sorry. I’m sorry I didn’t listen to all my friends before we got married. Everyone told me they thought you were gay and I told them they were ridiculous, you were just sensitive, in touch with your feminine side. I can’t believe how stupid I was.”
“You weren’t stupid. I didn’t even know myself.” Daniel doesn’t know what to say. He had expected many things, but not this bitter derision, not this anger.
“Oh my God!” Bee says again. “No wonder! No wonder you never wanted to sleep with me. I thought it was me, that you didn’t fancy me, that I was somehow deficient, not sexy enough, not thin enough, not curvy enough, whatever . . . It was me, but not in the way I thought.”
Daniel shrugs uncomfortably and looks away.
“You swear you never slept with anyone else?” she says suddenly. “You swear on your life?”
“I swear.”
“I mean—God, the health risks. You swear . . .” She pauses, then says something she never thought she’d hear herself say. “You swear on the children’s lives?”
“I do.” Daniel is shocked, but at least he is able to answer truthfully. “I swear on the children’s lives I have never been unfaithful. Bee, honestly, this is new to me too. You don’t have anything to worry about.”
“I did have AIDS tests when I was pregnant,” Bee spits, “so at least I know we’re all fine.”
“Jesus, Bee.” Daniel shakes his head in disbelief. “Is that all you have to say? That you’re relieved you haven’t got AIDS?”
“I don’t know, Daniel. What do you want me to say? That I’m thrilled? That now I know it wasn’t me and there is nothing I could have done to save our marriage? Do you want me to welcome you into my life as my new gay best friend? Should we hang out together and gossip, perhaps? Or maybe you want to come into my closet and tell me which clothes I should keep and which I should chuck. Come to think of it, you always were pretty good at that.”
“Jesus, Bee. Do you have to be so goddamned bitchy?”
“You know what, Daniel?” Tears start to fall as Bee stands up abruptly from the table. “Yes. Yes, I fucking do. My husband of nearly six years has just announced that our entire marriage was a sham, that everything I ever believed to be true was a lie—and you don’t think it’s okay to be bitchy? I don’t even know what to say to you.” Bee shakes her head and holds up her hand to stop Daniel saying anything in return. “I can’t, Daniel. I can’t talk to you anymore. Not tonight.”
And with that, she’s gone, and Daniel sits there with his cold coffee for over an hour, unable to think. Unable to move.
“Are you okay?” Daff’s sitting on the porch, sketching, as Daniel walks down the driveway. “You look terrible.”
“I’ve been better,” he says and sighs.
“What is it?” Daff puts her notebook down and gestures for Daniel to sit.
“I just told Bee.”
Daff’s eyes widen. “You mean, you just told her?” Daniel nods. “Oh God,” she says, wanting to put her arms around him to hug him but not quite sure if that would be appropriate, given that this is someone she barely knows. “How did she take it?”
Daniel snorts. “Let’s just say not well.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Me too. I suppose I had this romantic vision of her accepting it and appreciating my honesty, and of us being able to walk away from this as friends.”
“That could still happen,” Daff says gently. “It will just take some time for all of it to sink in, I imagine. And she’s bound to be upset in the beginning. This is something you’ve presumably lived with, on some level, for years, but it’s got to be an enormous shock to her.”
“It wasn’t that she was upset that was so difficult. It was her anger.” Daniel sighs again. “I just didn’t expect the force of her anger.”
“It must have been so hard.”
He nods. “Hey, thanks for listening.” Daniel turns to Daff and this time she just opens her arms and gives him a hug, and he holds her gratefully before letting go.
“Nan? There’s something wrong with the bedroom window in my room.” Daff coughs discreetly as a wave of smoke from Nan’s cigarette wafts gently up her nose. “I can’t open it.”
“Michael will take a look,” Nan says. “He went into town a little while ago, but he said he’d be back before lunch. I’ll send