Across the Multiverse

Chapter 8 | Boston, MA

A red-faced waiter escorts my husband to our table a couple minutes later. Gabe's face, in contrast, is ghostly white in color.

"Honey, are you ok?" I'm nervous he has overworked himself this week. Come to think of it, he's barely been home.

"I'm not sure," he mumbles, more to himself than to me, as he sinks down into the chair across from me.

I'm about to begin psychoanalyzing my husband, when a female voice rings out above the crowd. Gabe and I both whip our heads in her direction in unison.

"Gabe?" Asks the woman hesitantly. I proudly recognize her from the company Christmas party as being Bridget from HR. I'm not usually good with faces, but hers is exceptionally pretty. She has these strawberry blonde ringlets that frame her face so perfectly. I wish I could pull off a haircut like hers.

"Cute dress, Bridget," I remark, showing off that I remember her name. I take in her little black number.

Bridget says nothing. I raise a concerned eyebrow in Gabe's direction, trying to signal to him that perhaps this woman needs help.

Is she having an absence seizure? God, I knew I should have taken notes at that last PD day.

I'm about to jump into gear (or as good of gear as possible) when Bridget thankfully begins talking.

She c***s her head to the side and looks at me through these wide doe eyes, "You're telling her tonight?"

"Telling me what?" Has Gabe's eighty-hour work week finally paid off in that promotion he's been vying for? If so, this is simply all the more reason for celebration. I can make an exception and add some bubbly into the mix.

"I don't think this is the right place to tell her," Gabe just barely manages to get out. I notice that my husband is playing with the stem of his wine glass. This is odd for him. He's usually really good about not fidgeting. He doesn't want it giving him away at trial.

I, for one, am merely confused, as I could think of no better place for something like this.

Bridget doesn't say anything other than, "Should I go?"

She doesn't wait for a response. She's already turning away as Gabe jumps out of his seat and shouts, "No, don't go. This must be a sign that I can't keep living like this."

If Gabe had any hair I swear he would be tearing it out of his head right now.

Instead, Gabe throws his napkin down in a fit of frustration.

When Gabe's eyes meet mine for the first time this evening, my stomach instinctively knots up. And yet, my brain is still a merciful few seconds behind at this point.

Brain and body collide when Gabe announces, "Alice, I can't do this anymore."

"What?" I choke on my wine, and for the first time in my life, merlot lets me down.

"I've been feeling this way for a while now, and I sort of thought that you were feeling it too."

"I'm so lost right now."

"Going away with your friends on the weekends. Spending extra time at work. Come on, Alice, don't make me the bad guy. I know it's not just me."

"No, Gabe, it's literally just you." My extremities go numb as breathing gets hard to do.

My brain finally starts taking in the scene around me. Bridget's little black dress. The look of pity on that pretty little face of hers when she came over to our table. The little red exclamation points next to all my texts to Gabe as I look down at my phone.

Curse my school's horrible WIFI.

"So, uh, you, uh, and Bridget?"

"I'm so sorry Alice, I didn't mean for you to find out this way. I really didn't. We were going to sit you down somewhere private and tell you. Give you a chance to process everything without an audience."

THEY WERE PLANNING THIS?! FOR HOW LONG?!

The world is spinning around me, and unfortunately, it's not from the wine.

I think I'm going to throw up.

Oh how I hate the feeling of nausea.

I start mumbling something, though even I couldn't tell you what the words mean.

Not knowing what else to do, I retreat. I bow my head to my husband and his mistress, and I head out of the restaurant so that they might enjoy a villainous meal together.

I think about heading to Tori's house to cool down, but I don't want to interrupt her family time.

I don't remember the trip home, but I do somehow make it there in one piece.

The first thing I do is put Lemon into his cat carrier. When I think back to this moment later on, I'll be proud that my first instinct was to grab the cat and all his accessories.

I pack more for Lemon than I do for myself.

I look under the bed for my suitcase. I'll need more than just the duffel bag I had packed for the weekend as I escape my life. The first one my hand hits in not my own. Nor is it Gabe's.

It is the rose gold of a seductress.

But I mean hey, it's already fully packed.

Why not minorly inconvenience Bridget for the weekend?

The robin's egg blue suitcase of a betrayed wife is actually perched on the top shelf of my closet, just out of view.

I have to drag a chair over to pull it down.

I bet Bridget could reach it on just her tippy toes.

I throw as many pieces of clothing as will fit into my suitcase. I then sit on it with my bigger-than-Bridget frame until the zipper budges.

I fill a plastic bucket full with shoes, and I stuff a bunch of tests in need of grading into my backpack.

And with all of these items that I seem to have deemed my most prized possessions, I depart.

I do allow myself a good cry and the home that I built melts away in the rearview mirror.

Never again will I be able to afford something so nice on my teacher's salary.