His Wife After Midnight

At 12:03 a.m., I was waiting for a man whose face I had never seen. That should have embarrassed me. It didn’t. Maybe because North wasn’t really a man to me. Not yet. He was a voice. A deep, calm, irritatingly confident voice that slipped into my headphones three or four nights a week and somehow made forty minutes disappear like five. I adjusted the microphone. The red LIVE sign glowed above the studio door. “Welcome back to After Midnight.” My voice sounded different when I became Luna. The station software softened it just enough to protect my identity, but that wasn’t the only difference. Luna said things Serena Hart never would. Luna flirted. Luna admitted when she was lonely. Luna asked strangers questions she sometimes refused to ask herself. “This is where we talk about the things people hide in daylight,” I continued. “Love. Regret. Desire. Bad decisions.” Behind the glass, my producer Jason lifted his coffee. “Mostly bad decisions,” I added. He laughed. The phone lines lit up. Line One. Line Two. Line Three. But not Line Four. I pretended not to notice. North always called on Line Four. I hated that I knew that. I took the first caller, a woman who had discovered her boyfriend was still texting his ex. Then a man who had been married seventeen years and still felt lonely. Then another woman debating whether kissing her coworker counted as cheating if she technically hated her boyfriend. Twenty minutes passed. Still no North. I told myself I didn’t care. Then Line Four flashed. My pulse jumped. Traitor. I connected him. “You’re live with Luna.” Silence. Then his voice filled my headphones. “Did you miss me?” I smiled before I could stop myself. “Absolutely not.” “You hesitated.” “I was trying to remember who you were.” “Cruel.” “You’ll survive.” A low laugh came through the line. There it was. That sound. It did something annoyingly pleasant to my stomach. North had started calling four months earlier. His first question had been simple. Can you be surrounded by people and still feel like nobody knows you? I hadn’t forgotten it. Apparently, neither had he. Since then, we’d talked about nearly everything without telling each other much. I knew he ran a company. He knew I worked in hospitality during the day. I knew he couldn’t sleep. He knew I drank terrible vending-machine coffee during my broadcasts. I knew he had a scar on his left hand. He knew I hated roses. He didn’t know my real name. I didn’t know his. That was the rule. North and Luna existed only after midnight. “You were late,” I said. “Meeting.” “You need better excuses.” “You were waiting.” “You need less confidence.” “I like my confidence.” “Of course you do.” “Do you?” I paused. He did this sometimes. Turned an ordinary joke into something that suddenly felt personal. “I tolerate it.” “That’s almost affection.” “Don’t get excited.” “Too late.” I glanced through the glass. Jason was grinning at me. I gave him a look. North laughed. “What?” “Nothing.” “Someone’s there.” “My producer.” “Male?” I raised an eyebrow. “Are you jealous?” “No.” “That was quick.” “I’m secure.” “That’s what jealous people say.” He laughed again. I leaned back. “So what happened in your mysterious meeting?” “Business.” “That sounds boring.” “It was.” “Then why call me?” His answer came softer. “Because talking to you isn’t.” My fingers stilled around my pen. Jason looked up from his computer. I hoped he couldn’t see my face. “Careful, North.” “About?” “You’re flirting with your anonymous radio host.” “I thought we established that months ago.” “We established nothing.” “I flirt.” “You annoy me.” “Both can be true.” I smiled. Somehow, without seeing me, he always knew. “What’s tonight’s question?” he asked. I looked at my notes. “Would you like the official question or the one I actually want to ask?” “The dangerous one.” “Obviously.” I tapped the pen against the desk. “Would you marry someone you didn’t love?” Silence. Interesting. “North?” “I’m thinking.” “That’s new.” “Very funny.” “Well?” He exhaled. “Depends.” “On?” “The reason.” “Money?” “No.” “Family?” “No.” “Pregnancy?” He coughed. I laughed. “Definitely no.” “Then what?” Another pause. “Suppose the marriage helped both people protect something they built.” I frowned. That was oddly specific. “Business?” “Maybe.” “You know normal people sign contracts.” “Marriage is a contract.” “Very romantic.” “I never claimed to be romantic.” “I can tell.” “That sounded insulting.” “It was.” He laughed. I glanced at the clock. 12:38. “Okay. Let’s make it harder.” “I’m listening.” “You marry this woman for business.” “All right.” “You live together.” “Apparently.” “You pretend to be in love.” “Sounds exhausting.” “You attend events together. Hold hands for cameras.” “Scandalous.” “Maybe kiss her.” North went quiet. My smile grew. “Oh.” “Oh what?” “That finally got your attention.” “It was a question.” “You were imagining it.” “I wasn’t.” “Liar.” His voice dropped. “Careful.” Something in that one word warmed the air around me. I swallowed. “Why?” “You don’t know what I look like.” “Exactly.” “You could be flirting with a seventy-year-old man.” “Are you seventy?” “No.” “Sixty?” “No.” “Fifty-eight?” “Luna.” I laughed. His irritation was one of my favorite things. That realization concerned me. “Fine. Answer the question.” “What question?” “Could you kiss someone you didn’t love and make people believe you did?” He was silent for so long I thought maybe I’d pushed too far. Then he said: “Yes.” Something about his certainty bothered me. “You sound experienced.” “I’m experienced at pretending.” My smile faded. “That’s sad.” “No. It’s useful.” “Those aren’t mutually exclusive.” Another silence. I had learned his silences usually meant more than his answers. “Your turn,” he said. “My turn what?” “Would you marry someone you didn’t love?” “No.” “That quickly?” “Yes.” “Why?” “Because I already spend enough of my life pretending.” The answer came out more honestly than I intended. North’s voice softened. “Luna.” “I’m fine.” “I didn’t ask.” I looked down. He knew that phrase annoyed me. “I wouldn’t want to go home every night and pretend there too,” I admitted. “What if you didn’t have to?” “What do you mean?” “What if you both knew exactly what it was?” “A deal?” “Yes.” “No expectations?” “Yes.” “No pretending when you’re alone?” “Exactly.” I considered it. “Still dangerous.” “Why?” “Because people are stupid.” He laughed. “I’m serious.” “So am I. Explain.” “You start with rules.” “Separate rooms.” “Exactly.” “Independent lives.” “Yes.” “No jealousy.” “Definitely.” “No feelings.” “Obviously.” I smiled. “And then one night somebody walks into the kitchen half-dressed.” North choked. I burst out laughing. “What?” “Nothing.” “That affected you.” “It did not.” “Liar.” “Continue your highly scientific analysis.” “Fine. Maybe one person gets jealous.” “Against the rules.” “Feelings don’t read contracts.” This time he didn’t answer. I continued. “Maybe they start enjoying the pretending.” “Maybe.” “Maybe the fake kiss stops feeling fake.” His breathing changed. Barely. But I heard it. My own pulse responded. “Then what?” he asked. I swallowed. “Then they’re in trouble.” North’s voice became quieter. “Maybe trouble isn’t always bad.” I suddenly remembered thousands of people were listening. “You’re flirting again.” “Still.” Jason flashed the FIVE MINUTES sign. I sighed. “We’re almost out of time.” “Already?” “Some of us have jobs.” “I have a job.” “You call anonymous women in the middle of the night.” “That is not my job.” “Good. Your performance review would be concerning.” He laughed. Then his voice shifted. “Luna.” “Yes?” “Can I ask you something?” “Depends.” “If you had the chance to save the thing you loved most…” I waited. “…but you had to marry a man you couldn’t stand to do it…” I frowned. “Why does this hypothetical man keep getting worse?” “Answer.” I smiled. “I’d probably marry him.” North sounded genuinely surprised. “Really?” “For one reason.” “What?” “I’d make his life miserable.” His laugh was louder this time. “Remind me never to marry you.” “You couldn’t handle me.” A pause. Then: “You might be surprised.” My heartbeat stumbled. Jason pointed at the clock. I cleared my throat. “Good night, North.” “Good night, Luna.” “Same time tomorrow?” Another pause. “Maybe.” “Maybe?” “I have something important happening tomorrow.” “Business?” “Very.” “Good luck.” “I might need it.” I smiled. “Why?” His answer came just before I disconnected the line. “Because tomorrow I’m going to ask a woman to marry me.” The line went dead. I stared at the blinking light. For the first time in four months, I wished I knew North’s real name. And I hated myself a little for caring who he planned to marry.