Chapter 2

2: 2

I fell asleep before Jerome ever came home.

Half-conscious, I kept hearing him call me softly, "Monny."

He hadn't called me that in a long time.

Because Claudia's nickname was "Claudie."

Jerome said the two sounded too easy to mix up.

So he kept "Claudie" for her and started using my full name for me.

I didn't want to answer him, but he wouldn't stop calling.

He gave me a headache with it.

I dragged myself up and went out to the living room.

Before I could say a word, I saw Jerome feeding water to a drunk Claudia.

She wouldn't drink, so he coaxed her, over and over.

"Claudie, just one sip, okay?"

"Claudie, finish it, then sleep."

So it wasn't me he'd been calling. It was Claudia.

I was standing in our own wedding home, and I felt like a stranger who'd wandered into someone else's bedroom.

When he saw me, his eyes went wide for a second.

Not guilt. Not awkwardness.

Delight.

"Beth, you're awake?"

"Perfect timing. Go make Claudie some hangover soup."

I didn't move.

I'd learned to make that hangover soup the year I first joined the company, for Jerome.

Back then he was always out chasing accounts, drinking himself blackout drunk.

I worried about his health, so I found someone to connect me with a doctor who taught me the recipe.

The ingredients were expensive, and it had to simmer for a very long time.

The first time I made it for him, I sat up with the pot all night.

When he saw my hands, red and scalded, his eyes rimmed with tears.

"From now on I'll drink less. I'll never let you set foot in a kitchen again."

He kept that promise.

Over the years, as he climbed higher, he drank less and less.

And today, without a second thought, he was sending me into the kitchen for another woman.

At least he didn't push it.

He just carefully wiped the sweat from Claudia's forehead with a towel.

I remembered a time my own towel was damp, and I borrowed his for a moment.

He said, "Sharing towels like that is really unhygienic."

He even moved his towel hook away from mine.

After that I never touched it again.

My eyes stung a little, but my heart didn't hurt anymore.

Halfway through wiping her down, Claudia woke.

The first thing she did was grab Jerome's hand and blow on it.

"I'm sorry. It's my fault you got into it with the client."

Only then did I notice the knuckles on his hand were hurt.

It looked like he'd thrown a punch at someone.

He patted Claudia's hand, and in his eyes was a doting look I hadn't seen in a long time.

"It's fine. He wouldn't let go of you."

I suddenly remembered the time I was being followed, how he ran four red lights to pull me out of a molester's hands, and even then it ended with nothing more than a police report.

So it turned out he could lose control and raise his fists for a person too.

Claudia's eyes reddened at once.

"But the company lost a client because of me."

"Mr. Henson, I'll resign tomorrow and take responsibility."

Jerome didn't call her emotional. He didn't call her unprofessional.

He soothed her, gently.

"It's not all on you. The other side was being unreasonable."

"I'll send someone else to handle the account tomorrow. You just rest in my office for a few days. Don't dwell on it."

I laughed out loud where I stood.

So he did know how to comfort someone.

He just couldn't be bothered to comfort me.

My laugh finally snapped them out of it, reminded them there was still an actual girlfriend standing in the house.

Jerome's face was full of confusion at my out-of-nowhere laughter.

I let the humor drop from my face.

"You really do have two sets of standards, Mr. Henson."

"When I lose a client, it's unforgivable. When your Claudie loses one, it's understandable."

His expression darkened.

"How old is she? How old are you?"

"She's been here a few days. How long have you been here?"

"Are they even the same thing?"

They weren't the same, that much was true.

After all, when I first came to the company, he said,

"You may be my girlfriend, but in the workplace, ability does the talking."

"I don't want anyone saying I give you special treatment just because you're my girlfriend."

So I worked myself into the ground.

The clients no one could crack, I cracked.

The jobs no one wanted, I took.

I only wanted to prove I hadn't earned my place because of him.

And to live up to the fact that from my very first day, he'd generously announced to everyone that I was his girlfriend.

But there were never any privileges, only extra scrutiny.

Others were allowed to make mistakes. I wasn't.

Someone else's mistake took a minute to address. Mine took half an hour of criticism.

At first, once we got home, he'd still coax me.

"I'm only hard on you so no one talks behind your back."

Later he'd just say, "Can you please stop being so emotional all the time?"

Once, I loved his rationality most, how steady he was.

Now it's the thing I hate most about him.

Like a wall. The kind you can't breathe against.

Thank God I've finally decided to stop slamming into that wall, to turn around and go home.