Chapter 5: What Tom Left Out
I called him back immediately.
Tom picked up on the second ring.
He sounded like a man sitting alone in a parked car, which I later found out was exactly where he was.
"What did you leave out?" I asked.
"I wasn't sure you could handle it all at once," he said.
"I'm sorry.
That wasn't my decision to make."
"No.
It wasn't.
Tell me now."
A pause.
"The apartment isn't just a place they met.
Michael has been paying the rent on his own for the last three months.
Since Rachel ended things."
I leaned against the kitchen counter.
My mother had stepped out to give me privacy.
Through the wall I could hear the faint sound of the television.
"He's been maintaining an apartment by himself for three months," I said.
"Yes."
"While living with me."
"Yes."
"Why?"
Tom was quiet for a moment.
"I think you need to ask him that."
"I'm asking you what you know."
"I know he renewed the lease two weeks ago," Tom said.
"I have the paperwork if you want it.
I can send it to your email."
Two weeks ago.
While I was taking our son to football practice and making dinner and sleeping next to him in our bed, Michael had signed another year on an apartment I didn't know existed.
"Send it," I said.
"It'll be in your inbox in five minutes."
"Tom." I stopped.
"Why are you doing this for me?
You have your own situation to deal with."
He took a long breath.
"Because Rachel is my wife and what she did to you is wrong.
And because you're a good person who deserved better than both of them." Another pause.
"And because I've been sitting on this for six months and I needed it to be over."
I thanked him and hung up.
The email arrived in four minutes.
I opened it at the kitchen table.
The renewal agreement was dated twelve days ago.
Michael's signature at the bottom, neat and familiar, the same signature on our mortgage, on our children's school forms, on the card he gave me last birthday.
I printed it on my mother's small printer in the hallway.
Then I went back outside.
Rachel was gone.
Michael was sitting alone at the table, the photographs still spread in front of him.
He looked up when he heard the door.
"She left," he said.
"Called a cab."
"I know." I sat down across from him and placed the renewal agreement on the table between us.
"Explain this."
He looked at it.
His face didn't change the way I expected it to.
He didn't look caught.
He looked tired.
"I didn't know what else to do with it," he said.
"You renewed a lease on an apartment you share with my sister two weeks ago and you didn't know what to do with it."
"The relationship was over.
I just—" He stopped.
"I wasn't ready to close the door completely."
"On what?
On her?
On the option of leaving?"
He didn't answer.
"Michael.
I need you to say it out loud."
He put both hands flat on the table.
"I wasn't sure what I wanted.
I'm still not sure.
And I know that's a terrible thing to say to you."
"It's an honest thing," I said.
"For once."
He flinched.
"We have two children," I said.
"We have a house and a life and ten years.
And you renewed a lease twelve days ago because you weren't sure what you wanted."
"I know how it sounds."
"Do you?" I leaned forward slightly.
"Because it sounds like you were keeping a door open.
A door that leads away from me and our kids.
And you did it quietly, while everything looked normal, while I had no idea."
"I'm sorry."
"That's not enough right now."
"I know."
"I need you to leave tonight," I said again.
"And I need you to think very carefully about what you actually want.
Because when you come back to talk to me — and you will need to come back and talk to me, for the children's sake — I need you to know your own answer.
I can't keep living in a house with someone who doesn't know if they want to be there."
He nodded slowly.
"Where will you go?" I asked.
He looked at the renewal agreement.
"Not there," he said quietly.
"Good."
He stood up.
He started to reach for the photographs, then stopped.
"Leave them," I said.
He left them.
I sat at the table alone after he went inside to pack a bag.
The photographs were face-up in the afternoon light.
Restaurants I had never been to.
A park I recognized.
A Sunday that must have been one of the Sundays he told me he was playing golf.
My phone buzzed again.
This time it was Rachel.
*I need to talk to you.
Not today.
But soon.
There are things you don't know yet.*
I set the phone face-down on the table.
May you like
There are things you don't know yet.
I had thought the apartment was the worst of it.
