Chapter 3: What the Paper Knew
I held the paper out toward him.
"What is this address?"
Jason didn't look at it.
"We should talk about this later.
When Max isn't—"
"Max already knows more than I do." My voice was steady.
I don't know how.
"So talk.
Now."
Lauren took one small step toward the door.
"I should go."
"You should stay," I said.
"Because whatever this is, you're already in it."
She stopped.
Looked at Jason.
He gave her nothing.
I looked at the date on the paper.
Three weeks from today.
I looked at the address.
A street I didn't recognize, in a part of the city I had no reason to visit.
"Is this where you were planning to send me?"
"It's not like that."
"Then what is it like?
Because from where I'm standing, you put another woman in my dress, you told our son I was leaving, and you gave him a note to hand me in case I found out." I set the paper on the dresser.
"That's not a misunderstanding, Jason.
That's a plan."
He finally looked up.
"I was going to tell you."
"When?"
Silence.
"When were you going to tell me?"
"After the dinner."
I stared at him.
"What dinner?"
He glanced at Lauren.
Just for a second.
But I caught it.
"What dinner, Jason?"
Lauren's chin dropped.
She was looking at the floor now, her fingers pressed together in front of her, and I understood in that moment that she had known about this dinner.
She had known about all of it.
"There's a dinner," Jason said carefully, "that I've been planning.
For a few months.
It's—it's important."
"A few months."
"Yes."
"You've been planning something for a few months." I picked the paper back up.
"And this address is connected to that dinner."
He nodded.
"And Lauren is connected to that dinner."
He nodded again, slower this time.
I looked at her.
She was still wearing my dress.
The zipper was still open at the top where she'd reached for it and stopped.
The red fabric caught the light from the window and I thought, absurdly, about the night I'd bought it.
A Tuesday.
I'd been alone.
I'd tried it on in the store and thought, I'll wear this somewhere that matters.
"Take it off," I said quietly.
"I'm sorry?"
"The dress.
Take it off."
Lauren looked at Jason.
"Don't look at him," I said.
"I'm the one talking to you."
She reached back for the zipper.
Her hands were shaking worse than mine had been.
She stepped behind the door of the wardrobe and I turned back to Jason.
"Who else knows about this plan?"
"It's not—"
"Who else knows?"
He pressed his lips together.
"Your mother?" I asked.
Nothing.
"Your mother knows."
"She was trying to help."
The room tilted slightly.
I put one hand on the dresser.
"Your mother has been helping you plan something that involves me leaving this house on a specific date, wearing a specific dress, going to an address I've never heard of." I looked at him.
"And you call that help."
"It's not what you're imagining."
"Then say it plainly.
Right now.
Say it in one sentence."
He opened his mouth.
Lauren stepped back out from behind the wardrobe door.
She was holding my dress folded over both arms, and she set it on the foot of the bed without a word.
Jason closed his mouth again.
"One sentence," I said.
He looked at the dress on the bed.
Then at me.
"I can't explain it without you hearing the whole thing."
"Then start."
He sat down on the edge of the bed.
Slowly.
Like a man preparing for something he had been rehearsing and still wasn't ready for.
And Max's voice came from the hallway.
Small.
Careful.
May you like
"Daddy.
Grandma's here."
