“I can tell,” she said. “It’s quite a shock to see you looking so . . . upset.”
I apologized again. “It wasn’t fair of me to—”
“Do you know,” she began, cutting me off, “when you moved out, you never once seemed anything but completely sorted? The last thing you said to me when you left was ‘Cheers.’ I’d handed you the folder with your passport and vital documents and you’d smiled kindly and said, ‘Cheers.’ Isn’t that amazing?”
I bent, putting my head in my hand. “It wasn’t sadness I felt at leaving our marriage, Portia, but I did feel something. I simply don’t know what to call it, or how to express it. Failure, maybe. Or regret.” I looked up at her, admitting, “Also relief.”
“Oh,” she said on an exhale. “I felt that, too. And then guilt, over being so relieved. And I’ve gone back and forth in the months since. How could I spend so much of my life with someone I was so relieved to leave when he did? How could I have made it better?”
I smiled sadly, nodding in agreement.
“Well,” she said, folding her napkin and putting it on the table. “I for one wish—”
“Portia, I’m in love.” The words came out so suddenly and raw, I instantly wanted to pull them back in. I bent my head, wincing.
It was several long seconds before she spoke. “Darling?” Without looking up, I could hear her swallowing, hear her finding breath. “Tell me she hasn’t hurt you.”
“Quite the contrary. I believe I’ve hurt her.”
“Oh, Niall.”
I leaned my head back, staring at the ceiling. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean for that to come out so baldly.”
“It loosens something in me to know you’ve moved on, even if it’s emotional to hear it.” She paused to take a deep breath. “I can hear it in your voice, see it in your eyes. This tightness and urgency. I could never have drawn this sort of reaction out of you. I was terrible to you at times, I know that. But you weathered it all with such calm stoicism. Do you imagine how that feels to know, truly, that it would be impossible to evoke a passionate response from you?”
I looked back to this woman I’d mistreated, been mistreated by. “I’m sorry, Portia.”
She gave a wan little smile. “Don’t be. It wasn’t your fault.”
“Are you good, though?” I asked quietly.
“In general I am,” she said. “It’s been up and down. For the first few months after the divorce I was a bit on the wild side. Spending money frivolously, seeing men left and right.”
Nothing. I felt nothing when she said this.
“Recently I was seeing someone more seriously.” She toyed with the small charm on her napkin ring. “I suppose that’s what had me panicking these past few days. It’s hard to be with someone different, the fear of repeating past mistakes. We were together so long, Niall, that it felt wrong in a way to go off with someone else, like I was betraying you.”
I looked up at her. I’d personally never felt the sense of betrayal, but I understood what she’d said about it being hard to be with someone new. To be afraid. To figure out their rhythms and needs. To worry constantly about failure.
“He’s someone I knew from before.” She hesitated. “From work.”
Something clicked in my thoughts. “Stephen?” I guessed.
Portia sounded guilty when she admitted, “That’s him. Stephen.”
I caught the way he would watch her. It struck me only then how apathetic I’d been at the work functions, business dinners, and in the office when I’d stop by to drop off lunch or something she’d forgotten at home. Stephen couldn’t help but glance at Portia every few seconds, at least when I was near.
If someone regarded Ruby the way Stephen had looked at Portia, I would turn homicidal.
My thoughts tripped, blood running hot: Tony looked at her that way.
“Nothing happened before,” she said. “I promise, Niall.”
“I believe you. And I’m not surprised, Porsh. I saw the way he looked at you.”
She laughed. “Yes. Like that one girl at your office, when I dropped off the papers to sign. She had hearts in her eyes, watching you.”
I felt something inside me squeeze tightly. Christ. Even Portia had seen it.
“Ruby?” I asked, and saying her name sent a heated spike through my chest.
“She’s tall, beautiful. American?”
I needed a drink. Nodding, I lifted my wineglass to my lips and said, “That’s her.”
Portia’s eyes widened in comprehension. “She’s the one you’ve been with?” She paused. “The one you love?”
Again, I nodded, not even a hint of doubt lingering.
“She’s wanted you for ages and you were finally together?” Portia sounded like a schoolgirl. And it was a testament to our distance that she’d invited me here to discuss taking her back and had so easily let the idea fall away. “Niall, it’s so romantic.”
“Like you and Stephen?”
“Well, I’m not sure if we’re a thing anymore, but it is what it is.” She leaned forward, tilting her head as she asked, “Tell me what happened?”
And like this, with my head in my hands and pulse thudding anxiously in my throat, I confessed the entire affair to Portia.
I told her about New York, Tony’s not being able to come and Ruby coming in his place. I told her about Ruby’s feelings for months before I was aware, her beauty, her humor, and how she put me at ease so immediately. I told her about my fears, my longing, my hesitation. And, although I likely didn’t need to, I told her how I knew she needed more from me—more communication, more intimacy—and I sincerely tried to do it right.
“And then I came here for dinner,” I admitted. “I couldn’t tell her it was nothing without feeling like I was lying—because I did intend to hear you out, Portia—but I didn’t want her to think that I was coming back to you, either. She looked shattered.” I groaned, remembering her vacant expression, the way she’d absently wandered from the room and out of the building entirely. “I’ve made a terrible mess of this.”
“Niall,” she said, voice soothing. “You know you’ve got to fix it.”
I nodded, feeling sick. I didn’t know if it was that easy. I’d messed up, enormously.
She paused. “I love you, you know?”
Her voice held a rare poignancy. She’d said this only a handful of times during our marriage and here, the words spilled out so much more readily.
Smiling up at her, I said, “Love you, too, Porsh.”
And then, the familiar command returned: “Fix it.”
* * *
I jogged down the steps to the street, already dialing Ruby’s number.
It rang, and rang.
I’d never heard her voice mail recording before, and hearing her voice while my heart was clutched with an uneasy panic only made me feel more urgent.
“Hi, this is Ruby! Leave me a message and I’ll probably just text you back because I’m terrible about calling but if you’re calling this number you probably already know that about me and I’m already forgiven.” Beep.
“Ruby,” I began, “it’s me, Niall. I’ve . . .” I trailed off, pulling at my hair. “I’ve just left Portia’s. Ruby, I don’t know why I went there. I shouldn’t have gone. Please, just call me. I want to see you tonight. This was all absurd. I need to see you.”
But hour after hour, she didn’t call, and she didn’t text.