“Nothing. I was speaking hypothetically.”
“Have you been thinking about separating?”
He laughed awkwardly.
“Everybody thinks about these things sometimes.”
I watched him.
He avoided my eyes.
And I knew he was already imagining a future he hadn’t bothered to tell me about.
That Sunday was our seventh wedding anniversary.
Before the phone call, I’d made romantic plans.
A babysitter.
Dinner at Lucia’s, the Italian restaurant where Elon proposed.
A dark green dress I’d purchased especially for the evening.
I had wanted one night to feel like myself again.
Instead, I canceled the restaurant.
Canceled the babysitter.
And invited both sets of parents to dinner at our house.
My mother sounded surprised.
“Isn’t Sunday your anniversary?”
“Yes.”
“Wouldn’t you rather spend it alone together?”
“I’d like everyone there, Mom.”
She hesitated.
Then said,
“All right, sweetheart.”
I called Eve next.
She was delighted.
