Text messages between April and Elliot Masterson:
April: Would you like me to pack a picnic basket for us or do you want to go out to lunch?
April: Actually, I think I’d rather go out.
April: What do you think about going to that new French place?
April: I keep passing it and it looks so good.
April: OK, on my way out the door!
April: See you soon!
Elliot: OK
It’s a twenty-minute drive from our house to Elliot’s office in his Tesla, but when I take my SUV, it’s closer to half an hour. I don’t speed. Ever.
After I get back home, I change out of my unacceptable school drop off clothing into something a little prettier. I put on a summer dress—it’s yellow, which Elliot says is my best color. Of course, that’s because I have blond hair. With dark roots, but nobody needs to know about that if I keep my hairdresser appointment for tomorrow.
I release my hair from my mom ponytail (which I alternate with my mom bun), I brush it out, and I even get out my curling iron. It takes forever, but when I look in the mirror after it’s all done, I decide it was worth it. I clean up good.
I did consider packing a picnic basket for him. I used to do that in the early days of our relationship—I’d bring the basket to his office and we
would eat at his desk together. But then again, I’m supposed to be angry at him for skipping out on our family time. He owes me a romantic lunch out.
I park in the lot outside Elliot’s office building and take one last look in my compact before I head upstairs. His office is on the third floor, and the elevator is painfully slow, but I don’t want to break a sweat before our lunch together. So I endure the elevator.
Elliot’s receptionist, Brianna, always stands guard outside his office. I keep in good shape, but Brianna is, without a shadow of a doubt, absolutely gorgeous. Her legs are long and shapely, and her blond hair is shinier and thicker than mine. And her skin is like porcelain. I may be a YouTube star but she could be a movie star. It’s painfully clear which one of us is the wife and which is the hot secretary.
And this woman works with my husband all day every day. I try not to think about it.
When I approach Brianna’s desk, she’s on the phone. From what I can hear, it sounds like a personal call. And when I clear my throat, she holds up a finger.
This goes on for a full two minutes. Is it just me or is her behavior completely unprofessional? If it were up to me, she’d be gone.
“I’m just going to go inside,” I say to Brianna.
She flashes me an irritated look. “I’ve got to go, Niki,” she says. She puts down the phone and finally gives me her full attention. “I’m afraid you can’t go in. Elliot said he’s very busy and not to be disturbed.”
I roll my eyes. “We’ve got lunch plans. He told me to come here at noon.”
“Yes, well.” She shrugs. “His plans have changed. He’s got a meeting in fifteen minutes, and he was very clear about not wanting to be disturbed.”
“For God’s sake, I’m his wife!” I fold my arms across my chest. “He didn’t mean me.”
“I’m sorry,” she says in that irritatingly bland voice of hers. “There is no lunch on the calendar. I’m afraid I can’t let you in.”
That’s not true. She obviously could let me in if she wanted. She simply doesn’t want to.
Well, I’ll show her.
“I’m calling him,” I inform her.
I yank my phone from my purse and select Elliot’s cell number from my favorites. The only other favorites listed are Julie, Shady Oaks Nursing Home, and Bobby’s school. I wait while the phone rings in my ear.
And I wait. And I wait.
My whole face feels very hot by the time the call goes to voicemail. He definitely has his phone in there. He texted me less than an hour ago. He could answer it if he chose. But he’s choosing not to.
Brianna smiles with satisfaction. “I could book you for lunch later in the week if you’d like?” She taps on her keyboard a few times. “He has an opening on Friday. Should I put you down?”
“No, thanks,” I manage.
She clucks her tongue. “In the future, you really should make an appointment. That way you don’t have to drive all the way down here for nothing.”
I hate this woman. I really do.
“Look,” I say, “I just want to talk to him for a minute. That’s all.”
“As I said…” She smiles up at me. “Elliot is very busy right now. I’m sure he’ll contact you when he has a free moment.”
I’ve had enough of this. I move to the side of the desk, planning to blow past her, right into Elliot’s office. But before I can reach the door, she jumps out of her seat, quick as a flash, and steps in front of me, blocking the door.
“I’m afraid you can’t go in there.” Her eyes meet mine. “As I said, he’s busy.”
I hold her gaze. Brianna is about my height, although I’ve got at least ten pounds on her. I wonder if I could knock her out of the way. For a moment, I’m tempted to try.
Brianna folds her arms across her chest. “Should I have somebody escort you out of the building?”
Great, she’s going to call security to boot me out of here. I take a step back and jab at my phone one more time to call my husband. Again, the phone goes to voicemail, only this time immediately. I take a shaky breath.
Then the message appears on my screen:
So sorry. Forgot about meeting during lunch. Will make it up to
you.
I look up at Brianna, who still has that smile plastered on her face. I truly don’t care for this woman.
Call me as soon as you can, I type into my phone.
“Would you like that Friday lunch appointment?” Brianna bats her heavily mascaraed eyelashes at me. “You should book it now, while it’s still free.”
I don’t even answer her. I do an about-face and leave the office before I burst into tears.
I don’t even bother with the elevator this time. I go straight for the stairs. At this point, who cares if I’m sweaty? It will be hours before I see Elliot. I’ll probably be in bed by then. All I want is to go home and take a nice hot shower, then binge-watch some series on Netflix. Or maybe I’ll bake something. That always helps me relax.
I wish I could talk to somebody about this. I can’t tell Julie. She won’t get it. She’s married to a lawyer too, but she takes her husband’s long hours as a given. She would never consider traipsing out to his office for lunch. Frankly, sometimes I think she likes the fact that he’s not around much. I might feel that way too if I were married to Keith.
At times like these, I wish I could talk to my mother. It’s like a deep ache inside my chest. Unfortunately, my mother developed early Alzheimer’s several years ago. Right now she’s a resident at Shady Oaks nursing home, and having a meaningful conversation would be out of the question.
She barely knows who I am anymore. But every night, the staff of her nursing home plays one of my videos for her. That’s why I always end my episodes by saying, “Good night, Mom.” I want to make sure my mother still remembers who I am.
Sometimes I feel really alone.
But it doesn’t matter. I’ll get through this on my own. I just want to go home.
When I get downstairs, my phone buzzes in my purse. My heart leaps in my chest—maybe Elliot’s meeting got canceled and he wants to have lunch after all. Take that, gorgeous young secretary.
But when I pull out my phone, I see another blocked number has left me a text message:
Too bad you don’t know the secret to making your husband happy.
Unlike Courtney Burns.
I stare at my phone, my mouth hanging open in disbelief. I look around the parking lot, trying to figure out if somebody is watching me. Did somebody see my husband reject me during my attempt to have lunch with him?
But the parking lot is empty except for me. There’s nobody around. And as opposed to the message yesterday, it’s obvious what the intent of this one was. I look up at the window to my husband’s office, wondering if Brianna could have been the one to send the text. Is it possible she’s the one torturing me?
But how would Brianna know about Courtney? That’s the distant past.
It’s over. Nobody knows. Just me and Elliot. Well, and one other person.
Words can’t hurt you, I try to tell myself. I wish I could believe it.
