decides it’s just a flash of the old Maya. At the same time, he’s not sure how the conversation came to be so earnest when earnest conversation was the furthest thing from his mind in bringing her here. What exactly
had
he imagined would come of this date night? The first and only such night he’d suggested to his wife, outside of the odd obligatory work function, in the three years since the twins were born? He had a vague notion of liberal wine consumption overlayed with lots of tinkling laughter and maybe an accidental brush of thighs beneath the table. (Was it too much to hope she might wear a garter belt? Probably. No, definitely.) Anyway, of all the scenarios he’d imagined, a relationship talk had not been one of them. He is happy to have sex with his wife again in the service of ending their marriage, but he has no intention of talking about his feelings. His real feelings, that is. His fake feelings are another matter.
Maya, on the other hand, seems perfectly comfortable with the way the conversation is going. Nick reminds himself to keep his eye on the ball.
Happy wife, happy life.
He tries to get insidethe head of the kind of man who believes this. He reaches across the table again, pushing aside all obstacles, and this time finds what he’s looking for. Her fingers shrink away at first, then settle under his like a small animal panicking and submitting. Her other hand clutches at her napkin.
“You’re absolutely right,” he offers. “We’ve been bad, haven’t we? Especially me. I know I haven’t always been the easiest person to live with, particularly since the kids. But I want you to know that I’m here now and things are about to change. I’m going to be a better man—for you, for the twins and most of all for myself. I really do want things to change, and I’m willing to go to the mat to make it happen. Do you believe me?”
As he speaks, Maya drops her eyes to her plate, then looks up. She nods silently and does that undulating neck extension women do when they’re trying not to cry. He experiences a small and not entirely unpleasant twinge in the pit of his stomach. Empathy?
No, no,
he decides.
Pity. Pity with a side of guilt.
At this moment, Adam Gray appears beside their table like a harbinger of doom in a rumpled silk suit. “Well, well, if it isn’t the harvest king and his homecoming queen,” he thunders. “Out on a well-deserved date night, I see. Very good.” He smiles greedily and then kisses Maya’s hand in the unselfconscious manner of a Hungarian count. Nick cringes while his wife giggles with delight.
“My God, how are you? It’s been forever, hasn’t it? How’s the law?” Maya looks wistful, as she always does when asking after her former profession.
“Good, good,” says Gray, patting his chest. “Actually, horrible. Look at me—I’m a wreck. Be glad you got out when you did,Maya. You should write a book of health and beauty tips. Call it
Escape from the Salt Mine.
”
Everyone chuckles but no one louder than Nick, who is laughing to mask his annoyance. What was Gray doing by validating Maya’s choice to stay home when just last week he’d said Nick’s only hope was to encourage her to get a job? He watches them catching up on professional gossip and then it hits him: Gray is using reverse psychology. The more he publically validates Maya for staying home, the more she’ll privately long to be back in the thick of it.
As Maya chatters on about the kids and the “utter hilarity” of toddler yoga, Nick lets his mind drift slightly, toward the night’s conclusion and what awaits him there. He has sex on the brain. Now what to do about it? He knows they need to end their epic dry spell since the birth of the twins, but how best to go about quenching the Sahara Desert? He watches her talking to Gray, the way her eyes widen with recognition, then crinkle up at the corners when she gets the joke, which thankfully she always does. Nothing about
had
he imagined would come of this date night? The first and only such night he’d suggested to his wife, outside of the odd obligatory work function, in the three years since the twins were born? He had a vague notion of liberal wine consumption overlayed with lots of tinkling laughter and maybe an accidental brush of thighs beneath the table. (Was it too much to hope she might wear a garter belt? Probably. No, definitely.) Anyway, of all the scenarios he’d imagined, a relationship talk had not been one of them. He is happy to have sex with his wife again in the service of ending their marriage, but he has no intention of talking about his feelings. His real feelings, that is. His fake feelings are another matter.
Maya, on the other hand, seems perfectly comfortable with the way the conversation is going. Nick reminds himself to keep his eye on the ball.
Happy wife, happy life.
He tries to get insidethe head of the kind of man who believes this. He reaches across the table again, pushing aside all obstacles, and this time finds what he’s looking for. Her fingers shrink away at first, then settle under his like a small animal panicking and submitting. Her other hand clutches at her napkin.
“You’re absolutely right,” he offers. “We’ve been bad, haven’t we? Especially me. I know I haven’t always been the easiest person to live with, particularly since the kids. But I want you to know that I’m here now and things are about to change. I’m going to be a better man—for you, for the twins and most of all for myself. I really do want things to change, and I’m willing to go to the mat to make it happen. Do you believe me?”
As he speaks, Maya drops her eyes to her plate, then looks up. She nods silently and does that undulating neck extension women do when they’re trying not to cry. He experiences a small and not entirely unpleasant twinge in the pit of his stomach. Empathy?
No, no,
he decides.
Pity. Pity with a side of guilt.
At this moment, Adam Gray appears beside their table like a harbinger of doom in a rumpled silk suit. “Well, well, if it isn’t the harvest king and his homecoming queen,” he thunders. “Out on a well-deserved date night, I see. Very good.” He smiles greedily and then kisses Maya’s hand in the unselfconscious manner of a Hungarian count. Nick cringes while his wife giggles with delight.
“My God, how are you? It’s been forever, hasn’t it? How’s the law?” Maya looks wistful, as she always does when asking after her former profession.
“Good, good,” says Gray, patting his chest. “Actually, horrible. Look at me—I’m a wreck. Be glad you got out when you did,Maya. You should write a book of health and beauty tips. Call it
Escape from the Salt Mine.
”
Everyone chuckles but no one louder than Nick, who is laughing to mask his annoyance. What was Gray doing by validating Maya’s choice to stay home when just last week he’d said Nick’s only hope was to encourage her to get a job? He watches them catching up on professional gossip and then it hits him: Gray is using reverse psychology. The more he publically validates Maya for staying home, the more she’ll privately long to be back in the thick of it.
As Maya chatters on about the kids and the “utter hilarity” of toddler yoga, Nick lets his mind drift slightly, toward the night’s conclusion and what awaits him there. He has sex on the brain. Now what to do about it? He knows they need to end their epic dry spell since the birth of the twins, but how best to go about quenching the Sahara Desert? He watches her talking to Gray, the way her eyes widen with recognition, then crinkle up at the corners when she gets the joke, which thankfully she always does. Nothing about
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