Page 9 of Buttons

“Fine,” we answer in unison, the response of a long-married couple. Another lie to add to the pile.

I follow Julian up the stairs to our bedroom. He loosens his tie. I’ve watched this ritual thousands of times, but tonight it hits differently.

Julian sits heavily on the edge of our bed. Meanwhile, I remain standing, arms crossed over my chest.

“So,” I begin, my voice strangely steady, having had time to settle my nerves on the drive home. “Were you ever going to tell me?”

It’s a rhetorical question. After eight years, he had plenty of time.

“Trey was drunk, Ellie. He exaggerates.”

“Wasthere a spreadsheet?”

His hesitation is answer enough. I tuck a strand of hair behind my ear, needing something to do with my hands that doesn’t involve screaming or breaking things.

“It wasn’t like that,” he says finally. “It was years ago. I was trying to make a rational decision.”

“About which woman to pick?” My voice rises slightly. “Like choosing between job candidates? Or ties?”

Julian removes his cufflinks and places them on the nightstand. Even in a crisis, he’s orderly. “That sounds cold when you put it that way.”

“Is there a warm way to put it? You made a pro-con list about my face. Mybody.”

He looks up, exasperation flickering across his features. “I chose you in the end, didn’t I?”

As a second choice. He had to convince himself to want me because it was too inconvenient to dismiss me.

“Because you texted the wrong person,” I say. “Our entire marriage, ourchildren,exist because you made a logistics error you were too cowardly to correct.”

Julian stands. “You’re blowing this out of proportion. Yes, the coffee date was a mistake initially, but I saw something in you.”

“Organizational skills,” I snap. “Efficiency. A decent incubator for your children, despite mydefectivenose.”

He winces. “I never said defective.”

“No, you saidpiggyandweird. You said our kids would need plastic surgery. Our children have my nose, Julian. Do you look at Leo and still think he needs fixing? Do you see Meredith’s profile and wince?”

“Of course not!” He steps toward me. “I love our children exactly as they are.”

“But not me.”

Julian runs both hands through his hair, disheveling his perfect appearance. “Ellie, this is ridiculous. I’ve been a good husband. I’ve provided everything.”

“Everything except honesty.” I stop pacing and turn to face him fully. “Do you still talk to her?”

His eyes shift away. Another answer.

“Carmella is a business contact,” he says carefully. “We move in the same professional circles.” Because I work closely with him, I’m aware of this, but it’s not a good excuse.

Acid burns up my throat. “And the fifteen-point winner in your little competition.”

“It wasn’t like that.” His voice hardens. “Look, Trey shouldn’t have said anything, but you’re making this into something it wasn’t. I made a choice, Ellie. I choseyou.”

“When exactly did you choose me, Julian?” I ask, my voice dropping to nearly a whisper. “When you accidentally texted me? When I showed up, and you were too polite to send me away? When I became your secretary and made your life easier? When, exactly, in this story did you actively choose me over her?”

He doesn’t answer. Instead, he closes the short distance between us and reaches for my waist. It’s that familiar gesture from the bar, from a thousand disagreements settled with sex rather than resolution.

“Come on, babe,” he says, his voice dropping to that intimate register that usually makes me melt. “Let’s not fight about ancient history.”