I had told the server I didn’t want dessert.
Daniel knew better.
He ordered one slice of chocolate cake with two forks because it was my favorite thing on the menu.
Mark saw it.
He grinned.
“Anything for the second wife.”
Several people laughed automatically.
Daniel did too.
I didn’t.
I don’t know why that night was different.
Maybe because I was fifty-three years old and suddenly tired of pretending something made sense when it didn’t.
Maybe it was the look on Daniel’s mother’s face.
Maybe it was that strange tightness around Daniel’s eyes again.
Whatever the reason, I put my fork down.
“Okay.”
Mark was still smiling.
I looked around the table.
“Who was the first wife?”
The laughter stopped.
Completely.
Not slowly.
Instantly.
Daniel stopped moving.
Mark’s smile vanished.
My mother-in-law lowered her eyes.
Steven picked up his water glass even though it was already empty.
Paul stared at his plate.
I waited for somebody to laugh.
Nobody did.
And that was when fear entered the room.
I looked at Daniel.
“What?”
He reached for my hand.
“Phoebe.”
I pulled it away.
“What was that?”
“It’s nothing.”
“No.”
I looked around the table.
“That was not nothing.”
Mark muttered:
“It was a stupid joke.”
“Great.”
I nodded.
“Explain it.”
Silence.
My stomach tightened.
“Daniel?”
He looked at me.
Then away.
I felt cold.
For twenty years, I’d assumed there was no explanation.
Now I realized everyone at that table knew it except me.
Finally, Daniel’s mother whispered:
“Not tonight.”
I turned toward her.
“Excuse me?”
Her eyes filled.
“Please.”
That was when I knew.
There had been someone.
Dinner continued somehow.
I couldn’t tell you what anyone talked about.
I remember our daughter asking if everything was okay.
I told her yes.
Another lie added to the table.
People spoke too loudly.
Mark tried to tell a story.
Nobody really laughed.
Daniel asked if I wanted coffee.
I stared at him.
Coffee?
My husband apparently had an entire chapter of his life his family had been referencing in front of me for twenty years, and he was asking whether I wanted coffee.
When dinner ended, I followed Mark outside.
Daniel was still inside with his mother.
Mark headed toward his car.
I stepped in front of him.
“Tell me.”
He stopped.
“Phoebe—”
“Don’t.”
He looked miserable.
