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A Million Little Choices

By Tamera Alexander

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Friday, May 24, 2019
Denver, Colorado
Surely I’d misunderstood. Stephen wouldn’t do this to me. To us.
Disbelief washed over me in a numbing rush. After twenty-
two
years of marriage, the last ten with us supposedly living redeemed
lives, had we not made it any further down this road?
I slammed my SUV to an ungainly stop—
inches
from the red
compact cowering beneath my bumper. I waved an apology, and
the ponytailed teenager responded with an all-
too-
familiar
hand
gesture. My patience thinned.
“Claire. Are you still there?”
Deep breaths, the counselor had said.
“Yes, but . . . I think you cut out there for a second.” Truth is,
I wanted him to repeat it. An unfair tactic, admittedly, and one
rusty from disuse. But I was free-
falling.
Stephen sighed. “You know exactly what I said, Claire. Let’s
not play this game. We’re supposed to be past this.”
“All I asked was—”
“Hang on, will you, honey?” Muted voices—
one
of them
Stephen’s, the other unrecognizable.
“Sure,” I said beneath my breath, feeling dismissed like one of
his corporate litigants.
I stared out the windshield of the Lexus, a recent gift from
Stephen in what seemed a blatant attempt to appease his guilt. I
inched forward in the noontime traffic, wondering if he was still
at the Atlanta Hilton. It was so like him to pull out a fighting-
fair
tactic. I hated backsliding into behavior I’d vowed to leave behind,
but at times I still preferred to throw on the gloves and go at it.
The deliciously sharp responses tingling my tongue turned to
acid. I never wished for those youthful days of marriage again—
the
constant power struggles, making sure everything was even, that
everything was fair. I did not want to be that woman again.
My eyes watered. God was slowly, achingly fashioning me into
his likeness, however faint the resemblance so far. He had led me
beyond the selfishness and pride that had nearly eclipsed my love
for Stephen. But there were still moments when the boxing gloves
seemed to beckon for one more round. I briefly closed my eyes,
resisting the urge.
“Okay, honey. I’m back.”
I waited for more, but apparently Stephen expected me to
respond. It was all I could do to breathe past the hurt clawing the
back of my throat.
“Claire, look . . . I’m sorry. I know you’re not happy about
this.” He spoke slowly, each word measured. “But I did verbally
accept the offer from the Atlanta firm about an hour ago—
a
full
partnership. I haven’t signed anything yet. But do you realize what
this means for me? For us?”
I could well imagine the practiced tilt of his head and the
engaging stare of those blue-
gray
eyes that still made me go weak
in the knees. Age looked good on him. And his kind nature and
dry wit only added to the appeal. Not surprisingly, I wasn’t the
only woman who found those qualities attractive. Not hardly.
I’d grown accustomed to the lingering looks Stephen drew. Yet
I’d always trusted him implicitly—
until
he gave me the reason
not to.
“You still there, Claire?”
I blinked to clear the image that still came to mind all too frequently.
“Yes, I’m here.” And I plan to stay right here too. “Stephen,
please, before you sign anything—”
“Listen, my cab will be here any minute. I should be home
around seven. We’ll talk about it then.” He paused. “Okay, babe?”
I turned into the parking lot of Schaffer & Associates Design.
Janine, the youngest interior designer, waved as she folded her
model-
worthy
legs into her little coupe. Then she gave me a look.
One I understood.
I searched the lot. Patrice Yancey’s white Tesla. My jaw tightened.
Patrice was uncustomarily early.
“Yeah, okay,” I finally said, eager to get off the phone.
“I’ve missed you this week, Claire. I wish you’d have come
with me.”
Suddenly I wished I had too, certain I could’ve warded this off.
“This is a huge step for me, honey. For us both. And I think
it’s coming at a perfect time. I really do.”
“But why Atlanta?” I said with more bitterness than I’d
intended. “Of all the choices open to you. You know how I feel
about that city. And the South in general.”
He didn’t respond, and I began to wonder if he’d heard me.
“Because it’s a world away from where we are now,” he finally
answered. “I need this fresh start. We both do.” Was he affecting
a sympathetic tone only to aid his argument? A handy trait for a
lawyer. “You remember what Richard said a few sessions back. It’ll
help us to leave behind some of the . . .”
What he had finally confessed to me Christmas Day came
crashing back in torrents, wounding me all over again, and suddenly
I didn’t care in the least about trying to fight fair. What was
a near affair anyway? You were either faithful or you weren’t. Since
when was fidelity measured on a sliding scale?
And the way I’d found out—
from
an acquaintance I hadn’t
seen in forever, or since, who had seen them together at the gym
where Stephen was a member. All those times he’d told me he was
going to work out. The evenings he claimed a late dinner meeting
at the office. All the lies. He’d told me they’d been physical but
had never had sex. I wanted to believe him. But was that a lie too?
“Claire, you still there?”
“Yes. But Stephen, Richard also said we should make this decision
together. So how do you get off not discussing it with me
first?”
A deep exhale. “I’ve tried, Claire. You never want to listen. You
made it clear you wanted to stay in Colorado. For your friends,
for your own career. But in two weeks, Maggie will be off to that
special summer session, then fall will be here and—”
“But she’ll still need us. You make it sound like we’ll quit being
her parents the day she starts college.” I softened my tone. “And
what about your mother, Stephen? She’s in no condition to be
moved right now.”
His silence felt like a victory, but I knew better than to celebrate
prematurely, facing so skilled a negotiator.
“Bev has found a great assisted living place for Mom, and—”
“You’ve spoken to your sister about this? Before talking to me?”
“It’s there in Savannah, not far from her and Michael. And
that’s only four hours from Atlanta, so you and I can easily get
there to see her. Maybe explore Charleston and Hilton Head. Get
some great seafood.”
I hated the forced brightness in his tone and begged God to
change my attitude. I still loved my husband. But at the moment,
liking him was out of the question.
“Stephen, I—”
“Listen, my cab’s here. I’ll see you soon. I love you.”
I closed my eyes again. “Love you too. Safe travels.”
I pulled into a parking space and cut the ignition. I’d chosen
to wear the saffron Veronica Beard jacket Stephen had purchased
for me, knowing it would please him. He said it was sexy. Now I
planned on changing as soon as I got home.

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