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.
I’d never seen Mark look ashamed of anything.
