As the Uber pulls away, I adjust my outfit and fluff up my hair. I’m wearing a cream silk wrap-around blouse, with black sailor pants and stilettos. My hair is falling in loose curls around my face. Nyla said I looked beautiful, but I had a feeling she was biased.

The stairs leading up to the Gallery are empty, but there are tiny lights placed on either side of the walkway, and I can hear music drifting out through the entrance, which is wide open with a sign directing people upstairs to the fundraiser.

Cautiously, I start to make my way up the stairs, which are a little steep, especially for someone in stilettos like I am. At the top of the stairs, I am greeted by a uniformed man with slicked-back hair balancing a tray of champagne flutes.

“Welcome,” He says, with a small, neat smile.

“Thank you,”

“Would you like some champagne?” He murmurs. I nod, and he hands me a glass.

Someone touches my elbow, and I turn, realizing it’s Neil. The waiter melts away.

“Hey,” He says, breathlessly. His eyes seem to widen as he takes me in, but he gives me a quick kiss. I dab at his lips, where some of my red lipstick has transferred.

“Hey,” 

“You’re late,” he says, under his breath.

“I know,” I say, “The sitter canceled, and I had to get another. Didn’t you get my text?”

He doesn’t say anything to this, and I press my lips closed.

“Well, I’m here now,” I say, finally, taking a sip from the glass.

He slides his arm around my waist, and leads me into the room, leaning over to whisper in my ear. “Geez, Lyss, what the fuck are you wearing?”

I feel myself bristle.

“Clothes. I showed you this morning, remember?” I say.

“Well you didn’t say your shirt was almost see-through,” he murmurs. “You’re not even wearing a bra.”

We’re approaching a small group of people, and I stop short, forcing him to halt as well. He sighs.

“I’m sorry, okay?” He says. “You look stunning. Let’s just enjoy tonight.” 

It’s like this every day. 

Someone approaches us, and we both smile.

It’s a short blonde woman, with blow-dried hair and a sharp cocktail dress. Her eyes move over me in a subtle once-over, but when she smiles, I can tell I haven’t made the cut.

“This must be Alyssaaa,” She says, in a put-on, cheery voice. But her eyes hold mine with clear dislike. I give her a small neutral smile back, puzzled.

“This is Yvonne,” Neil tells me. “Yvonne Buck.”

“The deputy dean?” I ask. Yvonne’s smile wavers a little, but she nods.

“One and the same,” She says. Her eyes move over me once again. “It’s nice to finally meet you, Alyssa. I have to say, you look…” he pauses for effect. “Stunning,” She finishes, but her eyes gleam unpleasantly. “Maybe a little overdressed for this,”

“Better to overdress than to underdress,” I say, taking a sip of my drink.

She touches Neil’s arm, letting her manicured fingers linger.

“Could I steal you away for a little bit? I just wanted to introduce you to some people.”

Neil hesitates, and Yvonne turns to address me now, as though she’s only just remembered I was there. “Could I steal him away?” She asks. Her tone is friendly, but her smile remains cold, her eyes cool. “It’s all work stuff,” She says. “Super boring. I’m sure it’ll go over your head.”

My eyebrows meet at her words, but I simply press my lips closed.

“I’ll be right back,” Neil says, squeezing my hip gently.

“Yes, I promise to bring him back, Alyssa,” Yvonne says, over her shoulder.

They leave me standing there, feeling overdressed and awkward, in a crowd of people I don’t know. I know I’m supposed to mingle, but I feel silly having to do it on my own, without Neil there to help me make small talk, and I’m increasingly self-conscious because of the way I’m dressed.

I thought it would be just the right kind of thing to wear to a gallery opening, especially in a big town like this.

I catch a few raised eyebrows, and throw my shoulders back boldly, even if it’s the opposite of what I feel. Maybe I imagine it, but a couple of women seem to be making a deliberate effort to steer their husbands away.

So, I look at the art. I don’t really know much about it, but I look. I stick to the far corner of the room, close to the glass expanse that makes up the south side of the gallery. The buzz of multiple conversations happening simultaneously fades to the background.

I tell myself that if Neil doesn’t come back in the next ten minutes, I will call an Uber and go home. We can fight about it all then.

There’s a piece on the wall with a blend of colors. Something about the way it’s painted seems old-fashioned, like a book cover in the 80s or something… But with a myriad of bright colors, so that you can’t really tell what it’s a picture of until you step away from it a little. I step closer to admire the brushwork.

“You’re supposed to step away to get the full picture,” someone says. Somewhat startled, I turn quickly. There’s a server standing there, with shoulder-length dark hair and light eyes that, despite their color, are quite brooding. His thin lips quiver into a half-smile, making his snake bite piercings glint. His tray of drinks is still quite full, and he’s looking around the room, as if he was casually voicing his thoughts and not addressing anyone in particular, or wasn’t in fact, speaking at all.

“I know,” I say. “But the colors are so intense up close.”

He turns to the painting slowly, and we both gaze at it for a long moment. Satisfied, I take a step back, and take him in a little more. His eyes meet mine with keen interest.

“I thought this event was supposed to be faculty and spouses only?” He says.

“It is,”

“Well, what are you doing here? You look way too interesting to be faculty.” he surmises.

“I’m a spouse,” I say.

His eyebrow rises with apparent skepticism. “You’re a spouse?” 

“I’m a spouse.”

He scans the crowd, probably to try and pinpoint an appropriate husband for me. "I can't see anyone boring enough to pair you with," He surmises, turning back to me. I shrug vaguely in response. “Tell me, why would your spouse let you wander around alone?” he teases, turning back to me. 

The dig stings a little more than I’d like to admit. I give him a cold smile, take a measured draught of champagne and move to another painting a few feet away.

“Don’t you have somewhere else to be?” I ask, as he sidles close again. “Your tray is still full. I’m sure there are other people here you can talk to. I mean, does your boss know that you’re stalking guests?” I interrupt, as he’s opening his mouth. He smiles, aware that I’m pushing him into the hot seat in my place.

“Not ‘guests’ plural. A guest.”

“Just me then?”

“Just you, yes.”

“Do they know?”

“No, she doesn’t.”

“Why are you following me?”

“‘'Following' is a strong word…” he smiles again. “I simply… trailed after you.” He insists.

“Is that something you do a lot? Follow people?” I press.

“Only every other day,” he jokes.

I finish my drink, and he offers me his tray, where after a moment’s hesitation, I place my empty flute and pick up another. As I’m drawing my hand away, he says, “I don’t see a wedding ring.”

“My daughter got nail polish on it. It’s soaking in a cup of nail-polish remover,”

“Mm,” He nods. “So, you’re a mother and a spouse?”

“Yes.” 

“And what’s your daughter’s name? - If you really have one.”

I give a short laugh because it’s so silly to think that he doesn’t believe any of it, and he and this stupid gallery fundraiser event and Yvonne are all just ridiculous. “I’m not telling a stranger my daughter’s name.”

“Well I’m not a stranger,” He points to a sleek silver name tag pinned onto the left breast of his uniform. “I’m Danny,”

“Cute,” I say condescendingly before turning away.

“Why don’t you stick around till this thing is over and we can go grab a drink?” He asks. “You can tell me about your very real spouse and your very real daughter…”

“Lyss?” Neil calls, touching my waist.

“Hey,” I pull Neil’s hand more securely around me. “This is my husband,” I say, giving Danny a pointed look. 

Neil nods curtly at Danny. “Excuse us,” He murmurs, leading me away. After a moment, he leans down, whispering in my ear. “What’re you doing?”

“I wasn’t doing anything,” I start. I slow down and notice for the first time when I look up at him how the color is racing up his cheeks. 

“Alyssa, I’m over there trying to make a good impression and you’re getting friendly with a cater-waiter,” he’s lowering his voice, and speaking through the teeth of his embarrassed, angry smile.

I blink twice, confused. “He was following me,” I explain. “I wasn’t-”

“You weren’t what?” Neil presses. “Standing there giggling away?”

“No… I was laughing at him.”

“Why was he asking you out?”

I feel my eyebrows meet in confusion. “Neil?” I say, slowly. “Are you seriously accusing me of flirting with some random waiter?” I wait, but as he opens his mouth to answer I notice him glancing over my shoulder, and I follow his gaze, only to find Yvonne and a small group of people pointedly looking away.

“Forget it,” Neil murmurs, leading me towards the group. His face slips into an easy smile, and it’s as if everything is fine.

*

In the car, Neil is silent. I watch houses roll by outside for a few minutes before turning to the stereo and changing the song, putting the music a little lower.

“That was fun,” I intone. It wasn't really, but I'm trying not to end tonight badly. My words fall to silence. After a minute, Neil responds.

“Mmm.” He acknowledges. I reach over and run my fingers through his hair, letting my hand fall to his. After a moment he brings his hand out from under mine and runs his fingers through his hair discreetly. When he’s done his hand finds the steering wheel, but I keep my hand on his thigh.

“Neil.”

He doesn’t respond.

When we get home, I step out of my heels in the hall while he locks up after the sitter.

“I’m going to go check on the girls,” he murmurs, heading past me and up the stairs.

“Okay,” I say, watching his retreating back. I click off the hall light and follow after a moment, turning towards our bedroom when I get to the landing. The porch light is on outside, and it’s just bright enough to light the room for me.

He comes in when I’m standing by the dresser, taking off my jewelry.

“Are they okay?” I ask, turning to him. He’s working his jacket off his shoulders.

“Yeah. They’re fine.”

His voice is quiet, tone unreadable. I want to ask him if he wants to talk about things but… I’m tired of it. I just wanted a good night for once. Maybe we can just leave it, and by tomorrow we’ll have forgotten about it all. The fundraiser wasn’t so bad in the end. Neil introduced me to a lot of people and we talked… I don’t think I said anything stupid or embarrassing…

I turn back to the vanity and drop my necklace into the tray in front of me, working on my earrings next. He crosses the room and stands behind me, placing his hands on my hips. His head dips as his lips nuzzle into my neck.

I smile, dropping my earrings into the tray and reaching for the other side. Neil reaches for the sash on my shirt, pulling it undone gently. I feel my eyebrows lift a little way in surprise, but reach back and comb my fingers through his hair as he pulls my shirt open. I watch his reflection in the mirror. His eyes sink to my breasts as my nipples harden.

“I think everyone in that room could tell you weren’t wearing a bra.” He murmurs. My eyes find his in our reflections in the mirror and I just look at him. “Are you trying to get me in trouble?” he asks, quietly.

I don’t answer, and his hands press against the sides of my hips, following the band of my pants to the middle of my stomach. He pulls it forward and slips his hand into my pants, over my underwear, his fingers stroking my lips over it. I sigh, relaxing into him. He steps forward, pinning me against the dresser, as his hand sinks into my underwear. His finger moves gently, getting me wet until he’s massaging my clit softly, my hips rocking softly into his hand as his erection presses into me from behind. I whimper quietly as he starts to finger-fuck me.

“You like that?” He asks.

“Yeah...”

“Yeah?”

I nod, biting back my moans. He pulls his hand away and turns me around to face him, fingers dipping into me again as his tongue slips into my mouth in a deep kiss. I hold on to the dresser; Neil’s thumb massaging my clit as three fingers work in and out of me quickly.

I’m finding it hard to keep standing, and it looks like he’s pushing me as much as he can.

I pull away from the kiss, but his face remains close to mine.

He draws away before I climax.

“On the bed.” He says. I walk over and he follows, pulling his shirt off and sitting. He tears off my pants roughly and pulls me down onto his lap. He pulls himself out, and I impale myself on him, riding him slowly. As he plays with my breasts, sucking and biting on them with hunger.

He pushes me onto the bed suddenly, pulling out of me, and flipping me around, penetrating me from behind as I hold on to the comforter, his cock plunging into me over and over, each thrust slamming into me roughly, my moans swallowed by the bed.

“You like that?” He growls.

“Yeah!”

“Yeah?”

“Ah!-Yeah!”

“Louder!” he demands.

I call out his name. He’s fucking me hard… like he’s angry, and keeps going, giving me no choice but to take it.

He fucks me and fucks me, his pace building until finally, he starts cumming, shooting pulse after pulse of his creamy seed into me.

Spent, he pulls out of me and I collapse into the bed, turning so I’m lying on my back. I lie there as he watches, catching my breath as his cum seeps out of me.

I hold my hand out, reaching for him so we can cuddle, but he pulls away. The air chills.

“Neil?”

“I don’t want to lie there with you.” He says. 

And something about the way he’s looking at me, takes me back to a time where he left me lying on the floor, feeling dirty and unwanted.

I take a breath, trying to push the thought away; but the words remain, stinging with the sharpness of a quick deft slap.

“I didn’t do anything…” I start. “I didn’t flirt with anyone-” I stop. He can’t really think this of me, can he? I call his name again as if he will turn around and we will laugh at this ridiculous joke he’s pulled off.

But he doesn’t. 

I sigh testily. We're always playing these mind games. I'm tired of it.

“Why are you treating me like I’m the one who did something wrong? I went to that stupid fundraiser for YOU. You said your colleagues wanted to meet me and then you left me alone, Neil.” 

“So, you decided to flirt with the cater waiter?”

“If you hadn’t left me fucking standing alone in the middle of a room full of strangers, maybe I wouldn’t have been stuck in a corner getting hit on. I tried to walk away from him and he followed me around. Is that my fault too?”

“You were fucking dressed the part.” He says, quietly. 

The words hang there, over our heads, for the longest time.

I wish sometimes that we fought the way we used to, with raised voices and slamming doors. Maybe releasing your anger in such physical ways means what you say cuts less. 

Now, because of the girls, we fight in hushed whispers, with hissed words seeped with hurt. They are angry and ugly and mean, and they hurt more than anything.

He stands, turning towards the bathroom.

“I’m going to take a shower.” he says, coldly.

I watch him go. 

I watch him go even when I want to ask him why he is treating me like this; how we got here, why we can’t go back. But I don’t.

I rise from the bed, pulling on a large, threadbare T-shirt I like to sleep in. And then I stand there looking at our bed and our clothes, strewn around the room. I can hear the shower running, and I just want to sleep, but I can’t bring myself to get back into that huge bed, where I will have to curl up on my side and he on his and we will just get up in the morning like nothing is wrong.

I wrap my arms around myself. I don’t want to sleep; I want to cry. Everything is falling apart, and I don’t know how we got here. I don’t want us to be here. I want us to be where we were three years ago when I was pregnant with Emma and Neil would reach for me in the middle of the night, and we’d talk about how things would be when Nyla’s little sister came.

But we’re here.

I walk out of the room, into the hall. There are times I can’t sleep, when I sneak into Nyla’s room and crawl into bed beside her; letting her sweet powdery scent and soft, even breathing lull me to sleep. I pause for a moment on the landing, unsure of where to go.

Finally, I descend the stairs, finding the guest bedroom. I have to make the bed, so I do, robotically, with hospital corners on the bedsheets. I even arrange the pillows. And then I stand back and stare at the bed and how beautiful it looks, just like my life. And then I pull back the duvet and crawl between the sheets, which are cold.