“All good. Once I spoke to June I stopped worrying.”
Oh god. That’s right. June called me at one point. I only picked up because it was her. I was in a bar, she said Luis was wondering where I was and he’d called her. I asked her to say we were together, make up some story, tell him I’m in the bathroom.
“Sounds like you two were having a fine time. She promised to put you in a cab later. I went to bed after that. You got home okay, right? Obviously?”
“Yes, of course.”
“I didn’t tell the kids, just so you know.”
I sit up. “Tell them what?”
“That their mother was out on the town, partying till all hours. I don’t want to give them any ideas.” Luis returns to the sink and that’s when I notice the tools on the kitchen bench.
“You’re fixing the tap?”
“Yep, I got inspired this morning.” He organizes his tools and, without turning around, he says, “Was anyone else there?”
“What do you mean?” A drip of coffee rolls down my chin and I reach for the kitchen roll.
“Just that you were out so late, I thought maybe the whole team went out to celebrate after your big talk. You, Mila and the guys. How did it go?”
I close my eyes. My big talk indeed. I drop my forehead in my hands. “It was okay,” I say, cringing at the memory. Should I tell him now, about Ryan? That would be the smart thing to do, tell him before he finds out. Before Ryan blackmails me or uploads his photo to the internet. Maybe he’s emailed it to that nice journalist from the New York Times who’s writing an article about me: And what does Dr. Sanchez, Winner of the Forrester prize for the Pentti-Stone conjecture like to do in her spare time? See page 12 for photos.
I can’t believe I can’t even win a prize without screwing it up. I cross my arms on the table and drop my forehead on them with a groan.
“What happened?” he asks. For a moment I think he’s asking about Isabelle. I look up at him from under heavy eyelids. He’s facing me now, leaning back against the sink. He refills his mug with coffee. He’s asking about the talk. Of course. I can’t tell him. I just can’t. He’ll want to know how the heck a photo of me naked almost ended up in my PowerPoint presentation. More to the point, he’ll want to know how it came to be in existence.
“It was okay.”
“You sure? You don’t sound so sure.”
“It could have been worse.”
“So it was just you and June last night, then?”
“Yes, just me and June.” I push my chair back. “I should go to work.”
“Can’t you take the day off? I can’t imagine you’re going to be much good over there!” He holds up one hand, shows me three fingers. “How many? Go on! Can you even count anymore, Ms. Math Teacher?”
“You’re so funny, Luis, you should have been on the stage.”
“That’s what you always say.”
Roxy gives a little bark at my feet.
“Did you walk her?” I ask. A reflex.
“Not yet. But I will. You go, babe.”
I grab my leather jacket from the hook near the door. It’s still slightly damp from last night and I vaguely consider getting another coat from the closet, but I don’t. I slip the jacket on and grab my bag from the chair where I left it last night. I go to Luis; I want him to kiss me, to feel his lips on mine once more before he finds out and it all goes wrong.
“I love you,” I say.
I already have one hand in my jacket pocket and my finger gets stuck in a hole in the lining. My fingertip brushes against something and I wriggle it out just as Luis grabs my face with both hands and kisses me on the lips. I raise my hand and glance sideways at it. It’s a chain so thin it may as well be made of a spider’s silk thread, with two thin diamond baguettes set a little off center.
Twenty-Eight
The young man who serves me in Starbucks does a double take. “Rough night?”
I give a rueful smile but don’t reply. I pay for my coffee, grab my cup and walk out.
I’m late, obviously, but I didn’t have a class this morning so I knew there was no need to rush. I did miss a couple of meetings, however.