Таррин Фишер - The Wives

Her face is bare when she opens the door. In the few minutes she’s been home she’s already washed off her makeup. It’s interesting that she’s the type who immediately washes off her day while I fall asleep in mine.

She doesn’t even try to hide her shock; she moves quickly, shoving the door closed. It swings toward me with force, but I am too fast. I wedge my foot in the gap and flinch when it squeezes painfully against my toes.

Regina yanks it open, glaring at me. Without her makeup, she looks like a child. An angry, insolent child who isn’t getting her way.

“What? What do you want?” She holds the door trying to keep me out, red nails sharp against the peeling gray.

“You know what I want,” I say. And then I do something I am even surprised by: I push past her and enter her home without invitation.

She turns her body to face me, her mouth slightly open. I see her eyes search around the room, looking for her phone. Who will she call—Seth or the police? I find it before she does, lunging toward it on the dining table. I pocket it before she can stop me and stare at her solemnly.

“I just want to talk,” I say. “That’s all I’m here for.”

She considers the hallway outside for a moment. I can feel her decision in the air. If she screams for help who will come?

She must decide that her chances are better with me because she closes the door, all rigidness gone from her body. There is a feverish nervousness about her as she walks past me. It’s smell and energy, a woman trapped in a room with someone she’d rather avoid. I’m contemptuous about the fact that she’s not as interested in me as I am in her. Isn’t it the mark of a woman to want to know things about other women? We abuse the information...compare ourselves rather than keeping it all separate. Even as I study her clean face and thick hair, I’m comparing.

“All right, Thursday,” she says. “Let’s talk.”

There are expensive things in this inexpensive apartment. A leather sectional that once fit into a large living room, thick coffee table books stacked on top of a marble table. Everything is too big, which makes the room small and suffocating. I glance out of the window above the wrought iron dinette for escape, and see nothing but more rows of insipid gray buildings. It’s really warm in her apartment, the heat turned all the way up to feel like summer. She’s in total life denial , I think. Regina walks over to a section of the couch farthest from where I am standing, and sits down without inviting me to do the same. She curls up in the corner, a tiny ball of a woman. I take a seat, anyway, perching myself across from her on the edge of the leather so that I almost slide off. I try not to stare, but when you’ve wondered about a person for so long it’s hard not to.

“Well?” she says. “What do you want to know?”

So different from the How can I help you? attitude earlier, surrounded by her ferns and wood and educational plaques. Here, in her living room, her things surround me.

“I want to be told the truth,” I say.

“The truth?” she says, incredulous. “I don’t think you ever wanted the truth, Thursday. You wanted Seth. I know about all of it...”

“What does that even mean? And why did you say that you and Seth were only together for five years?”

“Because we were,” she says, exasperated. And then she adds, “Before you came along.”

“You mean when it was just you two?”

“No! Oh my God, you really are crazy...” She shakes her head in disbelief. “Thursday, you had an affair with Seth. You’re the reason we got divorced.”

The silence that follows is deafening. A searing pain stabs through my head, running from temple to temple.

“That’s not true,” I say. “Why would you say that?”

She stares at me, a blank expression on her face. “Because it’s the truth.”

I shake my head. My mouth is dry. I want something to drink but I’m too proud to ask for water.

“No. He told me that—”

“Stop it,” she says, cutting me off. Her eyes are wild. She closes them, suddenly shutting me out. “Just stop it.”

Normally I’d back down, but not this time. I’ve been sitting in the dark for too long and I need answers.

“When was the last time you saw Seth?” Right away she makes a sour face, her lips puckered.

“I told you that—”

She looks down—at her lap, or her hands, or the pattern on her pajama pants, but not at me. I see her shoulders lift and sink as she sighs.

“I saw Seth last week,” she says. “Here at the apartment.” When she sees the look on my face, she adds, “He owes me money.”

“For what?”

“For losing everything,” she snaps. “Do you think I actually belong in a place like this?”

Regina with the Louboutins? I want to laugh: no, probably not. I have the money to buy red-soled shoes, but I’m not the type. Regina, on the other hand, is used to lavishing luxury on herself. She wears designer and probably always used to drive the newest-model Mercedes rather than the beat-up junker parked in her spot downstairs.

“You’re going to have to catch me up on this, Regina. I have no idea what you’re talking about.” I try to keep my voice patient, but it sounds like I’m talking through my teeth.

“His business. Things started going south a few years ago. Right before he married you,” she says pointedly.

“Seth took a second mortgage on the house we bought together to keep the business floating, but then he still couldn’t pay it. There was too much debt. Our house went into foreclosure. He promised to turn things around, make it right, but as you can see—” she lifts her eyes to the ceiling “—I’m here.”

Why didn’t I know any of this? Why hadn’t he said something? I had enough money to contribute... I shake my head. I can’t believe I’m thinking like this. Even now, sitting across from his other wife , after being institutionalized, I’m thinking about how I could have helped him.

“And did he give you money?” I ask.

I’m trying to imagine it all. Seth never spoke about his financial situation, especially with the others. We have separate accounts, though I’d given him a joint debit card to mine when we were first married. I’d always assumed it was the same for them.

She exhales, her cheeks puffing out. She looks like a child. How does anyone take her seriously?

“Yes, a little bit. Not enough. I have bill collectors knocking down my door. It’s stressful.”

“If you’re not in a relationship, why didn’t he just send you the money? Why did he have to come here?”

Her mouth tightens, a flesh-colored slash on her face. I realize then that she’s a lonely, bitter woman, not the picture of power and grace that I’d imagined. Oh, when our idols fall , I think to myself. I prefer the version of her that I made up in my head, the one that made me feel insecure.

“Our dog died,” she says. “And he wanted to tell me in person that he’d have more for me soon. A business transaction that’s going to pay out in a few weeks.”

So he wasn’t lying about the dog. I wonder if he’s lying about the business transaction. Seth closes on accounts all the time. His clients call him efficient and hardworking. He has one bad review on Yelp, which he stresses about weekly. His payouts on jobs are sufficient but not large enough to pay off big debts—or buy back big houses.

I test out the name of their dog. “Smidge?”

Regina looks at me in horror. “How did you know that?”

“Seth told me,” I say, shrugging. He told me things, too , I think. I just never know what’s true and what’s not.