nurses it.
His shoulders ease. His exhale deepens. The poker face fades to some mix of exhaustion and frustration.
Maybe he is hungover. Or heartbroken. Or both.
I want to ask. I want to say something to comfort him. I don't really know Ty, but he seems like a good guy. If he's renting out villas for Ian's birthday—
Or flying across the Atlantic to deliver news of some kind—
He can't be too bad.
"Drink too much?" I ask.
"Is it that obvious?"
I motion a little.
Again, he laughs. It's more tense. Less easy. "You're very American."
"Thank you?"
"Blunt. I'm not used to it."
"Why beat around the bush?"
His laugh is knowing. "You are perfect for him."
"How is that?"
"Ian… how much has he told you about his ex-wife?"
I make that same a little motion.
"She was a performer. An actor and a singer. Always expressive. Bright and vibrant. At first."
"At first?"
He nods, as if that explains everything. "She was forthcoming. Or maybe she only wanted to seem that way."
Okay…
"She shared everything with him. He got used to that. Counted on that. Shared everything with her too. Until, one day, he didn't. And she didn't. And it all spiraled from there, until she was six months into an affair with her singing instructor."
"Oh."
"I probably shouldn't tell you this."
"Okay." I pull the eggs from the fridge. Find a bowl. Crack. Stir.
"Ian doesn't know."
"Okay."
"I don't want him to know."
Is he still drunk? Why in the world would Ty ask me to keep a secret? He barely knows me. "What don't you want him to know?"
He laughs that same pained laugh. "I suppose I should spell it out."
"Probably." I focus on finding a pan. Warming it on the stove.
"I'd like to tell you this, because I think you should know. I think it will be best for him if you know. But I need you to promise you won't share the information."
"Oh."
"If you can't promise… I understand. Secrets are a burden."
"They are." I add oil. Tilt the pain until it's coated.
I shouldn't promise I'll keep a secret. Secrets are a burden. And I have my own burdens. But I want to know. Everything inside me is itching to know.
"You really think it's best for him?" I ask. "If you tell me?"
"I do."
I nod go on.
"His ex. Laura. I saw her at a pub one night. With the singing instructor. They were close. Not close enough I could be sure, but close enough I was suspicious. When I confronted her, she confessed. Begged me not to share with Ian. Promised she was getting ready to tell him. Swore it would be better if she did."
"Oh."
"She was desperate to tell me. To tell someone. All that guilt… I guess it wears on you. I believed her. That it would be better if he heard it from her. That it was theirs to figure out."
"What happened?"
"Nothing. For a while. Until some party. She got drunk. Pulled me aside. Spilled more details. The explicit ones. And others too. How it happened. The first time… it was a drunk mistake. A kiss. Only one kiss. One moment. One mistake. She thought… it was better not to share. That it would be selfish to share. That was her reasoning. If it really was one time, and it never would happen again… was it fair to ask him to carry that burden?"
It's a good question. My instinct is bullshit. A secret is a secret. But Ty is right. Secrets have a weight to them. "I would want to know. He would want to know."
"I thought so too. But what if it was one time? What if it really was a drunk mistake and it really didn't matter? You don't know what you don't know."
"I guess that's true."
"Still bollocks. An excuse. But they could have overcome that… Only, it caused this ripple. She was carrying the guilt. She didn't look at him the same way. Didn't feel able to spill her guts. Wasn't able to ask for what she wanted anymore. She didn't always share Ian's tastes."
"Oh."
"They… compromised. I'm sure he would have taken less. Offered more. If she asked. He loved her with his entire heart."
My stomach twists. I don't like this story. I don't like thinking about him loving someone else. Or having his heart broken. "Oh."
"I won't make excuses for her. Laura was like a sister to me, but she was a smart, capable woman. She knew what she was doing. I'm not saying this to excuse her. Only to—"
"Explain?"
He nods yes. "Ian wasn't there. He was obsessed with