“You knew we had plans.”
“I know, Eli.”
“You could’ve left Damon’s earlier.”
“He was having a rough day.”
“What does that mean?”
“His business partner quit.”
“And?”
“And he needed to talk.”
I waited.
Petra exhaled.
“Can you go without me?”
I wanted to argue.
Instead, I said, “Fine.”
I went alone.
At dinner, Nadia asked where Petra was.
“Not feeling well.”
That lie came automatically.
I hated myself for telling it.
When I got home around ten fifteen, the townhouse was dark.
Petra was asleep.
Her phone rested face down on the nightstand.
I stood in the bedroom doorway watching her for several seconds.
Nothing happened.
No dramatic discovery.
No suspicious message appearing on the screen.
Just my wife sleeping.
I told myself I was overreacting.
Two weeks later, I finally brought it up.
Petra had returned from Damon’s on another Saturday.
I was in the office finishing an investment committee presentation.
She stepped inside carrying a cup of tea.
“How’s work?”
“Fine.”
She started to leave.
“Petra.”
She turned.
“Yeah?”
“I want to talk about something.”
Her face changed slightly.
“What?”
“The amount of time you’re spending with Damon.”
She leaned against the doorframe.
“What about it?”
“I feel like it’s becoming a lot.”
“A lot how?”
“Weekly lunches.”
“He works near my office.”
“Saturdays.”
“Sometimes.”
“Most Saturdays lately.”
She frowned.
“Okay.”
“I feel like our weekends are disappearing.”
“That seems dramatic.”
There was the first small warning.
Not disagreement.
Dismissal.
I tried again.
“I’m not saying you can’t see him.”
“Good.”
“I’m saying that between Friday nights and Saturdays, it feels like he’s getting the part of the week when we used to actually do things together.”
Petra stared at me.
“Damon’s going through a difficult period.”
“His business partner leaving.”
“Yes.”
“I understand.”
“He doesn’t have many people he trusts.”
“I understand that too.”
“So?”
“So I’m telling you I miss my wife.”
The sentence sounded embarrassingly vulnerable once it was spoken.
Petra’s expression softened briefly.
Then hardened again.
“Eli, he’s my friend.”
“I know.”
“We have history.”
“I definitely know that.”
“That doesn’t mean anything inappropriate is happening.”
“I didn’t say it did.”
“It sounds like you’re implying it.”
“No.”
I stood.
“I am very deliberately not accusing you of cheating.”
“Then what are you accusing me of?”
And there it was.
The conversation moved.
Not toward what I had said.
Away from it.
“I’m not accusing you.”
“You’re making this sound suspicious.”
“I’m telling you how I feel.”
“You’re acting like there’s something wrong with me being friends with an ex.”
“I didn’t say that.”
“You don’t have to.”
I stopped.
I could hear myself becoming defensive.