“I don’t know how much you want to know,” he began.
“I don’t want to know anything. It doesn’t matter.”
He looked at her then. “I know what I did was unforgivable. The things I said to you.” He shook his head. “How I blindsided you. How I acted about the ski trip—all of it. I’m ashamed, Finola, and broken. I’m sorry. I can’t say that enough. We were so good together and I screwed that up. I destroyed something wonderful and precious. I ripped our lives apart and for what? An affair? It’s pathetic.”
He was visibly shaking. She found herself feeling bad for him, but also a little dispassionate, as if she weren’t truly in the moment.
“I know there were problems in the marriage,” he continued. “But that’s not an excuse. I should have talked to you. I should have told you how I was feeling. I’ve been doing some reading on infidelity. I’m a fairly classic case, it turns out.”
He wrapped his hands around his mug and looked at her. “Say something, please. Tell me we can try or that I should go to hell. Whatever you want. Scream at me, throw something. Tell me I’m a bastard and you’ll never forgive me. I deserve it all.”
“Just like that,” she said, more curious than upset. “A month ago she was a drug and now you want to come back?”
He nodded. “Yes.”
“Nigel, you were wrong. Not just the affair but how you didn’t have my back. You undermined me and you mocked our marriage publicly.”
“I did. You’re right.”
“How am I supposed to trust you not to follow the next flirty woman who promises you the world? How can I ever believe that I matter?”
“Trust has to be earned. We’ll get help. Finola, I want to make this right.”
She wanted to believe him—she wanted to know that the pieces could be put back together. That the broken bits weren’t unmendable, that instead they would heal as scars, that in the end, they would be marred but still together and stronger for what they’d endured.
But even if she could get over what had happened, what about the rest of it?
“Do you know what’s in my office?” she asked, surprising herself with her words. “Pictures of me with politicians and celebrities. Awards, certificates. Do you know that I have never bothered to serve on a charity board? I’ll show up to events. I’ll sign a check, but God forbid I commit to doing actual work on a regular basis. I put my career first, Nigel. It was more important to me than our marriage. You should have told me you were unhappy but I should have seen it for myself. I should have guessed there were problems.”
“My practice has suffered,” he told her. “My partners are pissed at me and I’m going to have to work to build back their trust. They’re giving me a chance, Finola. Can’t you give me one, too? I’ll do the work. I’ll show up and take the steps and be here.”
“Did you even hear me?” she asked gently. “I’m saying some of this is my fault.”
“No, it’s mine. All mine. I see that now.” He stretched his hands toward her. “We’re a team, Finola. We’re so good together. Give me a chance. Please.”
She placed her hands on his, feeling the familiar warmth of his skin. She thought of all she’d been through, of how her life had been shattered. She thought of her behavior and who she’d become. There were only a handful of relationships she could be proud of. She’d done right by Rochelle and she’d been a decent daughter. She was going to do better with her sisters. As for Nigel...
“You were wrong,” she said, releasing his hands. “But let’s be honest. Treasure’s a symptom, Nigel, but she’s not the real problem. We both know that.”
His eyes filled with tears. “Don’t. Don’t say we can’t make it. Don’t say it’s over.”
She wasn’t going to. She’d never been going to say that. She wanted them back together. They had so much history and potential and she’d wanted them to get back together from the second he’d first told her about the affair. And now she didn’t.
The truth was soft and unexpected, flowing into her brain like a cool breeze. She had no idea what she did want, but it wasn’t her marriage. Maybe there had been a time when the damage could be fixed, but that time had passed. They’d both gone in different directions.
“You’ve already decided,” he said, wiping his face. “I ruined everything.”
“No, Nigel. We ruined it together. Both of us. We let it slip away and now it’s gone. I’m sorry.”
He nodded.
She rose and went around to his chair. He got to his feet and then they were holding on to each other. She gave in to tears and they stood there, crying for what they had once had and what had been lost.
It took a few minutes for them to recover. They returned to their seats and looked at each other.
“We’re really doing this?” he asked.
She nodded. “Where are you staying?”
“In a hotel.”
“That’s expensive. Why don’t you move in here? I’ll go back with my mom. We’ll get the house ready to sell.”
It wouldn’t take much—not only was the market always hot for this neighborhood, the place was beautiful and in perfect condition. She would miss the house, she thought sadly. She would miss a lot of things.
“Thank you,” he said. “Let me know when you’re ready and I’ll check out of the hotel.”
“I can be out by tomorrow. I just need to let her know and grab my things. We can sort out the rest of it later.”
She spoke so calmly, she thought, somewhat surprised by her lack of emotion. She was probably numb. The shock and pain would come later, but for now she was just in the moment, watching her marriage end and wishing things had been different for both of them.
“I’m not going to be an asshole about the divorce,” he said. “We’ll split what we have and walk away.”
“I agree.”
And there it was, she thought with resignation. The end.
They went upstairs. Finola packed the suitcases she’d so recently unpacked. Nigel wandered around. He came out of his closet holding a wrapped package she’d nearly forgotten about. For the first time since they’d started talking, she felt a stab of pain in her gut.
“What’s this?” he asked.
She shook her head. “Don’t. I bought that back when I thought we were going to Hawaii. Don’t open it, Nigel. You don’t want to see—”
He didn’t listen. He pulled off the bow and ripped the paper, then lifted up the cover of the box. Inside were yellow booties, a small jar of flavored body dust and a silly fluorescent vibrator. He looked at her.
“I don’t understand.”
She felt the pieces of her shattered heart crumble and turn to dust. “It was for our week in Hawaii. I thought we could work on getting me pregnant.”
He sat on the edge of the bed and broke into sobs. Finola gently laid a hand on his shoulder. So much had been lost, she thought grimly. They could have had it all and now they had nothing, and they were each very much to blame.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Regret didn’t begin to cover what Zennie was feeling. She still had months to go and already her body was turning into something she didn’t recognize. Her boobs didn’t just throb, they were growing. Her emotions continued to simmer just below the surface. That morning, in the OR, she’d been so caught up in the beautiful dance that was heart surgery that she’d nearly started to cry. She was a mess and she was pissed at herself for agreeing to have Bernie’s baby in the first place.
Who did that? Who did it without considering the consequences? That would be her. She’d blithely agreed to something momentous without a second thought and now she was paying the price. She was trapped with a baby growing inside of her and there was nothing she could do about it.
Dr. Chen watched as new team member Dr. Kanji carefully closed after the surgery. Zennie collected the dirty instruments and equipment. On her way past, Dr. Chen said, “Zennie, would you meet me in consult room three in ten minutes?”
Her head snapped around as she stared at Dr. Chen over her surgical mask. She nodded once and hurried out of the OR.
Ten minutes later, she was a swirling mass of nerves. What if he was going to fire her? What if he yelled at her? Dr. Chen didn’t like change or incompetence or any disruption to his OR. He was a perfectionist and demanding and while she’d always prided herself on being his equal in her own way, she was filled with doubts.
She returned to wheel the patient to the recovery room and passed on Dr. Chen’s instructions. He would check on him several times before he was taken to the cardiac care unit. Zennie left recovery and went directly to the consult room where Dr. Chen waited.
She did her best not to look wary and defensive as she closed the door behind her. Dr. Chen motioned for her to sit down across from him at the small desk.
The consult rooms were used for just that—consultations with the family before surgery—usually in an emergency. They offered some privacy, although they were far from soundproof. Zennie told herself to be grateful Dr. Chen wasn’t a screamer and made a mental note to not cry. As if a stern instruction would make a difference to her wayward hormones.