"I'm so sorry, man. How clumsy of me." Trent jumped back, whiskey dripping from his chin. What the heck? Honest mistake, I said, grabbing napkins from the bar. Here, let me help you clean up.
I started dabbing at his shirt, pressing harder than necessary. He tried to push my hands away, but I kept at it, making the stain worse. It's fine, he said through clenched teeth. I'll handle it. No, no, I insist.
It's the least I can do. I looked around the room at all the watching faces. Ladies and gentlemen, I'd like to propose a toast. Monica grabbed my arm. Jack, don't.
But I was already raising my empty glass to Trent Blackwood, junior partner, and my wife's close colleague. May his performance in the courtroom be better than his performance in other areas. The room went dead silent. Trent's face turned red. Monica looked like she might faint.
Here's to the man who's been working so hard with my wife on those late night briefs. I continued really putting in the extra hours, if you know what I mean. Patterson started moving toward us, but I wasn't finished. And to my loving wife, Monica, who's always believed in exploring new legal strategies, sometimes with multiple parties involved. That's when Trent lunged at me.
I saw it coming a mile away. Years of boxing training kicked in, and I sidestepped his clumsy swing, letting his momentum carry him into the bar. Bottles rattled, the bartender swore. "Gentlemen, please." Patterson barked, but the damage was done. Security appeared from somewhere.
Two big guys in cheap suits who looked like they'd rather be anywhere else. They grabbed Trent by his ruined jacket and started escorting him toward the door. "This isn't over," he snarled at me. "Yeah, it is," I replied calmly. Monica followed them out, leaving me alone at the bar with a room full of lawyers who were suddenly very interested in their drinks.
The bartender looked at me with something approaching respect. "Another double?" he asked. "Make it a triple." My phone buzzed with a text from Lily. Dad, mom's work party is all over Instagram. Are you okay?
I looked around the room at Monica's colleagues, all of them whispering and stealing glances at me. Tomorrow, this story would be all over the legal community. Monica's reputation, so carefully cultivated over the years, had just taken a major hit, and I was just getting started. I typed back to Lily, "Never better, sweetheart. Never better." The fallout from the restaurant incident was swift and brutal.
By Monday morning, Monica wasn't speaking to me. She'd moved into the guest bedroom and was communicating through Lily, who was clearly uncomfortable being caught in the middle. "Mom says, "You need to apologize to Trent," Lily told me over breakfast. Mom can tell me that herself, I replied, not looking up from my coffee. She also says you're having some kind of breakdown.
Now, I did look up. What do you think, Lily? Am I having a breakdown? My daughter studied my face with the intensity of someone who'd inherited both parents' analytical minds. I think mom's been acting weird for months, and you finally noticed.
Smart kid. Too smart for her own good, maybe. Monica emerged from her office looking like she'd slept about as well as I had. Her usually perfect hair was pulled back in a messy ponytail and there were dark circles under her eyes that makeup couldn't quite hide. We need to talk, she said.
Now you want to talk? Not here, she glanced at Lily. Somewhere private. We ended up at the diner on Route 1, the same place where we'd had our first date 20 years ago. The irony wasn't lost on either of us.
We sat in a corner booth, two cups of coffee growing cold between us while we stared at each other like strangers. You humiliated me? Monica said finally. I humiliated you? That's rich.
In front of my colleagues, my boss. Do you have any idea what this could do to my career? I pulled out my phone and opened the photo gallery, the pictures of her hotel receipts, the screenshots of her emails with Trent, the credit card statements showing charges at restaurants I'd never been to. Do you have any idea what this could do to our marriage? I asked, sliding the phone across the table.
Monica's face went through a series of expressions. Surprise, anger, fear, and finally something that might have been relief. You went through my things. You left them lying around. Sloppy work for a lawyer.
She pushed the phone back to me without scrolling through the evidence. So, what now? You want a divorce? Do you? Another long pause.
The diner was nearly empty except for a trucker at the counter and an elderly couple sharing a piece of pie. Normal people living normal lives, probably not sitting in diners confronting 18 years of lies. I want you to fight for me, Monica said quietly. The admission caught me off guard. What?
All these months I've been waiting for you to notice, to care, to do something other than fix the stupid sink and pretend everything was fine. So you had an affair to get my attention? I had an affair because I felt invisible in my own marriage. Her eyes were bright with unshed tears. When was the last time you looked at me?
Really looked at me like I was something more than just another household appliance. I wanted to argue to defend myself, but the words stuck in my throat. Because maybe somewhere deep down I knew she was right. We'd fallen into a routine so comfortable it had become a prison. Trent makes me feel alive, she continued.
He sees me as a woman, not just a wife and mother. Trent sees you as a conquest. I said, "Trust me, I've read his emails. You're not his first married woman, and you won't be his last." Something flickered across her face. "Doubt maybe or hurt.
At least he tries," she said. We sat in silence for a while, both of us lost in our own thoughts. Finally, Monica reached across the table and touched my hand. "It doesn't have to end like this, Jack. We could try counseling, work things out.
For a moment, I almost believed her, almost let myself hope that we could find our way back to whatever we'd had in the beginning. But then I remembered the cruel laughter in her voice when she'd invited Trent to dinner. The way she'd looked at me like I was pathetic. What about Trent? It's over with him.
It has to be after what happened at the restaurant. Because you got caught or because you realized it was wrong? She pulled her hand back. Does it matter? Yeah, Monica, it matters.
She looked out the window at the parking lot where a young couple was getting into a beat up Honda, laughing about something. They looked happy, in love, the way we used to look. I can't promise it won't happen again, she said finally. I can't promise I won't get bored or lonely or stupid, but I can promise to try. It wasn't enough.
Not anymore. I want you out, I said. Her head snapped back to me. What? I want you out of the house tonight.
Jack, be reasonable. Well, where am I supposed to go? I don't know. Maybe Trent has a spare room. You can't just kick me out of my own house.