Confessions on the 7:45

by Lisa Unger

  “I couldn’t let this week pass without telling you that I love you as much as I did the day we met,” he said over glasses of prosecco. “That I’ll never stop loving you.”

  “Will,” she said. The pull to him was still strong; her guilt for hurting him, disappointing him, was heavy on her heart. They’d been together so long—through college, and his time at law school, their first jobs. Everyone thought they’d get married. Everyone knew they would. It was like she was breaking a promise she’d made to all their family and friends.

  “There isn’t more, you know.” He took her hand. “That’s what you said, right? That you want more than safe, more than predictable. You want to experiment, explore, discover. And that’s okay. Do that. Just don’t marry Graham. Come back to me when you’ve done what you need to do.”

  His eyes gleamed, and she bowed her head, kept hold of his hand.

  “You know,” he went on into her silence. “Quit your job. Travel. See where the road takes you. At the end of the day, when you close your eyes before sleep, think about it. What do we all want? We want to love and be loved. We want to belong. We want to see the world, but we want to go home to the embrace of people who care. That’s all there is. There isn’t more.”

  Her sadness dissipated as he spoke, replaced by a bristling annoyance. Will made her feel like a child. Like he was the wise and knowing one, and Selena was the misbehaved bad girl, the one making the big mistake. She hated that feeling, and she had it a lot with Will. She didn’t want a daddy; she wanted a partner.

  She’d taken back her hand, shifted away.

  “I’m a grown woman, Will,” she said. “I know who I am, where I am going. And I don’t need you to explain to me the true nature of what we all want.”

  He looked down at his glass, and when he looked at her again, she saw how much she’d hurt him. Something welled in her and she moved over to his side of the table, slid into the booth beside him. She reached for him then, on impulse, and kissed him long and slow on the mouth.

  “I’m sorry,” she whispered, her lips against his neck. “I’ll always love you. But not the way I love him.”

  She left him at the bar that night but thought about him endlessly all that week. She had an inkling that he might be right, woke up at night remembering that last kiss, his eyes, his words. But the wedding, it was a runaway train—costing a fortune, friends and family coming from all over the country, a dress from Paris, the stunning invitations, the forest of flowers. There had been no stopping it.

  Now, nearly ten years later, she pushed through the fashionably distressed metal door and stepped into the warmth of the low-lit wine bar.

  She spotted Martha right away; she’d grabbed a booth in the far corner of the space. Conversation was a hum, a current run under by a strain of soft piano music, as Selena made her way past the bar.

  There it was again, that feeling of knowing her, the tingle of recognition.

  Martha’s dark hair was twisted into a thick plait that draped over her shoulder like a snake, a contrast against the light gray of her tasteful silk blouse; she was as erect and slim as a dancer. Martha smiled when she caught sight of Selena—it was genuine and sweet, the expression of a woman happy to see a friend. Selena had been carrying a tension, a sense of foreboding. It all faded.

  Had she misread this?

  She shouldn’t be here. She knew that. Will had expressly told her not to engage.

  What had led her to reach out to this stranger? And why was Selena so pleased to see her, as if they were old friends?

  After that late-night text, she drove into the city. She hadn’t been out of her house after 11:00 p.m. since Stephen was born. Nobody told you that when you became a parent, you became a child again; it was early bedtimes and grilled cheese sandwiches for all. Every date night was a negotiation, every invitation that you actually had the desire or energy to accept became a strategic maneuver that may or may not work out after all. It was back to park playgrounds, soccer fields, and Chuck E. Cheese’s.

  So, in spite of the odd nature of her outing, the chaos of her life, Selena felt a little thrill at being out, alone, close to midnight, in the city.

  She slid in across from Martha.

  “So glad you could make it out,” said Martha. “I wouldn’t have pegged you for a night owl.”

  “Not usually, but that meeting ran late, and I decided to stay in the city. My husband’s away; my kids are at my mom’s. So—why not?” She offered a conspiratorial wink.

  “Live dangerously, right?”

  “Right!”

  Selena shifted off her coat, looked at the wine list and, when the waiter who was also the bartender arrived, ordered a cabernet.

  “I was surprised to hear from you,” Selena said. Light, chatty. “How did you get my number?”

  Martha tilted her head a little, smiled. “You gave me your card.”

  “Did I?”

  Martha dug through her bag and came out with the blue-and-white card, handing it over to Selena. The other woman’s nails, bloodred, glittered in the candlelight.

  “Oh,” she said, staring at it. She had no memory at all of the exchange. “That vodka must have hit me harder than I thought.”

  “Me, too,” said Martha, rolling her eyes. “Look. The reason I reached out—”

  The bartender came with Selena’s wine and Martha paused, thanking him. A moment passed between the two, a lingering look, a smile. Oh, right—that. People flirted, hooked up when they were free and single. Martha was a stunning beauty; she could probably have any man she wanted.

  “I shouldn’t have said what I said,” Martha went on when he’d left them. “Any of it. I’m embarrassed.”

  Selena sipped from her glass, feeling its warmth, and allowing the liquid to wash away any lingering tension. Now that she knew she’d given Martha her card, the texts seemed way less unsettling. More like just someone looking to connect, like Will said. But—when? She did not remember at all.

  And then there was Martha—light, warm, like any of Selena’s friends. She’d liked Martha on sight; she remembered that now. Right away there had been a connection. She still felt it.

  Selena lifted a palm. “It’s totally fine. It’s in the vault. Just between us.”

  Martha smiled gratefully. Selena twisted the stem of her glass, the red sloshing inside.

  “I’d had such a bad day—and you have such a warm energy,” Martha went on. “And I just felt like I wanted to spill my guts to you.”

  “I get it,” said Selena, leaning forward, lowering her voice. “I’m embarrassed, too. And after all of that, it turned out that my situation was a false alarm.”

  Martha blinked. Was there a little flash of surprise on her face? “Oh?”

  “I was just being paranoid,” Selena said, going for a self-deprecating smile. “My husband and I have hit some rough patches in the past. And I have trust issues to begin with. But there was nothing going on at all.”

  More lies.

  “Well, that’s a relief, right?” Martha took a sip of her wine, a sparkling rosé. “Here’s to problems just going away.”

  They clinked glasses over the candle between them.

  “What about you?” asked Selena.

  “I broke it off with my boss.” Martha sat up a little straighter. “He took it like a gentleman, and it’s business as usual—for now. I do think I need to find another job.”

  Was the other woman lying, too? Did she reach out over and over because she too regretted what she had said to a stranger? Well, that was fine. They could each tell their lies and keep their little secrets.

  “That’s great,” said Selena, touching the other woman’s hand. “You did the right thing.”

  “After we met, I wondered what you must have thought of me. A woman sleeping with a married man.”

  “Hey,�
� Selena said with a wave of her hand. “We all make mistakes, errors in judgment, right?”

  A couple nestled at the table behind Martha—young and in love. Just wait, thought Selena, surprised at her own bitterness. At another table, two women leaned in close, talking in whispers. The bartender dried glasses, most of the seats in front of him empty on a rainy Monday night. He kept glancing at Martha, and Selena noticed his powerful build, how defined were the muscles on his arms. On almost every table, smartphones glowed.

  “So, what happened with your husband?” asked Martha, looking down at the table. “How did the conversation go?”

  What she wanted to say: I confronted him. We had a huge blowout. I threw a toy robot at him. My son heard everything. I kicked Graham out and only let him come home because Oliver saw him sitting outside in the car, stalking the house. Oh, and now the nanny’s missing. I have no idea what’s going to happen next.

  “I confronted him,” she said instead, keeping her tone light and measured. “And he assured me that there wasn’t anything going on.”

  Martha kept an intense gaze on Selena. “Okay. And you believe him.”

  “I do,” Selena said with a shrug. “I have to. He’s my husband.”

  Martha lifted her eyebrows. “Is that how it works?”

  Selena regarded the other woman. “More or less. If you don’t have trust, you don’t have much.”

  God, she was so full of shit. But Martha lifted her glass as if in cheers to the truth.

  “I’ve never been married, not even close,” said Martha. “So what do I know?”

  Martha looked down at an emerald ring she wore on her right hand, turned it, its brilliance catching the candlelight. A beautiful cushion cut in a white gold band.

  “In fact, I’m not sure I’m the marrying type,” Martha went on.

  “No?”

  Selena couldn’t help but take in the details of the other woman—her perfect manicure, the expensive drape of her clothes, her dewy flawless skin. This was a woman who spent a lot of time on her appearance—one who had a lot of time to spend. And money.

  “My parents—they weren’t happy,” the other woman said. “There was violence. Infidelity. I guess I carry that with me.”

  There was something about the way she said it and Selena felt a jolt. Did they really have that thing in common? Of course, lots of people grew up caught in the crossfire of a bad marriage. Or was it some kind of dig? Did this woman know more about Selena than she should? No. That was crazy. How could she?

  Her phone pinged. Graham: What the hell are you doing in Tribeca? Did you leave with Will?

  He was obviously tracking her. She ignored his text. He didn’t have a right to get weird about where she was and who she was with. He could fuck right off.

  “That’s hard,” Selena said, keeping her voice lightly sympathetic.

  “Did your parents have a happy marriage?” asked Martha.

  What was it about Martha? This uncomfortable insta-intimacy. She wanted to tell Martha that her father had been chronically unfaithful, that her mother had endured for the sake of her children. That Selena believed it had scarred her, the way it had Martha. But she didn’t. She was here for damage control, not to reveal more personal things about herself to this woman. She wanted to extract herself gracefully from this mess, not become more entangled.

  “No,” said Selena. “Not really. But my mother’s second marriage is happy. So maybe it’s just about finding the right person.”

  “Well,” said Martha, draining her rosé and lifting her hand to the waiter for another. He practically raced over to take her empty glass. “You seem like someone who really has her life together.”

  Selena laughed, feeling a rush of pleasure that at least she was putting up a good front. “I hope that’s true. I wonder if anyone ever feels like she has her life totally together.”

  Martha smiled. “Maybe not.”

  “Most of the people I know are just making it up as they go along. Good days. Bad days. That’s how it goes, I think, maybe for everyone.”

  Another text from Graham: I know you never stopped caring about him. There are all kinds of infidelity, you know, Selena.

  Oh, really. He was going to try to pull that crap? Selena picked up the phone, ignoring his second text, and stowed it in her bag.

  Martha nodded toward where Selena’s phone had rested. “Hubby wondering where you are?”

  “He is,” she said. “I should probably head out after this one.”

  The waiter brought another glass for each of them. She hadn’t even realized that hers was nearly empty.

  “I thought he was away.”

  Shit. “He is. But he still wants to say good-night.”

  “Sweet.”

  Selena took another sip of her wine. She felt the fatigue of this awful day pull on her eyelids, settle like an ache in her head. That sense of freedom she felt when she first left the house and headed into the city now felt more like an unmooring, like she could just float away into space.

  “So what about the nanny?” Martha asked. “Are you keeping her on? Even after your suspicions?”

  She had managed to push Geneva completely out of her mind. She’d always been good at that, putting unpleasant things away to focus on something else. Maybe she got it from her mother.

  “Well, that might not be an issue,” she said. “She didn’t show up for work today. That’s why the kids went to my mom’s place.”

  “Oh, wow,” said Martha. “That’s weird, huh?”

  “People can be unreliable,” said Selena. Again, the urge to tell all was strong. Selena took another sip of her wine instead.

  “Kind of a coincidence, though, right? You confront your husband and the nanny disappears.”

  Something cold moved up Selena’s spine. She thought of that moment when she felt Graham staring at her from the bay window. How strange he seemed.

  He’d never hurt anyone. Not like that. Why did she feel the need to keep reassuring herself? Maybe because a part of her, something buried deep, knew it wasn’t exactly true. That, in fact, he had hurt someone once.

  “I’m not sure one thing has to do with the other.” She knew it sounded stiff.

  “Oh,” said Martha, waving her hand. She issued a little laugh. “Don’t mind me. I just have a dark imagination. Of course, you know your husband, you trust him. And there must be a million good nannies out there. Probably for the best.”

  A heartbeat, a sip of wine. Martha made a quick glance at her own phone.

  “Things always happen for a reason,” said Selena.

  “Exactly.”

  They chatted a while—about restaurants they liked, plays they’d seen, married life, single life. It was easy, enjoyable, and for a while she forgot all about the ugliness waiting outside the door and it just felt like one of those stolen hours with a friend, where everything was easy. The dark reason for her errand seemed distant, almost incidental.

  “It’s really nice getting to know you,” said Martha. She motioned for the check, and when it came, insisted on footing the bill. “I don’t have many female friends.”

  All the worst women said that, those who vamped for male attention, as they gossiped, sabotaged and backstabbed, then acted confused when other women didn’t “like” them. She supposed it tracked; Martha had slept with her married boss.

  “Do you have any family?”

  A quick shake of her head. “My parents are both gone.”

  “I’m sorry,” Selena said. The other woman wore an easy expression, a slight smile. But Selena could almost feel her disconnection, her loneliness. All of this made more sense; maybe she was someone just looking for a friend.

  “And no one serious?”

  “No,” she said. “Like I said, trust issues, I guess. I can’t seem to find ‘the one,’ you know
?”

  Selena nodded, looked down at her glass. And you might not even recognize him when you do find him. “It’s not easy.”

  “You’re lucky.”

  “Well,” said Selena. She felt a twist of guilt, thought about her social media posts. What a fraud she was. “A long marriage takes work, compromise, all these little negotiations. It’s not all champagne and roses.”

  “No,” said Martha smiling. “I’m sure not. But someone like you—smart, attractive, a loving mom and wife—you deserve a good man. Someone who takes care of you, protects you, loves you well. Someone who’s faithful.”

  Selena cast her eyes down again to her now empty glass, feeling the weight of the words.

  “I have that,” she whispered. “I’m blessed.”

  “Some women accept far less,” Martha said. “They shouldn’t.”

  There it was again, that dark tone. Martha held Selena’s eyes when she lifted them again, and Selena felt a chill move through her.

  “Like my mother,” said Martha. “She thought my father was one kind of man. It turned out that he was something so different. She just—put up with it for so long. Why do women stay?”

  “Inertia,” said Selena. Her throat felt dry. “For the kids. Maybe fear. There’s a psychology to abuse. My mother works at a shelter now. Sometimes people just don’t know how to get away.”

  The other woman’s gaze was an abyss, dark, unreadable. It was oddly hypnotic.

  “Like I said. You have a good man who treats you like you deserve. Lucky girl.”

  The blood rushed in Selena’s ears. “Yes. Very lucky.”

  “And if you ever found out that your husband was not the man you thought he was, would you leave him?”

  “I’d like to think so,” she said. “Marriage—it’s complicated.”

  Martha drained the rest of her glass. “Another?”

  “This has been—so great,” Selena said. She sat up, took a deep breath, breaking the spell. “But I should get going.”

  “Thanks for reaching out,” said Martha with a warm smile. “I’m glad we connected.”