Chapter 3

3: 3

3.

For two seconds the room went quiet.

Joyce looked like she'd just heard the funniest joke in the world.

"Divorce?"

She took in my pale face and the milk stains on my shirt, and the corner of her mouth curled with contempt.

"With what? No job, no income. You had to borrow four hundred bucks off a friend."

"Leave me, and you and the kid sleep on the street?"

So she knew. She'd known all along how far down I'd gone.

I looked at our son's small, colorless face, and something in my chest sank, inch by inch.

"Yes."

"This life of living off someone else, holding out my hand for money, it's worse than sleeping on the street!"

Joyce let out a cold laugh.

"Peter, stop playing hard to get."

"A man like you, a kept man, wouldn't even get custody after a divorce!"

Duane set down his glass.

"Joyce, don't put it so harshly."

He sounded like he was talking her down, but there was an open superiority in his voice.

"Peter, you've got it wrong. Joyce and I are just work partners."

"She heard I was sick and stopped by on her way. That's all."

As he spoke, Duane lifted his wrist, showing off the expensive watch there.

"She insisted on giving me this watch too."

"I said it was too much, but she said I landed the account for her company, so a little gift was nothing."

Then he pointed at the limited-edition bag on the couch.

"That's the same. I turned it down plenty of times, honestly."

Joyce gave a light laugh.

"A few thousand dollars, it's not like it's worth anything. No need to explain yourself to him."

A few thousand dollars.

A few hours ago, she'd been humiliating me over a few dozen.

Now, to keep Duane happy, a few thousand dollars wasn't even worth mentioning.

I looked at the gauze wrapped around my palm and couldn't stop myself from asking.

"Joyce, is this what you meant by the company being short on cash?"

"Do you actually have no money, or do you just not want to spend any on me?"

Joyce frowned, her whole face impatient.

"Duane creates value for the company. Can you?"

"What have you ever done besides circle around the kid all day?"

"The house reeks of formula, and you don't even bother to shave."

Her eyes moved over me, full of disgust.

"You hold the baby until your wrist shakes, can't even twist off a bottle cap."

"I'm embarrassed to take you out, and you've still got the nerve to compare yourself to Duane?"

The first time my wrist gave out was the day our son turned a month old.

After several nights straight without sleep, I was carrying tea when the cup slipped out of my hand.

A room full of guests watched me crouch down to pick up the pieces.

Joyce blocked me from their view that day.

That night she taped a medicated patch over the injury, promising me again and again.

"This is between us, husband and wife. I won't tell a soul."

Now that so-called secret had become a joke she and Duane shared over dinner.

Duane raised his glass, a flicker of a smile at his mouth.

"What are you looking at me for?"

Joyce gave a cold snort.

"Am I wrong?"

"You make a fool of yourself, so don't blame other people for not wanting anything to do with you!"

Joyce's voice drew more than a few stares.

Those sharp looks pulled me back into that miserable afternoon.

I clenched my teeth and pressed down the anger churning in my chest.

"Why do you think I got tendonitis? Because I'm the one caring for our son day and night!"

"When your startup was at its hardest, I ran around after clients with you during the day and watched the baby at night."

"After you went back to work, every single time he ran a fever, I was the one who stayed up till dawn."

"I quit my job, cut off my own income, put you and the kid first."

"And you take the injury I got from raising our son and use it to flatter another man!"

My voice went hoarser and hoarser, and the wound on my palm started seeping blood again.

But Joyce just stood there, cold-faced, and moved to Duane's side.

"Are you done? Duane's still sick. Do you have to raise hell and disturb everyone?"

Our son burning at 102 didn't count as sick.

One word from Duane, though, was enough for her to abandon her own child and keep him company deep into the night.

I looked at this woman in front of me, and all at once I lost every ounce of strength to argue.