“During that time Benicio and I move apart and barely speak. He chews his nails at the window and gazes back and forth between the outside and his shoes. I flop across the blanket and stare at the ceiling, my hands linked across my middle as if I’m dead. The truth doesn’t necessarily equal relief. Fourteen years ago I couldn’t bear to lie anymore to Jonathon. I had set my wineglass down on the dinner table and confessed that I was having an affair. Jonathon lowered his fork next to his plate. He... squeezed his linen napkin in his fist. I braced to be hit with the piece of cloth, not that it would have landed a heavy blow, but still, I blinked in anticipation. It seemed a whole minute passed with nothing but the gloppy sound of Oliver creaming his peas in his highchair, while Jonathon’s shaky hands let go the napkin, brushed crumbs from the table, and lined the silverware next to his plate. Seth Reilly had been the neighborhood bookseller. His smile coy, ironic, lopsided as if everything he said was a double entendre.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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