Admittedly, in her fantasy version, the scene took a turn for the porny as Paige pushed Jennifer onto the bench near the door, yanked up her skirt, and plunged her hot tongue into Jennifer’s yawning vulva.
She noticed herself flushing in the mirror, her chest reddening. A sly smile crept across Jennifer’s face as she looked over her body. This would be hard for Paige to resist, wouldn’t it? Her dress, emerald green, had the appearance of casual, but clung to her curves.
Jennifer knew, without a doubt, that there wouldn’t be sex with Paige tonight. Nor should there be. While she hadn’t been in the wrong for most of the things that Ryan had thrown at her after that party, she had been in the wrong when it came to Paige. Atonement and apologies, all necessary and deserved.
There were things she knew she was in the wrong about here at home too, and there was still that pit in her stomach when it came to Paige, and the jealousy, and the incident. But Ryan’s problem right now was Ryan. She hoped that all this quiet reflection he’d been doing for the last month had done him some kind of good.
As she locked the front door, Ryan pulled up to the house. He’d begun to pull his car into the driveway, but seeing her stepping out, he parked in the street. She walked to her car and opened the driver’s side door. He stood near the back of her car. She wasn’t certain what he wanted, but was willing to wait and see.
“I, uh,” he started. A very Ryan opening.
She looked at him. She could see his reaction to her makeup and styled hair. He took a quick breath.
“I thought we should, talk about things.” His sentence didn’t flow properly, pauses in odd places.
“I agree,” said Jennifer. She fixed a last look on him, weighing the options here. Her decision was easy. “But right now I’m on my way out to meet…” she almost said “a friend,” wondering if she should keep this dinner date a secret, then wondering why her initial instinct skewed that way. “Paige,” she said, finally. “I’m meeting Paige for dinner.”
Ryan processed that, then nodded.
He walked past her into the house. She watched him go, wondering if she should say anything else. She took a deep breath, remembering the last time she’d been on a plane, the flight attendant’s instructions, to put the oxygen mask on yourself first, then help children or others.
Put it on yourself first.
She drove to meet Paige.
47
Ryan watched Jennifer’s car pull away.
Blown it again, hadn’t he? Of course she didn’t want to talk to him, why would she? Even his attempt to discuss the issue had turned into accusatory yelling. Over time, he’d stopped being so angry about the incidents at the party. He understood, in fact. He would’ve done the same, had he seen her making out with someone, would’ve assumed that she was occupied and fine, and found his own thing to do.
Had that been the sin of the party? Assuming he was better equipped than he actually was? No, thought Ryan, the sin of the party was being unprepared and drinking all the drinks. That was it, in fact, all the drinks. He could’ve thought clearly without all of that. He’d thought he needed the alcohol, thought it would calm the voices. The ones that shouted ugly and disgusting, who would want you, boring.
All that pill he’d taken had managed to do was give him an erection that had depressed him due to lack of facility to use it. Such a change from his imagined, feared, scenario of the exact opposite, plenty of opportunity and his old friend erectile dysfunction.
As her brake lights disappeared around the curve at the end of their street, he choked up unexpectedly. Why had he waited all this time? Waiting for an apology, perhaps? Even though he hadn’t really believed she ought to be the one to apologize, he’d been waiting for it.
He should’ve thrown it out first, “I’m sorry, this is stupid.” Perhaps even, “You know what we need to do? Go somewhere and just fuck!” Silence had always been his tactic, though. With girlfriends, parents, better to be quiet than risk the explosion. Eventually, most things just went away.
This problem would go away alright, wouldn’t it? He’d seen the business card. That trio of divorce attorneys would never recommend trying to make it work. Why would they? Not their business, after all. They’d make swift work of the Lambert marriage, and within a couple months, she would be back to Jennifer Straub, free to pursue someone who didn’t make her feel guilty, feel sad.
He stood on the front stoop of the house and stared at the street. He clenched his fingers around his car keys.
Jennifer didn’t want to talk now because of what she thought talking would look like. Couldn’t blame her for that. Leading with an apology, though? That conversation she might be ready to have. He looked at his phone.
Could text her. That felt passive. She should see his face, so she could see that he meant it. Then, if she didn’t want to talk, or was busy, she could just accept his apology or not, and that would be the start.
The seed.
He couldn’t just leave his marriage in the hands of those divorce attorneys.
Noah had been right, he needed to talk to his wife. His jaw set, resolve on his face as he jumped back into his car, pulling up the GPS on his phone to take him to Bruce and Paige’s house.
He found Jennifer’s car in the driveway and drew a deep breath. He parked in front and hurtled himself across the lawn. Hit the doorbell twice for emphasis.
Bruce opened the door to find Ryan standing before him, leaning on his arm, gripping the door jam, slightly out of breath. He blinked at Ryan for a moment before silently opening the storm door to him.
Ryan stepped into the foyer and glanced around.
“What can I do for you?” Bruce asked the man who’d accused him of sneaking around his back to fuck his wife. But when he looked into Ryan’s face, he felt it hard to be angry. He saw confusion, and fear, and an almost overwhelming sadness.
“I need,” Ryan said. “I need to talk to Jennifer.”
“Not here,” said Bruce.
“Her car’s outside.”
“She was here. She and Paige just left.”
“Do you know where they went?”
Bruce took a breath. “I do.”
“I need to go there. I need to tell her.”
“I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
Ryan’s face shattered. Tears flowed. “I need to tell her I’m sorry,” he wailed. “I need to tell her, or she’ll leave.”
Bruce hadn’t expected this. At the very least he thought he’d expected an indignant attitude, “Why is she with Paige?” He’d certainly gotten that from men in the past. Women, too. Paige had a way of getting into people’s brains and setting up shop.
The words I think you should go home, Ryan hung in Bruce’s mind, but he couldn’t say them. He couldn’t send the broken man before him back out into the world. Fuck, now he felt responsible for him.
“Why don’t we sit down,” he suggested, putting his hand on Ryan’s shoulder. He opened his other hand toward the living room.
Ryan nodded and sniffled like a four-year-old, coughing on his tears.
He gave Ryan a nudge toward the other room, and grabbed two bottles of water from the fridge, catching up with Ryan just as he walked in. Bruce twisted the top off one of the bottles and handed it to Ryan.
Ryan sat, holding the bottle in both hands between his knees, slumped forward.
“You should drink some of that,” suggested Bruce.
Ryan did.
Bruce clenched his jaw, the niggling anger eating at him, he had to say something about it, something about the fact that, “You were a dick to me the last time I saw you. You know that?”