Dezzie: Like permanent PMS
Dezzie: And drinking too much. Even for him. Our recycling bin is shameful
Dezzie: Makes me nervous cuz we’re gonna start IVF whenever the clinic reopens and it’s bad for sperm
Molly: Ugh i’m sorry! Have you talked to him about it?
Dezzie: He won’t admit anything is wrong
Molly: I wonder if it’s stress from his job?
Alyssa: Thinking the same thing. I’m sure he’s dealing with kids who’ve lost people. Must be absolutely godawful
Dezzie: You’re right. It’s def been tough for him
Dezzie: Probably being paranoid
Dezzie: Anyway gotta go
Molly: Love you dez. Call if you wanna talk more!
I’m tempted to reach out to Rob with a friendly “pay attention to your wife, how bout?” text. Normally he wouldn’t mind—he calls me all the time with questions about what to get her for her birthday or to tell me when she’s in one of her dark moods so I can check in—but I don’t want to meddle in their marriage if it’s something serious. It gives me a bad feeling that he’s checked out, since he’s usually the type of guy who leaps around for her attention like a puppy. Plus, he drinks too much in the best of circumstances. The idea of it getting worse is … not good.
I’m distracted from this by a new text from Seth.
Seth: Can you talk?
I break out into such a big smile my lips feel unfamiliar on my face.
I go to my bedroom, change out of my ratty T-shirt into a tank top that shows off my cleavage, and put on a little makeup. Then I FaceTime him.
It rings out a bit and I wonder if he doesn’t want to chat face-to-face, but then he answers.
He looks ragged.
His eyes are bloodshot, his hair is mussed, and he hasn’t shaved. It’s sexy, but I know this is not a great sign for a person of his disposition. He’s not the kind of guy who walks around in sweats.
“Hey,” I say.
He gives me a sad, tight-lipped smile. “Hey, Molls.”
That big, unfamiliar grin falls right off my face. He does not look happy to see me.
But maybe he’s just tired.
“How are you doing?” I ask tentatively.
He puffs out a breath. “Um. Not great.”
I didn’t expect him to be great, but after last night I didn’t expect him to look this torn up either.
“What’s going on?” I ask in my most sympathetic tone.
He sighs.
“I can’t stop thinking about last night.”
“Me neither,” I say softly.
He closes his eyes. “And I feel so guilty.”
My stomach drops.
“I think I made a mistake,” he goes on.
I lick my lips. My mouth has gone dry. I don’t want to ask, but I must:
“You mean, breaking up?”
He scratches his face with the back of his hand, scrunching up his eyes. He looks so miserable.
“No,” he says, to my profound relief. “It’s the right thing to do. But it’s just so sudden, you know?”
I nod, trying to keep my face neutral.
“And after yesterday, it’s like all I want to do is see you. Talk to you.”
Oh, thank God. I really thought this was going in another direction.
