We sit out on his back terrace, enjoying the perfect, early June weather, and his wife, Cynthia, brings out a tray of cocktails and joins us for one round. Cynthia is a sweet woman, beautiful and accomplished, a loving mother to their daughter, Sarah, and son, Robert, but I feel a little sad for her, knowing how little Bob cares for her. She’s dressed smartly, in a blouse and skirt, and her martinis are as perfect as their beautifully-appointed house. Everywhere are signs of Cynthia trying, and Bob not trying at all.
After the first drink, she excuses herself, clearing the glasses and bringing two more martinis out for Bob and I before politely disappearing into the house.
“She’s lovely,” I say to Bob-purposefully goading him, I think. Or at least trying to put in a word in her favour.
“Hmm?” He refocuses his eyes on me. “Cynthia? Oh yeah, she’s great.” He’s blase and indifferent.
We talk about work, and his daughter’s upcoming wedding, and the other Cynthia, the one from the office.
“She’s a real firecracker,” says Bob, his eyes lighting up with interest. “Speaks her mind, you know? Really keeps me on my toes. Too bad things didn’t work out between you.” He winks.
“Oh yeah, well, she’s great,” I acknowledge, tipping back my drink. “Just wasn’t a fit.”
But on the walk back home, I can’t help but think about Cynthia, office Cynthia, wondering if maybe I haven’t given her enough credit. I’d been kind of freaked out about the way she was calling me ‘Daddy,’ yet wasn’t that exactly what I wanted? Had she intuited that in some way?
Feeling lonely, and horny, and loose after three martinis, I decide to call Cynthia when I get home. It’s only ten o’clock. Hazel is in her room, and I brush my teeth and get undressed and climb into bed before trying Cynthia’s cell.
She answers on the third ring. “Xavier?”
“Hi. Is it too late to call?”
“No,” she says, after just the slightest hesitation. “It’s fine. How are you?”
“I’m all right.” I don’t know how to say what I want to say. Don’t know where to start. “I…I just wanted to talk. Is that okay?”
“Okay.” Still that questioning uncertainty in her voice. “Sure.”
“I want to apologize again about our date. I haven’t felt comfortable talking about it with you in the office. But I still feel like I didn’t handle it very well, didn’t think it through. I’m sorry.”
“It’s fine. You don’t need to apologize.”
“I just don’t want you to feel… It wasn’t you. You’re beautiful and you’re sexy, and I just got freaked out.”
“Xavier?”
“Yes?”
“I think I should tell you that I’m seeing someone.”
The band of anxiety around my chest eases and I realize I’m relieved. That’s not why I’m calling. It’s something else. Something I have to know.