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By now, I know better than to be surprised he knows where I am.
Me
I meant in general, Daddy. *Winky face*
Daddy
I don’t mind cafés. Do you want us to go together?
I don’t know what to say, or type, so instead of answering, I ask another question that just came to mind.
Me
What am I called in your phone?
Daddy
My wife!
Even though that’s not funny at all, I laugh softly as I put my phone away. It’s rude to text when you’re with other people, and I’m just about to apologize to Carly when I see she’s texting as well while wearing a matching goofy grin.
We barely have our phones put down before a server appears at our table. Carly orders a glass of white wine and the burrata without looking at the menu. I stare at mine for too long before landing on lemonade and pasta with chicken and mushrooms.
Our drinks arrive in record time, and the woman assures us our food won’t be long.
Carly sips her wine and leans back in her chair. “The green blouse is going to look stupidly good on you. But the plum dress needs heels. Did you buy any?”
“Only kitten heels,” I reply. I still have trauma from wearing those high heels on my wedding day.
“We’ll get some next time.” She grins, setting her glass down. She studies me for a beat. “You look happier than the last time I saw you.”
I laugh loudly at that since the last time she saw me was when I was crying in the bathroom at the wedding reception. “I feel…” I trail off, searching for the word. “Less like I’m drowning.”
“Good.” She picks up her fork when the burrata arrives—creamy white cheese split open on a plate with tomatoes and basil. “Underwater is no way to live.”
I do the same when my plate of pasta is set in front of me. We eat for a while without talking much. The pasta is so good I half consider looking up a recipe online and asking our chef to make some.
Carly sets her fork down with a soft click against the plate. “Can I say something?”
I nod. My mouth is full, which is probably for the best.
“Every time you’ve mentioned Domenico today,” she says, her tone conversational, like she’s noting the weather, “you’ve described what he says, what he expects, or what you think he prefers.” She tilts her head. “You haven’t once said what you want from him.”
My fork pauses mid-air. A piece of pasta slides off and lands back on the plate with a quiet splat. Well, I can’t argue that. She’s completely right.
Carly doesn’t press. She takes another sip of wine and lets the observation sit between us like something alive. The couple at the next table has moved on to dessert.
“Gio and I didn’t start the way people think we did,” Carly says after a couple of minutes. “Our marriage was forced, just like yours. His family needed mine, and mine needed his. You know how it goes.”
I nod. I know exactly how it goes.
“The first year was shit,” she continues. “Gio cheated… well, I’m not sure I’d call it that. He was with other women, but we weren’t together, if you know what I mean. I didn’t want him, and I made that abundantly clear.” She smiles, but there’s something behind it that isn’t entirely happy. “He got his dick wet elsewhere, and I found rage. We circled each other like wounded animals for about eight months.”
The waiter refills our water glasses. Carly waits until he’s gone before she continues.
“It didn’t magically become what it is now. We built it. Brick by fucking brick. And now?” She laughs softly. “I love that man more than life. I would chew through concrete for him. But it took time, and it took me deciding that while men like ours might be in charge everywhere else, that doesn’t mean they always get to be at home.”
“Do you mean sex?” I whisper, not sure I’m understanding her correctly.
