RACHEL LAUGHED AS IF HE HAD SAID SOMETHING PARTICULARLY CHARMING. TOM GLANCED AT HER BEFORE GUIDING US TOWARD THE TABLE.
Dinner began pleasantly. We talked about our children, Tom’s job, and the meal Rachel had spent the afternoon preparing.
But whenever Michael spoke, Rachel turned her attention toward him. She asked what he thought about the wine, laughed at his stories, and hardly acknowledged Tom whenever he tried to enter the conversation.
When we sat down, Michael pulled Rachel’s chair out for her. She looked up at him.
“If I’d met you first, I might have picked a different husband.”
I nearly choked on my water. Tom’s face reddened. I looked at Michael, expecting him to make it obvious that she had crossed a boundary.
Instead, he smiled into his glass.
“Rachel, please don’t say that. He’s my husband.”
She waved it off. “Oh, relax. You know I’m joking.”
The conversation continued, but I couldn’t let it go. Rachel kept inventing reasons to sit near Michael or lean across the table whenever she wanted to speak to him.
When Tom asked about their anniversary plans, she answered absentmindedly before turning back to ask Michael where he and I enjoyed traveling.
On the drive to our hotel, I waited until the children were asleep before confronting him.
“Why did you let her talk to you like that?”
Michael reached for my hand. “I love you, sweetheart. I’ll talk to her.”
I wanted his answer to reassure me. I squeezed his fingers and told myself tomorrow would be different, but his calm response remained in my thoughts long after he had fallen asleep.
The following afternoon, relatives filled the house, paper plates covered the tables, and the smell of grilled food drifted through the yard. Rachel moved among the guests, laughing especially loudly whenever Michael spoke.
I kept watching her.
“Could you help me bring out the salad?” Tom asked.
