Ishrugged. “’Causeit’s nice. I think we’d have a goodtime.”
Shesnorted distastefully. “I’veneverthought running was agood time.”
“Well,I’ve been told I’m pretty fun to gorunnin’ with,so—”
“Well,” she interrupted with belligerentmockery. “You can have fun running with your newfriend.”
Mybrow furrowed and my eyes squinted. “What? Molly’s not a new friend. We used toknow—”
“God,whatever!” She huffed with agitation and pressed her fingertips to her temples.“Look,” she forced a light tone to her voice as she continued, “I’ve had areally long day, baby. I justwannaeat and go home,okay?”
Idropped my gaze to the bowl and nodded stiffly. “I’ll stayoverand we can watchsomethin’,” I offered.
Onehand moved to lay over her eyes. “Chad, you and I both know that we wouldn’twatch anything. You’d spend all night locked in the bathroom, and I don’t wantto waste my night like that, okay?”
“Wow,”I grunted, shocked and stinging.
Aligroaned and dropped her hand. “I didn’t mean it like that.” Apology was evidentin her eyes, and I considered that maybe she really hadn’t meant it so cruelly.She did say she was tired. She was also clearly cranky, and even though therewas a voice in my brain telling me she wasalwayscranky, I let the brash comment slide with an understanding nod of my head.
“It’sfine. We can find something else to do another day.”
Wefinished our dinner in an uncomfortable combination of silence and small talk.I made the occasional attempt at talking about something unimportant, and shecommented sparingly on how good the food was. But the air around us wasstrained and all my attempts at communication were immediately suffocated.
Itwas hard not to compare this to the early years of our relationship. All theexcitement and fun. It had been impossible to get close enough then, impossibleto talk enough. I tried to hold onto that now, tried to remind myself that wehad fallen in love with each other for a reason. I tried to remember exactlywhat that reason was. But I was realizing, with aching reluctance, that it wasso hard to hold onto something you no longer had a grip on, and I couldn’tfigure out who had let go first.
***
Afterdropping Ali off at home, I returned to my parents’ house with the unmistakablefeeling of defeat present in my bones. Too many questions and what-ifs circledaround in my brain. Asking if things were too far gone to be saved, and what ifneither one of us cared enough to save it. Seeing as we hadn’t cared enough tonotice it slipping away in the first place. And what was making me notice allof thisnow?
God,I wasn’t supposed to be facing the potential end of a relationship at thirty. Iwas supposed to be deep in a marriage, sharing household responsibilities andputting kids to bed.
Maybewe just needed time apart, I wondered, before my brain countered with theblazingly obvious,you already spendenough time apart. But I was heading out on tour in just a couple of weeks,and I considered that distance might do us some good. It might help us toreassess and decide if there was any compromise in thethingswe wanted both separately and together.
Mycell phone rang on the way back to the house, and I pulled it from my pocket.Devin’s number and picture glowed on my screen, so I answered, happy to hearsomeone else’s voice apart from the one in my head.
“Hey,Dev.”
“Hey.”He sounded agitated and hurried.
“What’sup, man?” I asked, immediately concerned as I opened the door.
Mamaand Sarah sat in the living room, watchingHouseHunterswith a glass of wine. I waved at their welcoming smiles beforemaking my way across the room.
“Wehave a problem. You know that guy Russell Murphey? The, uh—”
“Theopener,” I finished for him. “Yeah, I know him.”
“Yeah.Right. Well, listen to this shit. The guy was out on his motorcycle today andgot himself in an accident. Crashed his bike into a divider on afreakin’ highway.”
Islumped into a chair at the dining room table. “Oh, shit. Is he okay?”
“He’sgonnabe fine, yeah, but he’s pretty banged up.Shattered leg, a few fractured ribs …”
Blowingout a breath, I shook my head. “God, that blows.”
Devinsighed ruefully. “Yeah, it does. I feel terrible for the guy, butyo, man … I don’t mean to sound like a selfish prick rightnow or anything, but you know what this means, right?” I furrowed my brow andreadied myself to reply, but he didn’t allow me the chance. “We’re out afucking opening act, and the tour starts in a few weeks.”
Grippingthe bill of my cap, I tossed it from my head and onto a chair with a chokedsigh. I scrambled to remain optimistic as I molded my palm to the nape of myneck. “Okay. So, worst case scenario, we don’t find someone. The opener onlyplays for thirty, maybe forty minutes. Between you and Jon, we could fill thattime, easy,” I rushed, speaking of him and our other songwriter, pianist, andnewest band member, Jon O’Dell.
