I looked down at my workout shorts and T-shirt. “Yeah, look at me.”
“No, I’m serious. You look good. Have you lost weight?”
“I think it’s just the tan.” But I had lost weight. Eight pounds. Between me and our bathroom mirror, I looked fantastic.
“Well,” he said graciously, “it looks good on you.”
“Thanks.” I pointed to the yogurt window. “Want some?”
“Of course.”
Over his bowl of piña colada yogurt with white chocolate chips, I confessed everything that had happened with David. Sam paid close attention, his forehead pinching together as he absorbed the information. Hehad always been a fierce fan of Mike’s, and I steeled myself for a lecture on promiscuity. Instead, he stuck his red plastic spoon into the concoction and tented his fingers in front of his mouth, thinking.
“Lillian,” he finally said.
“Yes?” I tucked my hands between my knees and waited for my punishment.
“I think ...,” he said slowly. “I think that you need to be very careful and use this time to decide what you are going to do with the rest of your life.”
He placed his hand on my shoulder, and it felt a little like I was being knighted. He stared deep into my eyes, and I fought the urge not to roll them. Sam was a man who planned and thought things through to the nth degree. He also listened to a slew of podcasts when he was in the car, which gave him hours of relationship, motivational, and business opinions each day. The end result was aGQ-attired walking encyclopedia of wisdom—most of which was complete garbage.
I didn’twantto decide what to do with the rest of my life. I wanted to be selfish for once, and do something for me. Maybe I’d get over the pain of Mike’s affair and forgive him. Maybe I wouldn’t and we’d get a divorce.
A fly buzzed by, close to my ear, and I swatted at it. “I’m figuring things out.”
He gave me an exasperated look.
“What?” I plucked a white chocolate chip from the top of the yogurt. “I’m figuring things out. I know you want me to just sit in a room and decide whether to stay with Mike or leave him, but that’s a big decision, Sam. He’s my husband. We have twenty years together.”
“And he cheated on you. And you hate him.”
“I hate him right now. I’m not sure how long that will last.”
He sighed, then pushed the frozen yogurt toward me. “Am I preaching? I sense that I’m preaching.” He swung one leg over the concrete picnic bench. “You know that it’s my protective instinct at work. Plus,I just know so much more than everyone else. It’s hard to keep all of this brilliance to myself.”
I acknowledged his talents with a nod. “Your self-control is admirable.”
“Have you told Mike that you lost your job?”
I made a face. “Kind of. He knows I’m not working right now.”
“Well, I’ll keep my mouth shut, except to say that you look happier and healthier than I’ve ever seen you. So, whoever this guy is, I think you should give him a chance. And the same with you. Give yourself and your happiness a chance.” He stood and offered his hand, helping me to my feet. Pulling me into him, he kissed me on the top of the head and I smiled against the silk of his shirt.
Give myselfand my happiness a chance. I liked that idea. Maybe amid all his hooey, there was some gold.
CHAPTER 27
LILLIAN
Two weeks into the calendar—polar bears’ skin is black, and their fur is clear, not white!—I settled in at my desk, reached for the day’s fact, and stopped—surprised to find the clunky box missing. I stared at the blank spot in between the desk phone and a mango-pineapple candle that had been a Christmas gift from Mike’s mother.
I checked the floor, on the chance that someone had knocked it off, but the Spanish tile was clear, and nothing else on the desk was askew. Rising, I circled the edge of the furniture and looked closer. Nothing. I checked the desk’s drawers, then wandered out into the hall. “Mike?”
He wasn’t in the living or dining room, and I spotted movement outside the kitchen window. Walking over to the sink, I peered through the glass and saw him fiddling with the lock on the backyard shed. Heading toward the back door, I stole a handful of red grapes from a bowl on the counter, then paused by the trash can. There, crooked atop coffee grounds and a crumpled Pepsi can, was the calendar. I carefully pulled it out, confused. Setting it on the counter, I opened the back door and yelled for Mike.
It took him a few minutes, in which time I decided the calendar was ruined. It had black, sticky grounds along the back and in the battery compartment, which had been opened. Cooking oil had soakedthe edge of the pages, and I was pissed by the time he brushed his shoes off on the mat and opened the door. “Yeah?”
“Did you throw this away?” I gestured to the calendar.