half because I suddenly want to walk away.
He finally looks over at me, remembering, oh right, his wife is here.
"Sorry. Gabby, this is Sarah. Sarah, this is Gabby. Sarah is my assistant," Lincoln says.
"Oh, wow. It's so nice to finally meet you," Sarah says with that fake plastic smile.
I can’t stand this woman. Nice to meet you, my ass. This is the same woman who, knowing Lincoln is married, has been trying to get in his pants.
"Nice to meet you too, Sarah," I reply with my own fake smile that hurts to give.
"Yeah. It’s good that you came so you could see some of the madness that we do around here," she says brightly.
"Little more lighthearted though," Lincoln adds.
"A lot more lighthearted," Sarah agrees, then looks at him. "But you're looking like you've rested more."
"Yeah. I have," he answers, smiling at her.
Almost too fondly for my liking.
"How many cups of coffee did you drink today?" she asks.
"Only one per the doctor’s orders," he replies.
"Well, this doctor wants what's best for you. I'm sure Gabrielle would agree."
I just smile, pretending I'm okay with this back-and-forth, even though watching them makes me want to hurl.
"I told you I wouldn't drink more than two cups," Lincoln reminds her.
"Well, you do get very irritable when you get dependent on it," she says. "So one cup is enough, and you need to mind your blood pressure."
"I know. Stop nagging. Jesus," he mutters.
"I'm the one who has to work with you most of the time, so I have to deal with it, and then you freaking crash. But see what happens when you follow my directions? You end up feeling a lot better, don't you?"
"Yeah."
"Uh huuuuh. Yeah. Exactly. Or you wouldn't be able to make it to this party."
I don’t know why it’s so hard for my husband to remember that I’m standing right fucking next to him.
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