saw. They argued, with Sal accusing her of being willfully blind and she accusing him of trying to stir up drama because he always thought the worst about her husband.
Then, two days later, a saleswoman from Nordstrom called to tell Derek that the Ferragamo shoes he’d ordered had come in. Derek’s Nordstrom account must have been attached to Marin’s phone number, and the woman didn’t realize she was leaving a message on his wife’s voicemail. Her greeting back then was generic, the autogenerated “You have reached two-zero-six nine-seven-one…”
Marin replayed the message twice, certain she’d misheard it.
“Hey, Derek, it’s Carmen. Your Ferragamos are in. I’ll be at the store till close if you’re planning on coming in … If you do, maybe we could get a drink? I had a really great time the other night. I, um … I can’t stop thinking about you. Hope to see you later. Bye.”
Marin confronted Derek when he got home, playing the message on speakerphone while he cringed. He apologized, begged for her forgiveness, insisting it was a one-night stand, that the pressures of IVF and all the stress of trying to get pregnant had gotten to him, and he’d lost control. What was she supposed to do? They had a baby on the way, and she wanted it—needed it—to work. They went to couples therapy, and while they eventually found their way back to each other after Sebastian was born, they were never quite the same. Breaking trust will do that.
Sal moves closer, until his face is inches from hers. His breath smells faintly of garlic, but it doesn’t bother her, because hers probably does, too. Sometimes she wonders if she damaged Sal more than she thought. If maybe the reason he can’t commit to a relationship is because of what happened with them in college. He’s never said so. And she’s never asked.
“You’d be better off without him,” he says. “You could start fresh. Derek is rich as fuck. You’ll get half of everything. That’s plenty.”
“You mean like Tia?”
Sal knows who she’s talking about. Tia is a friend of theirs from college who married a wealthy chef and restaurant owner. For ten years, she lived in a house overlooking Lake Washington. She didn’t have to work. She stayed home with their daughter, playing tennis and volunteering on charity committees. Then Bryan met another woman. The divorce was ugly. Bryan hired better lawyers than she did, and while she got a settlement, he got everything else. And went on to open two more restaurants. Tia now lives in a condo and shares custody of her daughter with her ex-husband and the woman he left her for.
Marin hasn’t seen Tia in over a year. The last time was when her old college friend dropped off a casserole when the news about Sebastian broke. Tia said she was “happy in her new life,” but it’s hard to imagine how happy she could be. What Tia lost when she divorced Bryan can never be replaced. Time with her daughter. Financial security. Status.
Marin doesn’t want to be happy in a new life. She wants to be happy in the one she already has … or used to.
“You’re not Tia,” Sal says. “You’ve always worked. Tia never did.”
“You know I couldn’t afford to live how we live on my own.” She feels awful for saying it, but it’s true. The salons make money, but it’s a fraction of what Derek earns.
“Yeah, but you’ve got me,” Sal says. “And you’ll still be you, regardless of what your bank account says.”
“I don’t want to lose everything I’ve built.”
“Would you trade it all to get Sebastian back?”
“Every penny.” She answers without hesitation, despite the alcohol that’s making her head fuzzy.
“Then if all you need is your son back to be happy, Derek’s got nothing to offer you. Where’s he even been the last year? He’s never home. He’s emotionally abandoned you.”
“Derek’s a good man,” she says.
“No, he’s not. He’s nice, and there’s a difference. You can be nice to someone and still cheat. You can be nice and do shitty things. You can still be nice and ruin someone’s life. He’s nice, Mar, but he’s not good. I hope one day you’ll understand the difference.”
“Sal,” a voice calls out, and they both turn. The server with the tight jeans is watching them from the kitchen entrance. “Wine delivery. He said he needs a signature.”
“So sign for it,” he calls back, annoyed. “That’s Ginny,” he says to Marin in a low voice.