Page 47 of Buttons

“I apologize,” I say finally. “That was unprofessional of me.”

“It’s okay, Mr. Plaza.” She sets down the folder and takes a step back. “I understand this is an adjustment.”

She doesn’t. How could anyone?

“That will be all for now,” I tell Virginia, retreating behind my desk. “Take some time to familiarize yourself with the office layout and systems. We’ll continue this tomorrow.”

“Yes, Mr. Plaza. Thank you for the opportunity.” She backs toward the door.

I watch Virginia at her desk, her shoulders hunched in a way Elowen’s never were. For years, I believed Elowen was simply an extension of my own mind; a woman who lived to streamline my existence because she shared my obsession with order. But now I’m sitting in the memory of her small, chaotic apartment.

The realization is a slow, cold burn. I love the woman I thought she was, but I have to face the fact that I am in love with a stranger. She knew my coffee order, my filing system, but I didn’t even know she had a “calming presence” for traumatized creatures. I spent a decade trying to optimize her, to iron outthe natural curls of her personality, just like she ironed her hair, never realizing that the “safe option” I thought I’d settled for was actually a woman far more complex and vibrant than the spreadsheet I used to measure her.

I don’t just want my wife back…I want the chance to finally meet her.

Hours later, I’m still at work. Everyone else left hours ago, but I’m still here, standing against the wall. My hands turn blue-white as I grip my phone. I’ve avoided this conversation for weeks. After dialing, and before I can talk myself out of it, Trey answers, his voice way too cheerful for the circumstances. “Jules! Long time no see.”

“Do you have any idea what you’ve done?” The words explode from me.

A beat of silence. Then, “You’re gonna have to be more specific, man.”

More specific.He can’t be serious.

“That night at the bar with Elowen.” My free hand clenches into a fist. “You told her about the list.”

Another pause, longer this time. “Oh, shit, we’re talking about that.”

“Yes. ‘Oh shit,’ indeed.”

Trey’s breath hisses through the phone. “I thought she knew, man. How could she not know?”

The question slams into me. I stumble slightly, my shoulder connecting with the wall. How could she not know? Because I never told her. Because I buried that list and the calculations so deeply, I almost convinced myself it never existed. Even if it did, it was water under the bridge. We’d been married for eight years.

“You had no right,” I finally manage.

“Look, I’m sorry if I caused problems, but maybe the real issue is why your wife didn’t know about something that fundamental to your relationship. I was drunk, and I’m not the keeper of your marriage.” Trey’s voice hardens slightly. “And while we’re asking uncomfortable questions, why the hell have you stayed in touch with Carmella all these years? Honestly, I was surprised to see her there.”

“That’s not—” I begin, then stop. “We’re colleagues. Professional acquaintances.” I don’t mention the gala or how Carmella wants to be with me. I’m sure Trey has seen the tabloids.

Trey snorts.

“I’ve already put Carmella in her place. There are no romantic feelings between us. And I didn’t think Elowen would be self-conscious about it. That was a mistake.”

“A mistake?” Trey’s voice rises. “You kept a relationship with a woman you explicitly compared your wife to, and you think the issue is Elowen being ‘self-conscious’?”

Put that way, it sounds indefensible. And it is.

“You’re right. I’ve been an idiot.”

“No argument there.” Trey sighs, his anger deflating slightly. “Look, Jules, I’ve known you since we were twenty-two and too dumb to realize our privilege. You’ve always had this thing about optimizing everything, including relationships. But people aren’t spreadsheets, man.”

I slide down the wall, suddenly exhausted. “I know that. Intellectually, I know that.”

“Then why did you let Carmella hang around all these years? Why did you bring her to that charity thing after Elowen left? Hurtful to read about that in the papers, rather than hear it from you, by the way.”

The questions force me to confront motivations I’ve avoided examining.

“I don’t know,” I admit. “I didn’t think about it that deeply.”